Buddy Lee unlocked the door and Ike followed him inside. A bunkhouse table sat to the right of the door. A few chairs were scattered around the table. Bits of random bric-a-brac were dotted throughout the space. A couple of fishing rods. A stuffed deer’s head lying on its side. A DON’T TREAD ON ME flag that must have fallen off the wall. To their left the cavernous structure was filled with twenty or so wooden crates, hard plastic totes, and a few gunny sacks.
Buddy Lee wandered over to the crates. He pulled the lid off one and whistled.
“Goddamn. You could stop a rhino hopped up on meth with this son of a bitch,” Buddy Lee said. He pulled a fully automatic shotgun with a revolving cylinder out of the box.
“You got shells to go along with that?” Ike asked.
“He got more shells than a shark got teeth in this other box,” Buddy Lee said as he pulled the lid off another crate.
“Those street sweepers ain’t legal in the States,” Ike said. Buddy Lee waved his hand over the crates and boxes.
“None of this is legal, Ike. Them militia boys he run with don’t cotton to any laws except the Second Amendment.”
“I know that. I’m just thinking about whether or not the ATF got your brother under surveillance. Gonna be some fireworks here tonight,” Ike said.
“If the Feds were onto him, this place wouldn’t be here. I don’t think we need to worry about drawing no attention tonight, neither. We so far in the woods we’d have to go back five miles the other way to find the boondocks,” Buddy Lee said.
“If you say so,” Ike said.
Buddy Lee continued exploring the crates. The sheer depth and breadth of the amount of machine guns, rifles, pistols, and—God save us—land mines was mind-boggling.
We might need every bit of this, Buddy Lee thought. He opened a crate against the wall.
“Well, shit. Ike, come here,” Buddy Lee said. Ike came over and stared in the crate.
“That’s what I think it is?” Ike said.
“Yep. I suppose if you got loose lips like Chet you best be paranoid and have a backup plan,” Buddy Lee said. Ike peered in the crate, then at the door of the bunkhouse, then back in the crate.
“You know it don’t matter how many guns we got here, it’s just two of us. Maybe we need our own backup plan,” Ike said.
“What’s going on in that big ol’ cranium of yours?” Buddy Lee said.
“I’m thinking we gonna need more bang for our buck. Come on, let’s get back to Red Hill. We need to go by the shop. I got an idea,” Ike said.
“What, we gonna challenge them to a duel with shovels?” Buddy Lee asked.
“Not exactly,” Ike said.
By the time they’d gone to the shop, gotten what they needed, then gone back to the compound and put it in place, then gone back to Buddy Lee’s, it was a little after one. Buddy Lee could hear a solid thumping sound coming from his trailer.
“If I gave a damn about this trailer, I’d be upset, ’cause it sound like that ol’ boy in there kicking like a mule,” Buddy Lee said. Ike followed Buddy Lee into his house.
Buddy Lee went down the hall to his bathroom. He poked his head inside.
“If you don’t stop kicking that wall, I’m gonna come in there and I’m gonna break your fucking legs,” Buddy Lee said. His statement caught Gatsby in mid-kick. The older man put his foot down flat on the floor.
“That’s better,” Buddy Lee said. He went back to the living room. Ike was on the sofa, so he melted into his easy chair.
“We got some time. You wanna go check on Mya?” Buddy Lee asked.
“I called the hospital while you was talking to your brother. No change,” Ike said. Buddy Lee took a deep breath.
“She gonna be alright, Ike.”
“I don’t know if any of us are ever gonna be alright ever again,” Ike said. He pulled out his phone and sent a text message to Gerald:
3493 Tabernacle Road.
Mathews Va.
8pm
He put the phone away.
“All I know is, no matter what happens tonight, we putting them boys in the ground. All of them,” Ike said.
“Ike,” Buddy Lee said.
“Yeah?”
“I wish we had met at the wedding. I wish both of us had been there.”
“My grandmother used to say if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. But I hear what you saying. I wish we had, too,” Ike said.
“Well, I’m gonna get some sleep. We had a long day. I’d say we committed at least fifteen felonies,” Buddy Lee said.