About The Ones Outside (Full Version)

Post 523:

The Ones Outside: A Short Story

Full Version

            Two crescent moons of sweat were fully formed underneath his armpits, soaking through a prison undershirt and the old button-up and sport jacket he’d reacquired from his dusty personal effects. The clothes were out of style and too tight, but shopping wasn’t first on his to-do’s. He rang the doorbell again—three times now. He checked under the mat using the toes of his snakeskin cowboy boots, trying to look casual. Finding nothing, he flashed a peek up and down the street and weighed the merits of going around to the back. The neighborhood was different than he remembered. Saggy. Ten years of gravity was a heavy tax. Slowly caving roofs, cracked and sunken sidewalks—chain fences leaning over—yards yellow with dead grass, green only with weeds. It wasn’t all that dramatic. It’d be years before the drug dealers and true miscreants planted their flags, and he’d know, having patrolled enough lost sections of the city back in the day. This was different. As if everything had fallen victim to a general lack of interest. A decade had transmuted this place from the meat of middle class to the gristle.

            He silently called on himself not to be discouraged and realized that discouraging was the perfect word for it. He’d built up this moment to be a lonely positive in a long string of bad luck and self-induced hellscapes. God, he’d built up a lot of things, little dots of light from shore making their way through the constant battering of the storm. Not uncommon, considering where he’d been.

            The wooden steps leading up to the backdoor creaked under his weight. “Wes,” he called out, rapping three times against the glass paneling. A quick look inside gave up very little; it was as if he was peering into a tomb. “Wes Billet. You in there buddy?”

            He’d figured on trying back later. Maybe a respite at a local watering hole with some decent air conditioning. He started down the rickety steps when a strained female voice cried out, “Who the hell are you?”

            He turned awkwardly and answered, “It’s Cooper. Looking for Wes Billet.”    

            “What for?”

            “He told me come by when I got to town.”

            For a moment there was no answer. He decided to plod on, though every indication told him to tread light in silent retreat. “Is he in there?”

            The door cracked open just wide enough for two barrels of an over-under shotgun to sneak through. “If you knew Wes, you’d know he’s not around anymore.”

            His hands shot up as he stumbled down the steps, almost falling on his backside into the high grass. “I’m sorry. Not looking for trouble. I’ll be off.”

            “Don’t you move.”

            “Alright.” Instincts said to take off, but he was too close. If the woman on the other end of the shotgun decided to fire, there’d be no outrunning the spread. “Just take it easy.”

            “Orders generally come from the one holding the gun, Cooper.”

            “You got me there.”

            “Look up and let me see your face,” said the woman.

            Cooper did as bid, sweating through every inch of his clothes with his hands raised high. The door opened a little more, revealing a pretty little thing, not much more than a girl. Pretty, except for the big bruise on her cheek and a recently-mended gash running across her forehead. “You gonna shoot me, ma’am?”

            “It’d be within my rights. You’re sneaking around my property. Sounds like self-defense. You know you’re in Texas, don’t ya?”

            “Okay. But involving the cops can get tricky, especially considering I’m unarmed and making no threats. Complications. Seems me just going is the simplest way.”

            “What do you know about cops?”

            “A little. Used to be one. Was Wes Billet’s partner on the job for years. Long time back now.”

            “I’m not inclined to believe you.”

            “Yeah, you don’t strike me as trusting.”

            “I ain’t laughing.”

            “No you ain’t. And guessing by that face you got your reasons for being suspicious. All I can say is, don’t mean you any harm. Like I said. Come around, just looking to see Wes.”

            “Wes is dead, mister.”

            “How’s that?”

            The door opened to the stop and the woman stepped halfway into the light. He could see bruises on her arms in addition to the wounds on her face. “I think I’d know if I buried my father or not.”

            Cooper tried to block out the brutality she was wearing to look her straight in the eyes. “You’re Loretta, ain’t you?”

