If I was right, his camp would have been close enough to keep an eye out for one Charles Reade. He’d know who I was from Heinrich. He could have seen me on my trip to Stantonville. And after Polley’s search of the house netted nothing but an unopenable safe, he had just waited for me, assuming I would come for the gold. Because it’s what he would do.
“Get up. We’re going downstairs. Watch out for the gold BBs unless you want to take another spill.”
“Can I have a few? Just a few? I’m broke, man!”
“And do what? Use one to pay for lunch at McDonald’s?”
“I know a man in Chi. He won’t give me what they’re worth, but—”
“You can have three.”
“Five?” Trying to smile like he hadn’t been planning to kill me once the safe was open.
“Four.”
He bent and picked them up quickly with his good hand and went to stuff them in his pants pocket.
“That’s five. Drop one.”
He gave me a narrow angry look—a Rumpelstiltskin look—and dropped one. It rolled. “You’re a mean kid.”
“Coming from Saint Christopher of the Woods, that fills me with shame.”
He lifted his lip, showing yellowing teeth. “Fuck you.”
I raised his gun, which I thought was a .22 automatic. “You should never say fuck you to someone with a firearm. Not wise, ha-ha. Now go downstairs.”
He left the room, cradling his broken wrist to his chest and squeezing the gold pellets in his good hand. I followed. We went through the living room and into the kitchen. He stopped at the door.
“Keep going. Across the backyard.”
He turned to look at me, eyes wide and mouth trembling. “You’re going to kill me and put me down that hole!”
“I wouldn’t have given you any of the gold if I was going to do that,” I said.
“You’ll take it back!” He was starting to cry again. “You’ll take it back and put me down in the h-h-hole!”
I shook my head. “There’s a fence and you’ve got a broken wrist. You won’t get over it without help.”
“I’ll manage! I don’t want your help!”
“Walk,” I said.
He walked, crying, sure he was going to be shot in the back of the head. Because again, it was what he would do. He only stopped blubbering when we passed the open door of the shed and he found himself still alive. We came to the fence, which was about five feet high—tall enough to keep Radar in when she had been younger.
“I don’t want to see you again.”
“You won’t.”
“Not ever.”
“You won’t, I promise.”
“Shake on it, then.” I stuck out my hand.
He took it. Crafty, but not all that smart. Like I said. I twisted his hand and heard the crack of splintering bones. He shrieked and went to his knees with both hands held to his chest. I stuffed the .22 in the back of my pants like a bad guy in a movie, bent, grabbed him, and lifted. It was easy. He couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and forty, and at that point I was so jacked on adrenalin it was practically shooting out my ears. I threw him over the fence. He landed on his back in a pile of dead leaves and broken branches, gasping little cries of pain. His hands flopped uselessly. I leaned over the fence like a washerwoman in a story, eager for the latest village gossip.
“Go, Polley. Run away and never come back.”
“You broke my hands! You broke my fucking—”
“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you!” I shouted at him. “I wanted to, I almost did, and if I ever see you again, I will! Now go! While you still have the chance!”
He gave me one more look, blue eyes wide, swelling face smeared with snot and tears. Then he turned and blundered into the poor-ass second growth that was all that remained of the Sentry Woods, broken hands held to his chest. I watched him go without the slightest regret for what I’d done.
Not very nice.
Would he come back? Not with two broken wrists, he wouldn’t. Would he tell someone else, a friend or a partner in crime? I didn’t think Polley had any partners or friends. Would he go to the cops? Given what I knew about Heinrich, the idea was ludicrous. All that aside, I simply couldn’t bring myself to kill him in cold blood.
I went back inside and picked up the gold pellets. They were everywhere, and it took longer than the whole confrontation with Polley. I put them in the safe along with the empty concho belt and holster, then left. I made sure to untuck my shirt so it hung over the gun stuffed into my pants at the small of my back, but I was still glad Mrs. Richland wasn’t out at the end of the driveway, with her hand shielding her sharp eyes.