large sums of cash to Mexico.
Now he was no longer afraid of the men who had tried to collect his gambling debts. He was afraid of Powell and Powell’s boss. He was being asked to make more and more frequent flights. Between the flights and his schedule at the hospital, he was never home. He was always fatigued, unable to enjoy time with his friends or family. He was worried that he would be caught. He began to see how foolish he had been.
He went to seek help from the man who had always been his best friend. Julian said that no matter what happened, he would always stand by him.
“And I will,” Julian said when Gene reached this part of the story.
“And I’ll always stand by Sam,” Bret said, because he knew his friend was feeling bewildered and ashamed.
Julian smiled at Bret. Gene began weeping again.
“Very fucking touching,” Powell said, “but you ain’t finished.”
Julian had suggested he take some time off, Gene said. Julian had seen that Gene was exhausted, not able to think clearly. It was a complex problem. They could spend some time talking things over once Gene got some rest.
So they planned the fishing trip, and as the day grew closer Gene found himself excited at the prospect of spending time with his friend and their sons. He worked a long shift at the hospital, trying to make sure everything would go smoothly while he was gone for the week. Then his pager went off; the code on it signified a call from Powell. It meant Powell wanted a flight.
Gene drove up to Lake Isabella, to the airport, but as he sat in the plane, weary in more ways than one, he changed his mind. He shut down the engines and was going to leave the money on the plane, but he realized his “false start” had attracted some attention. He took the money, put it in his car, and drove to Powell’s house. He planned to tell Powell that he wanted out but Powell wasn’t home. He tried calling him but only reached the answering machine. He left a message, saying he hadn’t gone on the flight, that he needed to talk to Powell. He headed back to Bakersfield, but began to feel afraid and confused, unsure of what to do.
“Forget all the excuses,” Powell said. “You did a dumb-ass thing.”
As he drove, Gene said, he decided he didn’t like the idea of having this kind of money near his family, where someone might hurt them in order to take it.
Powell laughed over that.
“I decided not to take the money home,” Gene said. “But I was more than halfway to Bakersfield and too tired to drive all the way back to Lake Isabella and wait for Powell, so I pulled off at the side of the road and buried the money.”
“I go to this plane,” Powell said, “thinking maybe he’s left the money there. And what do I find, huh? What do I find?”
“An empty plane,” Gene said. “But—”
“Fuckin’ A, an empty plane!” Powell started pacing.
“I called you again when I got home and told you where I’d left the money!” Gene said.
“Not so’s I could find it.”
“I didn’t know!” Gene said. “Would I be driving toward your house if I thought you hadn’t found the money? Would I have my children in the car with me? I wasn’t trying to escape!”
“Shut up!” Powell raged. “I ain’t stupid! You fucked up!”
He began pacing again.
As time went on, Powell became more restless. The tempo of his pacing increased. He said it was taking too long for the boss to get there. Something was wrong. Maybe Gene had never hidden any money there after all. In time he convinced himself that Gene had set a trap.
That’s when the killing began. He cut the men loose, but he didn’t give them a real chance to fight. They had been tied up for hours by then, and the circulation had gone out of their hands and feet. And each time Powell inflicted a wound, he became more excited, more frenzied.
Julian died first, then Gene. The boys were screaming. Powell turned on them. He dropped the knife and shook them, but still they screamed. He picked up a piece of pipe, was going to hit Bret with it. But at the last minute Sam shielded Bret, who was smaller. That was how Sam’s arm was broken.
Sam yelled, “You promised the policeman you wouldn’t hurt us!”
Powell stopped then, as quickly as he had begun. He looked around the room in surprise, as if a stranger had done this terrible work. He hurriedly mounted the stairs, closed the basement door. Faintly they heard the sliding metal door open. They did not hear it close.
The boys screamed for help until they were hoarse.
The lantern batteries, already weak by the time Powell left, dimmed rapidly; the room grew darker and darker, until it was pitch black.
The boys held on to one another.
They settled into a state that was almost like being asleep, dreamlike and distant, only Sam’s occasional moan of pain bringing Bret back to the present. They did not know how much time had passed when the basement door opened and a flashlight shone into the dark. They stayed silent.
“Powell?”
The policeman.
The chains made a rattling sound. They were both shaking.
The light glanced onto the floor and then into their faces. They were too exhausted from standing on their feet for hours in the heavy chains to raise their hands to shield their eyes from the light.