            She didn’t answer. He could tell she was piecing it together, calling memories she forgot she had.             

            “I don’t blame you for not recognizing me. Been over ten years. All grown up.”

            “Coop Edmond?” she asked. Her tone softened, but the scatter gun was still stiff in her little hands.

            “I knew we’d get there eventually.”

            “We used to play catch.” It was a question as much as statement.

            “Yes, we did. I’d go watch you play softball with your daddy down at Brigham Field. You weren’t never big, but you sure had grit.”

            “Yeah, well. That was another life.”

            Cooper let his hands fall without realizing it. A sickness started brewing up from his insides. His best friend—his only friend. Dead. Another dot of light snuffed out by the storm. “Another life,” he muttered, trying his best not to go limp all over.

            “Supposing you’re still wanting to come in?” Loretta asked. The threat had morphed into a sad old man over the course of a few words. “You’re looking a little pale.”

            Tears started leaking down the lines on his face. “It’s probably not a good idea, Loretta. If you know who I am then you know where I’ve been. Not aiming to put you out or you make feel on edge.”

            “Let me see your ID,” she said.

            He looked up at the blaring sun and thought about sitting down with a glass of water in Wes’ old house. It was a bleak and heavenly thought, all mixed up. “Sure, darling,” he said, wiping his face. “But I’ll have to reach in my back pocket.”

            “Go on and do it.”

            Cooper felt around and tossed his prison-issue ID at her boots. “That’s all I’ve got right now. Be a bit before I get something more civilian.”

            Loretta lowered the shotgun and looked it over. “Cooper Edmond. Come here and let me frisk you.” As she set the shotgun against the inside of the doorway, she pulled out a small revolver from the waistline of her denim skirt. She held the pistol with one hand and used the other to thoroughly searched his person. “Alright then. Stay there a sec.” Grabbing the shotgun and still holding the revolver, she backed up and motioned him in. “It’s good to see you, Coop.”

            It was hard to know if walking away was an option. If it was, he might’ve taken it. But Loretta was still armed, dictating terms.

            Coop followed her in the kitchen. It was stark and tidier than he remembered, and the floor gave way a little with every step, like the wood underneath was full of rot. The old pine cabinets were peeling paint. Light shot through the windows from the afternoon sun, throwing a focused beam into the center of the kitchen. Something smelled good. He took the aroma in with a breath obvious enough for her to notice.

            “I’m baking. Just starting to find my feet with it.”

            “If the taste matches the smell, seems like you’re on the way.” Coop smiled but didn’t hold his gaze long; it was damn hard not to linger on her battered body. “You mind if I sit down?”

            Loretta nodded at the table next to the far wall and tucked the pistol down the small of her back. “Be my guest. It’ll be weird seeing you sit there. Dang, Coop. This is a straight-up trip, you being here. A flashback or whatever.”

            She was right about the flood of nostalgia. He imagined it was even more dramatic for her; she was still young and only had so many memories. He sank into the vinyl of the kitchen chair and kept his hands on the table in case she was still worried. “I guess your father didn’t mention me a lot, but we kept up.”

            “Not so much lately. Obviously.”

            “I have a letter. Can I reach in my back pocket?” He was starting to feel relaxed. No way he was going to make some stupid sudden move and have her pull that pistol.

            “Go ahead,” she said, crossing her arms and walking toward him slowly. “When’s it dated?”

            “Seven months ago.”

            She stood over the Coop’s back, examining the letter. Her father’s handwriting. Seven months ago, like the man said. “That’s right before he was diagnosed.”

            “What was it?”

            “Cancer. Aggressive. They caught it late. Doctors basically told him that any fight would be a loser.”

