“Sam,” I said.
He almost jumped as I put my hand on his shoulder, but at least he was looking at me now and not at that blade. “For too many people that knife was probably the last thing they ever saw. It’s dirty, let it go.”
Sam stared at me for a few seconds, and then he used his shirt to wipe the hilt and tossed the knife into the trees. He handed Karl’s box to me, scooped up Little Moe, and we walked to the road.
Chapter 59
Elaine rolled up as soon as we hit blacktop. Her head barely came over the steering wheel of the big sedan. “Is it done?” she asked as we pulled out. “Is it all over?”
I wasn’t about to admit a thing, but Sam chirped, “He no longer exists. He’ll never trouble us again.”
Elaine floored it as we pulled out, and I didn’t mind that she was in a hurry to get away from there. The Lincoln took the first sweeping downhill curve, and as we came out of it I caught a glimpse of something long and metallic glinting across the road in the moonlight. We ran over whatever it was before anyone could give warning, and all four tires blew out simultaneously with loud coughing sighs.
Elaine yodeled a blue streak as her tiny hands wrestled with the steering wheel. The car shuddered along on rims and ragged rubber, bucking and swerving like we were riding out a 9.0 earthquake until we finally came to a stop.
Behind us a spike strip – one of those portable road blocks favored by para-military and police around the world – lay across the road. It was placed right at the start of the straightaway so we hadn’t seen it before it was too late; its many sharp hollow metal teeth glinted in the moonlight. A little ways down a driveway, the red strobes of a cop car torched up into fluorescence and began spinning.
“He’s dead, Officer Hoffman,” I called to the man standing next to the police cruiser. “You can be free now, like we talked about. You can be your own man, just like you wanted.”
“I told you before to call me Rick,” he said in reflex.
Then my words registered: “Dead?” he asked, favoring me with that vapid glance-away smile of his. But for all his roving gaze the riot gun was still firmly in his grasp, pressed snug to his shoulder and aimed right at us.
“I get to be the Driver now,” he said to himself in wonder. “I can be as big as the Chief ever was. I’m the one now. I don’t have to be you after all. I don’t even have to like you anymore.” He seemed to ripple; he seemed to grow several inches in height.
A gamut of emotions writhed across Hoffman’s face at the news of his ‘friend’s’ demise: joy and relief and hatred. Then the rapid succession of expressions stopped as he settled on one: a grimace of glee. Throughout, however, the shotgun never wavered.
He looked me right in the eye for the first time in our acquaintance. “Did the Cougar get messed up? Is everything in the house still okay?”
“Rick,” I said, knowing it was a waste of time even as I spoke. “It’s over. We can all go home now.”
“Oh, no,” Hoffman said. “We're going back up there. To the Chief’s.”
“I wanted to be you,” he said. “But now you’re the one that’s nothing. I’m the Driver from now on.”
“Rick, I am impressed,” I said, and meant it. “I had your skill levels pegged as sub-par, your antennae a little stubby. I was going to advise you to ramp it up a little next time. But you played us all. Kudos, you won – let it go now.”
Hoffman giggled at my stupidity, but then an appalled expression crossed his face. “Is the Chief really dead? Did you make sure?”
“I saw your graduation portrait in the living room, Rick,” I said, trying to change the subject to matters closer to sane, trying to help him continue pretending to be human. “Just how chummy were you and the Chief?”
But Hoffman just looked at me blankly. My words didn’t really involve him so he didn’t have to pretend he was even listening.
“I finally figured out why Stagger Bay protected the Driver when I saw all those AIDS medications at his house,” I continued, still trying to engage. “It’d cost a fortune to keep him in custody, a guy as advanced as that; maybe it’d even bankrupt Stagger Bay the rest of the way. Was that part of why Reese killed my brother? Because of the money justice would cost?”
“Justice?” he said. “Reese only killed people who wouldn’t be missed. He was always safe with them. He never left evidence or room for suspicion.”
“And the Chief?” he said in adoring tones like he still couldn’t make up his mind how he felt about his dead master. “He did as he wished. You can’t judge him like you do the sheep.”
“What about the Beardsleys, Rick?” I asked. “Were they the right kind of people? What about all the Citizens you’ve killed?”
“Oh, them. The Beardsleys weren’t real Stagger Bay; they’d only lived here ten years. They were newcomers, like you – like your brother,” Hoffman said, his gaze gloating as he studied my face. “And as for the others? We had permission – they deserved to play with me and the Chief.”
“Who gave you permission?” I asked.
“Get out your vehicle.”
Sam and I did so, leaving Elaine and Little Moe in the car. We rounded the Lincoln, fanning out from each other as we rolled up on Hoffman from opposite sides. Sam had Jansen’s Glock in his right hand, held down along his leg and out of Rick’s sight.
“Ah-ah,” Hoffman said. “Close enough.” He didn’t point the riot gun at either of us; instead he aimed it dead between us at Elaine and Little Moe.
Sam and I both stopped cold. I was still just outside of striking distance, and Sam was smart enough not to display the Glock till it was time to use it. I was ever so grateful then, that Karl had schooled my son after all instead of just letting him raise himself.
Hoffman took one hand off the shotgun and reached over to open the back door of his roller. He tossed a couple pairs of handcuffs on the asphalt in front of us. “You two put these on first.”
“So what happens up at the house?” I asked.
“You’ll find out soon enough, Markus.”
Desperate, I lunged in as quick as my gimp leg would allow, hands outstretched. But he was just leaned forward with the riot gun’s butt shouldered. The shotgun’s barrel jabbed against my forehead and I stopped, still out of reach.
I stood for a moment with my hands out-stretched uselessly, the riot gun firmly planted against my skull. Hoffman laughed softly as I lowered my arms to my sides.
I leaned forward against the barrel, pushing with my legs. He tried to back off but I didn’t let him; I moved forward, following him and keeping the riot gun barrel firmly against my forehead. He couldn’t pull it away without taking the butt from his shoulder, without having to stop aiming the shotgun at us for a fatal second.
I heard Elaine and Little Moe exit the car and run into the underbrush.
“Go ahead,” I told Reese. “I’ll bet in the time it takes you to blow my head off, my son will stick that scatter gun up your ass sideways. Go ahead motherfucker – I even know what it’ll feel like.”
“Don’t do it, Dad,” Sam said. “Not like this. I still need you.”
“You called me Dad.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
I pulled away from the riot gun and Hoffman scampered back out of reach. “I’m the one with the shotgun,” he shouted, eyes crazed. “I’m the one in charge.”
“You might want to shut the fuck up,” I said. “Me and my boy are having a moment here.” I turned back to him, though. “You’re fooling yourself if you really think you could ever be the Driver. You really want to reassess here, it’s not too late. You could never fill those shoes – you need someone over you to shield you; you’re not strong enough to go it alone.”
He scowled as if considering whether to feel insulted or not. But then he stopped trying to pretend he even thought we really existed. “It’s time for that drive, Markus.”
I heard a car engine coming up the incline and Mr. Tubbs’ Bronco chugged into view. They took their time
