Installment #26
Chapters 48 & 49
48
“It’s a small world, Sheriff.”
Randall had parked his truck alongside Sheriff Cady’s, pointing it in the opposite direction so they were driver’s side to driver’s side. He leaned out the window as he spoke to Sheriff Cady.
“I was following Vern, right? Wind up out at his place. I park way over on the backside of the farmhouse. About five minutes go by. I see his Lincoln take off again, in a hurry. He showed up here right?”
The sheriff nodded.
“Anyway, I’m about to follow him when I see somebody come out the back of the house. It was dark and all but it looked like Diane. She drove off in that dark blue Buick that was out here earlier. She shows up here too?”
The sheriff nodded again.
“But guess what?” Randall said.
“She wasn’t alone,” Sheriff Cady said.
“How’d you guess?
The sheriff shrugged.
“I swear it was Joni, “Randall said. “What I would like to know is, just who in the hell did we bury? Walt still in there?”
“He is indeed.”
“Well, we got enough to go in now?”
“I suppose,” Sheriff Cady said. He surveyed the salvage yard, encircled in chain link and barbed wire fence and lit in places by floodlights. Smoke was creeping in from the range fires.
“Seems it’s the place to be tonight. Joint’s jumping.”
“I tell you, Sheriff, it’s a small world.”
“Yep,” Sheriff Cady said. “So small it’s getting crowded in here.”
49
Everything became obvious to Walt when he found the trash bag full of money. Vern had hidden the big bag in the trunk of a white Thunderbird near Geri’s Camaro.
Walt was certain he remembered Vern leaning against that trunk. Probably some sort of taunt on Vern’s part. Walt sifted the money around in the bag. He noticed smoke from the range fires creeping into the salvage yard, making everything fuzzy around the edges.
The trash bag was full of rolls of old, grungy bills, all bound by rubber bands. It was obvious to Walt why someone would fake their own death for it. Or kill a person. It was obvious why someone would hide it and why someone might steal it. Or use someone to get them to steal it. That Geri was using him had been obvious to him all along; he’d just chosen to ignore it. It felt good and it didn’t.
Kneeling, looking into the bag at the money, it was most obvious to Walt that he was in over his head. Way over.
“Oh man, what am I…,” Walt said, letting the words trail off.
Turn it over to that grumpy sheriff, Walt told himself. Simply wash his hands of the whole goddamn mess. To hell with Geri, to hell with everything.
But Walt couldn’t take his eyes off the money.
He thought about how people in the movies could always eyeball a pile of cash and guess its amount. Briefcase open with a click, quick glance at the fat, neat stacks of cash and yeah, it’s all there boss.
Walt didn’t know if the bag held one hundred thousand or one million. He’d been in the background at high stakes poker between oilmen who had it to lose, he’d been in the back rooms of horse tracks when they were counting the day’s take, skim and all, but he was certain this was more money than he’d ever seen before.
“Hell, it’s so much money, I don’t even want it,” Walt said, standing. He spun the bag to close it.
“Hefty bag, ain’t it?”
Walt jumped at the sound of Vern’s voice behind him.
“You scared me,” Walt said as he turned around.
He held up the trash bag of money, regarding it as if he’d just discovered it in his hand.
“Couldn’t say which brand of bag it is, Hefty or Glad or cheap-o generic. You’d know more about this bag than me, I reckon. I just know it’s heavy.”
“I know that too. I helped fill it,” Vern said. “Put the bag down, cowboy. Tell me—what kind of cowboy steals a man’s money anyway? The Marlboro Man’s a thief. And worse. You know, I grew up watching blowhards like you. Just chickenshit goat ropers with your high-heel boots and pearl snap shirts, all gussied up like a woman. I said put the bag down, Jesse James.”
Through the gathering smoke from the fires, he noticed Vern was keeping his right hand behind his back.
“I take it you have a gun,” Walt said.
“Good guess, genius.”
Vern pulled the massive gun from behind him and leveled it at Walt. Walt let the bag drop to the ground. He tried to breathe, slowly, deeply. In his head, he heard his own voice in the tone he used with a skittish colt. Calm. Calm, now. Fucking huge gun. Calm. Calm.
“Vern, that is one big piece of iron you got there.”
Vern grinned and wagged the gun at Walt. Walt tried to steady his vibrating knees before realizing it was the ground under him rumbling slightly. Out of nowhere came a hiss, then spitting.
“Oh, not now!” Vern said.
From out of the ground, sprinkler heads on either side of them rose and began to spray water over the salvage yard.
“I knew it,” Walt said. “No way everything was so green without irrigation. I knew it.”
“Of course. You got to. The grass would all burn up if I didn’t,” Vern said. “Now move away from the money.”
“I don’t want the money, Vern.”
“Good, cause you can’t have it.”
“I know. Right before you showed up, I was running it over in my mind and I was thinking of turning it over to the sheriff.”
“Like hell you were.”
“Yeah, I know. Sounds kind of silly now that I’ve said it to someone out loud. Plus you with that gun and all. You know Vern, there is a lot of money in that bag. A lot.”
“That I do know.”
“That much money, it’s got to be dirty,” Walt said, wiping the water from his eyes.
His clothes were wet and cool against his skin. Walt noticed the smoke from the field burn off getting thicker. It rolled in ghostly plumes in spots where it was pushed about by the sprinkler spray. He and Vern stood just between the reach of two clicking and spitting sprinklers, being hit with a heavy spray from both sides.
“I mean it’s some kind of dirty, the money. You know? I don’t want any part of it. Take it, Vern. Call it even.”
Vern shook the water from his head.
“I don’t think so. I didn’t realize big, tough cowboys also hit women. I should shoot you in the balls just for hitting Geri.”
“What’s that?” Walt said, turning his body in profile to hide his crotch but careful not to turn so much that he revealed the gun tucked in the back of his jeans.
“Vern, I never hit Geri. I’ve wanted to. Wanted to strangle her. Once thought I might shoot her. But never have I hit her.”
“Liar. I saw what you did.”
Walt wiped the water from his eyes again. His clothes were soaked now, as were Vern’s.
“You two dickheads don’t have enough sense to come in out of the sprinkler,” Geri said, emerging from the shadows, sprinkles and smoke.
She had a gun, and for a moment Walt felt hopeful.
But when he saw Diane move up beside her, also carrying a gun, he went back to feeling sick again.