            “Jesus. I’m so sorry.” In truth, it wasn’t a complete shock. Over the years their correspondence had been fairly regular—when the letters stopped coming, Cooper started to wonder, but he thought maybe it was just life. They weren’t little girls; their back and forth wasn’t on a regular schedule. He figured maybe Wes just had some regular stuff to deal with, or he was tired of writing letters. Coop didn’t worry about it all that much. He was trying to get free. Doing his best to run out the clock as an ex-cop inmate beset on all sides by the feral and the nihilistic. No petty task.

            “He ended it,” Loretta said, matter-of-factly. Too matter-of-factly, like when a person’s trying to pretend not to be affected. “Garage out there. Rigged a hose to the tailpipe of his Chevelle and fed it through the back window. He wasn’t playing around.”

            “I need a second,” Coop said, getting up on uneasy legs. His memory took him across the living room and into the little half bathroom underneath the stairs. If he’d had anything to eat or drink in the previous ten hours, the vomiting would’ve taken longer. As it was, he was dry-heaving on the dark thought of his friend taking his own life. Finally, the reflex subsided. Cooper flushed and brought the cover down, sitting on the toilet, wet-faced and feeling hopeless.

            The doorbell. Four or five heavy knocks, strong enough to send a slight shake through the whole house. “Loretta? You in there? I’m coming in, dammit. Hear me, girl?!”

            Cooper wiped his face with some dusty toilet paper after running sink water over his mouth. He stepped out into the living room. Loretta was on the edge of the kitchen to his right, holding the shotgun, little knuckles all white. The pounding on the door continued. “Hey, Loretta,” Cooper whispered, “think you can give me the ten second of version of what’s going on and who this asshole is?”

            The man started putting charges into the door with his shoulder. “Guess I can figure out the broad strokes,” Coop said.

            “I’ll take care of it,” she said, voice trembling as she once again tightened the shotgun against her shoulder. Her bangs fell into her eyes. She blew the hair away by curling up her lower lip; neither hand was leaving the gun.

            The pounding continued at regular intervals. Cooper didn’t need soothsaying to figure the deadbolt was about to give out. He walked quickly and quietly up to the door and waited for the next charge from the man outside. Loretta said no but he ignored her, swinging it open just before the intruder’s next attempt to bust it down. A body came flying in, off balance, not anticipating the unfettered passage. The intruder went headlong into the entryway, ending up facedown on a threadbare red rug. Coop sprawled onto his back and sunk a choke beneath the neck, yanking up toward the ceiling. It was his first week of prison again. Loretta held her gun on both of them, looking unsure on how to proceed.

            “Friend of yours?” Coop asked, tightening his grasp.

            “I told you never to come back here, Daryl,” she cried. “You’re some kinda slow learner.”

            Daryl attempted to answer, but he was completely deprived of oxygen, on the verge of passing out.

            “Cooper,” she said, moving a little closer. “Ease off. You’re gonna kill him.”

            The old man loosened his choke enough to let Daryl grab a few gasps of air. Cooper continued to press his body weight down and started going through Daryl’s pockets with his free hand. “I’ll ease up,” he grunted, fishing out a 1911 semi-automatic from a holster underneath Daryl’s jacket. Pushing the barrel of the pistol against the back of his greasy head, he released the choke. “You heard her, pal. The nice lady said you’re not welcome. The locked door should’ve been your first clue.”

            After a moment to gather himself: “This is how you want to play it? You’re going to be in the ground. Both of you.”

            Edmond grabbed Daryl by the hair and slammed his forehead into the floor. He caught a chiding look from Loretta and shrugged as if to say sorry, but not really.

            The newly-released inmate stood up and kept the .45 pointed down, stepping sideways next to his dead friend’s daughter. With Daryl writhing just steps away, he asked, “Now you want to fill me in?”

            “It’s a long story,” she said, wiping sweat from her brow.

            “That’s okay,” Coop answered. “I can handle a little drama. Almost be a nice change. We didn’t even get cable in lockup.” He gave Loretta a quick smile to try to add a little levity, but she wasn’t having any.

