The Invisible Hand - A crime novel

Chapter 128

        

Les's beefy toadies barrel in like stampeding cattle. Anything in the way is plowed to the side. Furniture. Lamps. Tables. Books. Corpses.

Sam, Beth and I back up in reaction. Intersect in the living room. Get sandwiched between human haybales on either side.

The room goes silent. Stays that way until the creak of a wobbly wheelchair rusts the fragile air. The crowd in the kitchen parts. Reveals a deadly pale Les. Wears a wool blanket over his lap.

"Some weather we're having," Les says. Voice is cracked, slow and low. Painkillers. Lots of them.

"How's the crotch?" I say.

"Fuck you," Les says. Scowls.

"I'd say the same to you, but a raccoon already did," Sam says to Les with the kind of evil grin that could light a fire all on its own.

"You're dead tonight, bitch," Les says. Points his steel cane.

"What a coincidence. I was just thinking the same thing. Right before I corkscrewed that penis up inside you. It's still there, isn't it?" Sam says.

Les's eyes sag as he barks back. It's too unintelligible to make out. A couple of his goons raise an eyebrow.

Sam seems to get it, though. Trains the revolver on Les's chest.

"Your guys can kill me. But you're going to hell with them," Sam says. "Unless you feel like running away while you still can. Excuse me. Wheeling away."

I listen to Beth breathe beside me. Still cool as the breeze. Steady. Wish I could say the same. I don't share Sam's attitude about death. Wish this shotgun wasn't a single-shot.

"This is going to feel good," Les says. Turns to his latest sergeant-at-arms. "Shoot all three of them. But don't quite kill them. I want to personally beat the last breath out of each one."

Les aims his cane at Sam's face. Then mine.

I feel my face making that "seriously?" expression. It's only fitting. The prairie howl outside sounds like a long oil train out of the Bakken. It'll sweep me up after they kill me. Provide a proper burial under the snow.

My mind shifts back to that day at the grain bin. Instead of guilt, instead of panic, instead of fear, I feel peace. There's comfort in the strong cradle of compression forming around my chest. Almost cathartic to feel the weight of the grain crush me.

I exit my thoughts. Return to reality. Only a second's gone by. Everyone in the room is still poised, guns ready.

That's when the phone on the kitchen wall rings. I don't think Les would've picked up had Beth not flinched at the sound.

"Who the hell is this?" Les says as forcefully as someone on painkillers can into the phone.

Les listens. His pale face turns from irritated to stoic. Holds the phone up for the room to hear.

"Thank you for showing up, everyone," a metallic voice says from the phone.

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