Period 8 - By Chris Crutcher Page 0,62
running for the hitch and Justin for the wheel. In seconds the boat is floating and the engine roars to life.
Paulie is still pulling himself in when Justin hits the gas and turns in a tight circle for the ski float. Justin flips on the running lights, but with no headlight, there is nothing to show the way.
“Your stepdad gonna be okay?” Paulie hollers over the engine and wind.
“Hell yeah,” Justin hollers back. “He’ll tell ’em war stories. If they don’t like those, he’ll give them some to tell.”
Paulie peers into the watery darkness. “A little to the right, I think. Slow down, we don’t want to crash into it.”
“Hard to see,” Justin says, squinting, then, “There!” He guns the engine a little, then cuts it, coasting toward the small wooden platform.
On it lies a still form.
Hannah turns restlessly in her bed. She keeps her phone in her hand, speed-dialing Paulie’s number every five or ten minutes, calls that go straight to voicemail. A tapping below her second-floor window causes her to get up, peer into the darkness. Nothing. Paulie used to come by late every once in a while and throw pebbles at her window. She would sneak out and they would park down the block. She’d give anything . . .
Kylie’s in danger. How in the world would Mary Wells know that? Who in the hell is Mary Wells?
She hears a rustling outside again, pads back to the window, and looks out wistfully. She knows it’s nothing, either the wind or a cat. But she wishes. . . .
“What’re y’all doing up here so late?” Landry Faulk stands facing seven men, none eager to test his willingness to use the forty-five dangling loosely in his hand, and none knowing how much he knows.
“We had an investment group meeting tonight,” Rick Praeger says. “We were meeting at the LDS church and we decided to have a drink.” He smiles. “Obviously we couldn’t have it there, and The Lantern was closed. So we just came up here.”
“Be more than happy to have a drink with you,” Landry says. “Who’s pourin’?”
The men steal uneasy glances at one another.
“Lordy,” Landry says, “somebody forgot to bring the booze?” He pushes his baseball cap back with the forty-five. “Which one of you is Rankin?”
The men once again glance uneasily at one another. Praeger says, “Who’s Rankin?”
“The guy who brought you up here,” Landry says. “One of you him?”
“He got called away.”
Landry nods. “Those two boys are coming back in a minute with a man who might be pretty sick. That won’t mess up your party, will it? Any a’ y’all have a problem with me takin’ ’em all out of here right quick?”
“I don’t know what you think is going on,” another man says, “but nothing illegal’s taking place here.”
“What I think doesn’t matter,” Landry says back. “I know three or four of ya, and I’d recognize all y’all in a lineup, which we all know would never happen ’cause nothin’ illegal’s goin’ on.”
“He’s breathing!” Paulie yells. “Help me get him in the boat.” He grabs Logs under the arms and drags him to the edge of the float. Justin stands in the boat with the open blanket while Paulie tips Logs in, then jumps in beside him, wraps him up tight, rubbing briskly. “Come on, Logs. Come on! ” He yells to Justin, “Go!”
And Justin hits the throttle.
Landry hears the roar of the boat engine speeding toward him, looks to the top of the hill to see flashing red and blue lights, followed by sirens.
“Be damned,” he says. “Look who’s here. Any you guys feelin’ like a ‘person of interest’?”
Several men break for the trees and Landry laughs, turning to see the boat emerging out of the darkness.
“Dad! He’s breathing, but he’s out!”
“Paramedics comin’ right atcha,” Landry yells. “Stay in the boat with him!”
The EMTs back their vehicle toward the loading dock at Landry’s direction, and in seconds two of them wheel a gurney toward the boat.
The men who didn’t run stand wide-eyed in bright lights as state and county police take names and demand IDs. Three cops dash into the woods after the runners.
Paulie steps behind one of the EMT trucks, then slips away to the Beetle, reaches under the seat for his keys, starts the engine, and follows the wailing siren.
Nearly two hours later Paulie leaves the hospital hugely relieved. Logs will make it: he’s unconscious, but his vitals are good. Paulie reaches for his iPhone, remembers he doesn’t have it.