            The intruder rolled over onto his back. He was bleeding from a gash above a mangy eyebrow, dazed and still trying to manage a decent breath. “Dead. Both of you.”

            “For being disarmed and smacked around, he’s still spouting a lot of confidence.”

            “That’s because he’s a cop,” Loretta said, voice thick with a curious sort of defeat.

            Cooper’s countenance fell. “Well shit.”

            “Yep,” she said, “shit is right.”

            “I’ll be right back,” Loretta said, giving Daryl a field goal kick to the face as she passed him by on the way to the foot of the stairs. Coop grimaced at the sight of blood pouring out of the cop’s mouth. The girl had wacked him good—enough to break a tooth or nose—a restrained shot wouldn’t cause so much bleeding. He looked up at the ceiling; Loretta was stomping around hurriedly. It was the sound of someone trying to hide something or find it, but he put that thought on hold. Stop guessing. You’re not a cop anymore.

            “You don’t have the slightest clue,” Daryl said, rotating to his side to spit a spattering of blood in Edmond’s direction. Coop almost gagged and was forced to move away.

            “Weak stomach, jackass?” Daryl asked. There’s a molar somewhere on the floor for you.”

            Cooper was almost completely turned way now, body buckling from the inglorious attempt to prevent himself from vomiting. He squeezed the pistol in his hand to remind himself of the need to hold it together. To understand something. Anything. “Never could handle the sight of blood,” he said, turning back to the injured cop.

            “Weak.”

            “You have no idea.” Edmond did his best to walk around Daryl’s bloody discharge and rolled up his sleeves, revealing long scars down each of his wrists. “Couldn’t even off myself right. The blood made me pass out before I could get deep enough.”

            “What the hell sorta freak show did I walk into today?” Daryl asked. His question meant to mock, but there was something more behind his eyes. Edmond got the sense that Daryl knew him from somewhere. Maybe.  

            “I was wondering the same thing. By the way, can I see your badge?” Cooper rolled his sleeves back down looked at the ceiling once again. “What’s she doing up there?”

            “No telling. She’s a crazy no-good lunatic. Best you find out whatever direction that girl’s going and run the opposite.”

            “I was asking myself.” Coop said, tapping the .45 against his leg. “You know— thinking out loud. Much as I appreciate your input.”

            Daryl was sitting up now. He reached slowly into his jacket and pulled out a long black billfold, tossing it at Edmond’s feet.

            “Thank you, Mr. Daryl Huffs. Ranger Daryl Huffs. Well. Ain’t that a kick. Never ran into many of you boys back in the day.”

            “We leave most lowlifes for the locals. Trash men.”

            “Come now, Texas Ranger. Have a little more respect for the good old-fashioned men and women in blue.”

            “Says the scumbag who just assaulted a sworn officer of the state.”

            “Says the scumbag who used to be a detective.”

            “You’re shitting me.”

            “No. Me and her daddy were partners. Back in the old days.”

            Huffs starting laughing. The blood down his chin and the knot from his forehead made it ominous and incongruent. Not to mention, hard on Coop’s stomach. “You poor dumb bastard.”

            “Before she comes back, you better listen good. We need to get out of here or we’re both dead. God, she found another sap. The girl’s like a frigging demon or something.”

            “Loretta? She’s sweet as can be.”

            “Are we talking about the same girl? Just kicked me in the face? One with the shotgun?”    

            Cooper squinted at the detective as the racket continued upstairs. He had a lot to process. Texas Ranger Huffs was starting to make some points, and his ID looked like the genuine article, though a Ranger badge would be a good one to fake. They weren’t exactly common. Only a couple hundred of the bastards in the whole state, last time Edmond heard.

            “So you’re telling me you’re here on duty? Loretta’s in some sort of trouble?”

            Daryl nodded, slowly rising to his feet.

            “Doesn’t add up, Ranger. You coming here banging on doors, no backup.”

            “You need to stop asking questions and come with me, old man. You might’ve been the usual piece of shit back in the day, but I know you were innocent of what they locked you up for.”

            “I did ten years,” Cooper said, trying to sound dismissive but failing. Hearing that he was innocent from another person’s lips had sticking power.

            “I know what you’re thinking. I’m just talking to save my own ass. But I’m on to things. All that money they said you stole—”

            “You mean the money they never found.”

            “Exactly. It started showing up recently. Sort of, anyway. I’m clawing at the truth, but I need more time.”

            Cooper turned the pistol around in his hand, swallowing loud enough for the supposed Texas Ranger to hear. It was more than nerves. There was no pattern to anything happening; that’s all the world had been—patterns. This much time for breakfast. Avoid this inmate or that inmate at this or that time of day. Say hello to the two friendly guards that oversaw the metal shop. Slip them drugs or cash or cigarettes to keep the congeniality moving forward. Over and over. This here—couldn’t be more different. Everything was new. Everything had to slow down.

            “Is this you believing me?” Huffs asked, slowly taking back his weapon.

            “Come back tonight. Alone. Bring whatever evidence you have, or I’ll shoot you myself.”

            “What about the girl?” Huffs asked, moving toward the door.

            “I’ll keep her from killing you. Like I’m doing now. Go, and remember. Alone. With evidence.”

            “Fine,” Daryl said, walking out the still-opened door. “And tell your buddy Wes Billet to come out of hiding.”

            “Wait!” Coop called out. “What do you mean!?”

            “Where’s he going?” Loretta said, skipping stairs as she came back down. “You’re letting him leave?”

            Cooper called out a few more times, but not loud enough for Daryl to hear. He was reticent to make a scene. As disinterested as the neighborhood might be, enough ruckus might rile up the civic virtue of somebody next door. He watched the lumbering state cop tear away in his big Dodge 4x4. “What’s the alternative?” Edmond asked the girl, closing the door and turning toward the hot-faced young woman. She plopped herself down on a dusty old loveseat and set her shotgun down on the cushion beside her. The barrels stuck out toward the room, making Cooper more nervous than he already was.

            “What do you mean?” Loretta asked.

            “I mean the guy’s a cop. You can’t kill cops. You can’t be kicking them in the head. If he wants to go, he goes.”

            “He’ll be back,” she said.

            “I know. I asked him to.”

            She smiled and sank into the weak-willed upholstery. “Ah. Did you boys make friends while I was upstairs?”

            The house shook under Edmond’s heavy steps as he approached her. “He asked about Wes like he was still alive. What’s that all about?” Cooper’s hands were gripping the back of the loveseat with enough force to crack the framing; he was looming over his buddy’s daughter with his entire body, and doing it to make a point. “Don’t you be funny with me.”

            “Go on and get to it. Hit me. Or try and screw me. Always comes down to that, anyhow.”

            Coop had never hit a woman in his life, but he realized his posture and tone would give her that impression. “I ain’t gonna do nothing.”

            “That’s what your buddy Huffs said. Those words. It’s like a man can’t hurt a woman until he says he won’t. Is there a rulebook you guys follow?”

            Edmond disengaged from the situation, grabbing the shotgun and scoffing as he went back to the kitchen. From behind a wall covered with cheap trinkets, he called out, “I’m sorry that’s a thing that even has to cross your mind, darling. But I didn’t come here to hurt you. Hell, I didn’t even know you were gonna be here.” He set the shotgun against the corner by the door and started going through the cabinets. “Where’s the damned liquor in this place?”

            As he closed the door to the refrigerator, he saw that Loretta had moved into the kitchen. She lit up a cigarette and sat down at the table. “Check the freezer. There’s some good tequila. Some bad vodka, I think.”

            The cold from the freezer felt as welcome as any drink might. “Thank you,” Cooper said, shaking the vodka bottle in her direction.

            “Glasses are to your left.”

            “Ah. First drink in many years, this.”

            “No booze on the inside?”

            “I suppose, but not for me. Gave up most of my vices.”

            “I always heard you were short on vices to begin with. A good man, my dad said.”

            Pouring the vodka into a small mason jar, Cooper said, “Nobody’s without a few hang-ups. Figured when I went in, had to be judgment for something.”

            “Are you talking divine punishment and penance, Mr. Edmond?”

            He took a drink. It was awful and wonderful. Within seconds he was asking for a cigarette. It wasn’t as much about the specific indulgences; just the freedom to indulge.  

            She handed him a smoke. He bent over to take the light. After a few puffs: “Nothing fancy or divine. I just set myself to living straight. It was a habit like anything else.” Edmond started coughing on the smoke. “Great example of clean living, right?”

            Loretta smiled up at him and crossed her legs, resting her elbow on the table to support her arm and head. “I’m very sorry for saying what I said in there.” She said it soft and with quite a bit more Texas than she’d been using previously.

            “I don’t blame you. Looks like you’ve been through an awful lot.” He forced some more smoke down his throat and finished off the big pour of cheap vodka. “Woman that’s been pushed around—got every right to lash out.”

            She stood up and gave the older man a quick kiss on the lips. Quick, he thought, but not that quick. “Will you help me with something?” she asked, walking casually through the living room toward the back of the old house. “I promise—you won’t need a gun.”

            Edmond had filled another glass and set the bottle on the dirty living room table, dutifully following along. He was disarmed, just like that. Maybe it was the girl’s haphazard, directionless personality. Maybe it was a desire to please his old buddy, staring down at them from afterlife. Speaking of that… “Hey there, darlin,” he said, hurrying to catch her. “How is it that cop doesn’t know your daddy’s dead?”

            “What?” she said, stopping in a moldy utility room. It had two doors. One leading out to a leaning back porch and an interior door that she opened just after receiving his question. “Coop, you can’t be listening to anything that son of a bitch says. He’s messing with your mind. His theories and such. Look at what he did to me.”

            Edmond set his glass on the idle dryer and turned away from her bruises left and right, like he was a boxer on defense. There was a devilish characteristic to violence that he had nothing to do with—it shocked his system. He visited his fair share of beatings on folks, but there was something about being a nonfactor that left his hands trembling in dead air.

            Rolling her sleeves back down, Loretta turned on the light switch next to the interior door. “After you,” she said, holding out an arm. Cooper could see a narrow stairway leading down to a basement. Funny, he thought, unable to see the bottom of the stairs. Texas houses usually do without basements. Hard clay and hard dirt.

            “What’s down there?” he asked, squinting for a better look.

            “I just need to move something.”

            “Oh, okay,” he said, about to take his first step down. 

            Behind him, Loretta pulled a blackjack from a pile of stacked shirts near the washer and whacked Coop on the base of his skull. No amount of toughness could prevent him from crashing down the stairs. Gravity and bad fortune were the only things guiding him. It would be awhile before he’d be awake to take a full accounting of his injuries.

            “Wake up, you old jackass. Hey. Wake up!”

            Coop’s head swooned as the darkness began to recede from his eyes. He couldn’t tell what he was looking at. As consciousness really took hold, pain came to dominate the bulk of his reality. The back of his head was a disaster. Maybe a separated shoulder. That’s just what he felt right off. A dreamlike memory of his sudden tumble down the stairs started to creep in.

            “You coming around? See if you can work your ropes off.”

            Edmond looked over at Ranger Daryl Huffs. The lawman was covered in blood, tied up to a rugged wooden chair, veins bulging as he puffed his muscles against the restraints to no avail. “What’s with the ropes?” Coop muttered.

            “They’re on you too, old man. She must’ve hit you hard.”

            Sure enough, there was no moving. The chair was sturdy and the knots secure. “Got me good alright,” Coop said, a little more steady with his words. “Don’t remember clear, but I got busted up pretty good on the way down. Assuming you came back with that evidence?”

            “Yep,” Huffs said, still straining to get a hair of space to wiggle free.

            “And she got the drop on you.”

            “Yep.” A little less struggle from the lawman. A little more shame.

            “Don’t feel too bad, Ranger. Not like I’m in a place to judge.”

            “What do you think’s going on?”

            “Well, I don’t know what they teach in the state police, but being tied up in a basement is never a good sign. My guess is she hit me because I asked about her daddy—how you didn’t know he was dead.”

            “Wes Billet’s dead?”

            “That’s what the girl told me when I got here. Had no reason to doubt since his letters dried up months back.”

            “It doesn’t make sense. We’ve—mostly I—have been looking into Billet for a year now. No funerals. No body. Loretta never said he was—”

            “I think you’re catching on.”

            “Whew. Assuming he’s dead, where do you think he is?”

            “I haven’t been a detective for a long time, Huffs, but I’m thinking my old pal is probably about five feet away from us right now.”

            It was buzzing away, coming into proper view every three or four seconds when the light bulb swung in the direction of the back wall. A good sized freezer, maybe five feet wide and deep. Probably big enough to stuff a body into, given the right motivation and lack of scruples.

            “She told me you started trying to feel her up,” Ranger Huffs said. It was shocking enough to strike away the rest of the cobwebs from Cooper’s eyes.

            “You went for that?”

            “She had fresh bruises. Big damn cut down her arm. Frigging disgusting enough to make me let my guard down. That was that. Woke up here.”

            “You’re not too bright, Huffs.”

            “Yeah, well—far as where we both ended up, not much difference.”

            “You got me there, Ranger.”

            They could hear the pained creaking of the basement door opening. Slow footsteps and another noise, not so rhythmic. When Loretta reached the bottom of the stairs, it became apparent what the noise was. She was hitting herself in the chest and the top of her arm. A little quiver from her lip was all she showed with each blow. They weren’t love taps, but the girl was used to the pain. Reveled in it, maybe. Coop didn’t have the psychology figured, but he’d settled on the fact that he was dealing with a dodgy brain when he woke up tied to a chair in a basement. The self-flagellation was just another crazy piece of the puzzle of insanity that Loretta was turning out to be.

            Huffs squirmed and looked away. Edmond didn’t avert his eyes, but a thick bead of sweat ran down from his silvery temple as he managed to find a tiny bit of hope; by stretching out the fingers of his left hand, he could work one of the knots on his wrist. It was slipping slightly over the scar tissue left by one of suicide attempts. Trying to die might earn him another chance at living, but time was the problem. The hand Loretta wasn’t using to hit herself was clutching a pump-action shotgun. She meant to blast them both to bits; her wide eyes and almost ecstatic face said that clear enough.

            “So how long ago was it—you sent your daddy to the by-and-by?” Coop asked. Ranger Huffs looked over at with incredulous eyes and a bloody mask for a face. Accusations didn’t seem the safest course, and anything the old man said had an impact on him.

            “Shut it,” Huffs whispered, trying not to look his captor in her eyes.

            Loretta stopped between the two chairs and took a few steps back, leaning against the naked sheetrock of the basement. The self-abuse stopped—now she held the shotgun with both of her little hands. “When did the letters stop coming?” Loretta asked. Her voice was flat. No more accent. Not much personality to it at all.

            “I told you. Seven months ago.”

            “Well there you go, Cooper. That probably means he died about six months ago—he spent some time down here before departing. We had some issues to work through. Pit stop of sorts.”

            “I’d like to know why,” Edmond said softly, doing everything in his power not to appear to be exerting himself. The knot was getting looser, but she’d cinched him up with more than one. “Why any of this? How’d Wes deserve that? He loved you, Loretta.”

            Loretta’s laughter was devoid of any joy. Really, it lacked emotion entirely. Cooper had never quite heard a laugh like that. “He loved me? We lived in this shit box my whole life. Maybe I live with that. He’s all filled with guilt and self-loathing. Drives my mama to an early grave. Maybe I live with that. Then about a year ago, he tells me about a couple million dollars he’s been sitting on. A couple million he hasn’t touched.”

            “So you killed your father because he didn’t buy you dresses or get you a new car when you turned sixteen?” Cooper asked.

            “We lived in misery. He sat on your secret for a decade and it killed him.”

            “Sounds like it was you that killed him,” Huffs said. “If I’m following.”

            She pumped the shotgun and menaced it at the lawman. He raised his head and looked at her out of the eye not completely swollen shut. “There’s nothing that you can’t walk away from, here. Tell me where that money is and I’ll help you.”

            Loretta started to hit herself again, laughing that dead laugh. Edmond was gritting his teeth as he worked on the last knot. It was almost loose when he jumped from blast of buckshot. Huffs’ entire midsection was gone—all that was left was smoke and soup. Cooper’s ears were ringing, but he heard the pump of the shotgun as his friend’s daughter readied to give him a similar sendoff.

            “I never knew about the money,” Edmond said.

            “What do you mean you never knew?”

            “In all those letters, does it ever mention anything about the robbery? A bunch of hidden cash?”

            “No. But you wouldn’t come right out and put in writing. Don’t try to play me.”

            “Fine. But you must know what’s happening here.”

            “Besides you dying and me taking off with a shitload of money?”

            “Yeah. Besides that.”

            “You’re not going to walk away with that sort of cash and a trail of missing persons. I assume you’ve using Wes’ cards to pay bills, make it seem like he’s alive, but that only works so long. Especially if you’re on the run.”

            “I think I can handle it, Cooper.”

            “Catch!” he said, throwing the rope Loretta’s face. The distractive instinct to employ her hands was just enough to give him time to rip the gun away. She tried for the pistol in her pants but he was quick to jam the butt of the shotgun into her stomach. “Can’t believe that worked,” he said, standing with a boot on her back. “Thought I was dead for sure.”

            Loretta whimpered as he lifted her by the neck of her shirt just enough to drag her over to the freezer. “Now you get yourself up and open it.”

            Sure enough, his old buddy was stashed away, rock-hard and twisted. The face was just about recognizable. “Go on and get in,” Cooper said.

            “Aren’t you gonna kill me?”

            He whacked her on the back of the head and shoved her on top of the frozen corpse of her father. “After you spend some time with your daddy.”

            “Just kill me.”

            “Figure you’ll be dead soon enough. That lock over there ain’t letting you out,” he said, pointing to padlock on a work bench next to the freezer.

            “What about the money?” she said, already shivering. “You’ll never know where it is if you kill me.”

            “It’s upstairs. When trouble comes around, people always go to protect what’s most important. That’s where you went when Huffs came by.”

            Loretta didn’t bother arguing. She tried for one of the guns, but Cooper wasn’t letting her out of her state. He slammed the cover shut and sat on it as he reached for the lock and snapped it shut.

            The money upstairs wasn’t well-hidden. She’d gathered it into two duffels, ready for the road. He brought the bags downstairs and counted the money in the chair he’d been tied to. One million. Next to him, the blood from Huffs’ body started to harden. Two million. Next to him, the gyrations coming from the freezer became less and less frequent until they ceased altogether. Two million three hundred thousand.

            His friend had been faithful. Hadn’t spent a cent. It made him want to open up the freezer and tell Loretta where she’d gone wrong. But no. He waited a little longer, then threw Huffs’ body in on hers. He didn’t feel good about the state cop getting done-in, but he had it coming, one way or another.

            He still had a thing or two to do, but the main business was over. The only people that knew the secret—the one that put him in jail—the one that had him in the same room with a couple million dollars—they were inside a sealed box.

            There’d be wonder and disbelief later. Right now, he needed a mop.

                                                                The End