They bumped back onto the road. Taylorturned on the CD player and punched the button for Lifehouse.
* * * * *
It was closing time at the liquor store inMist Bend, but there were two other customers wandering the aisles,and Taylor had the impression the elderly man behind the counterwas not sorry to see him and Grant enter the store.
“Evening,” Taylor nodded.
“Five minutes, boys,” the old man said. Helooked uneasily at the two long-haired men in camo and sunglasses,holding a low-voiced conference in front of the shelves ofBushmills and Jamieson.
Taylor gave the men a considering look — andrecognized the yahoos who had got his day off to such a lousystart. The Dooleys.
He glanced at Grant, and Grant’sblack-browed scowl said it all.
No. He really, really, really did not havethe energy for this.
“What’s your dad like to drink?” he askedGrant.
Grant looked at him blankly.
“Beer,” Taylor prodded. “What’s your dad’sfavorite?”
“Kölsch.”
“Kölsch?”
“Yeah. The Occidental Brewing Company inPortland has an agreement with Germany.”
Taylor nodded and proceeded to therefrigeration units in the back, relieved when Grant trailed afterhim.
Taylor studied the racks of bottles. Grantdisappeared but then reappeared with a six-pack of Deschutes RiverAle. Taylor found the Kölsch, grabbed a couple of six-packs, andthey returned to the cashier.
“That be it, folks?” the old man asked,ringing their purchases.
Taylor nodded.
The camo clones had finally noticed them.One of them said, “Hey, it’s the Brandt kid. And that otherguy.”
Taylor said, “Evening, gentlemen.” He handedover a twenty, keeping one eye on Grant and one eye on the Dooleys’reflections in the glass windows. Grant stared unwaveringly at theDooleys.
Taylor took his change. “Grant?”
The Dooleys were whispering to each otherand chortling at some private witticism. Grant’s face turnedred.
Taylor sighed inwardly. He must have beenthis young once, but he couldn’t remember it. He said, “Are yougetting that to go or are we drinking it here?”
Grant looked at him in confusion and thenpaid for the six-pack. By then the Dooleys were inching towardthem. They smelled of tobacco, whisky, and something animal. Goat?Weird, whatever it was.
“Hey, other guy,” the taller and skinnierbrother said. “What’s your name?”
Taylor knew better, of course, but somehowthe words just popped out. “Why?” he asked. “Are you going toinvite me to your birthday party?”
Grant laughed.
The tall, skinny Dooley turned red, at leaston the patch of skin visible to the eye. “You got a smart mouth,mister.”
“I know,” Taylor said. “I keep signing upfor self-help courses, but then I forget to go.”
The second Dooley, shorter and squatter andbrowner than the first, took a couple of steps forward like arottweiler trying to decide whether to charge. He swung hisattention to Grant.
“Kid, you better tell your daddy Jem islooking for him.”
Grant retorted, “He can’t be looking veryhard then.”
Dooley’s head went back as though Grant hadpunched him. For the first time Taylor understood the instinct thathad Will wanting to clap a hand over his mouth and drag him awayfrom trouble. His scalp tingled, and he wondered if his hair wasstanding on end.
He pulled open the glass door, which jingledmerrily, nodded to Grant, who sauntered unhurriedly out, nodded tothe man behind the counter, and nodded — levelly — to the Dooleyswho were glaring after Grant.
They stowed the beer in the back of the SUV.The Dooleys were at the counter buying cigarettes and booze asTaylor sped out of the parking lot. “How many Dooleys are there?”he asked.
“Four. Not counting their mother.”
“Are you sure you shouldn’t count her?”Taylor watched his rearview mirror, but the road behind them wasempty. “So neither of those two was Jem, I’m guessing?”
“No. Jem is bigger. A lot bigger. And he hasthese weird tattoos all over his face. Or he used to. They kind ofmake him look like a skeleton. Or maybe a wolf.”
“Does he have a beard as well?”
“He didn’t use to.”
Taylor turned this information over as theydrove out of town and started up the winding road leading back tothe cabin in the woods.
No one resembling Jem had been in the truckthat morning. Not unless Jem had seriously altered his appearance.As far as Taylor knew, there was no way of getting rid of tattooslike the ones Grant described.
“How long has Jem Dooley been out ofprison?” Taylor asked Grant, breaking the silence of the last fewmiles.
“A week or so I guess.”
“But he hasn’t made any effort to contactyour dad?”
Grant shrugged.
Maybe Bill was right. Maybe there wasn’t areal threat here. Maybe there was just a lot of blustering andposturing.
Or…maybe not.
A pair of headlights that had beenmeandering miles back on the road behind them suddenly blazed intothe back window of the SUV.
“What the hell…” Taylor pressed the gas, andthe Land Cruiser sprang forward.
Grant half-turned in his seat. “They’restill right on your ass.”
“Are you buckled?”
Grant fumbled with his seatbelt.
Taylor floored it and the SUV raced ahead,tires squealing as they whipped around a sharp curve in the road.The lights behind them fell back but then loomed large again.
“Shit, man.” Grant sounded disbelieving. “Ithink they’re going to ram us!”
Taylor swore. The Land Cruiser had thehorsepower but he couldn’t risk going any faster than he alreadywas. Even if he had been familiar with this route, this road withits hairpin turns and sudden dips wasn’t made for speeding.
The Land Cruiser’s headlights picked out theblack outlines of tree trunks like motionless sentinels as theyflew past.
“Is there anywhere I can pull over?”
There was a bang as the truck rammed theirbumper and the Land Cruiser bounced forward and skidded. It was aheavy vehicle though, and Taylor was able to maintain course.Barely.
“Shit,” Grant warned. “Here they comeagain.”
There was another bang, and the Land Cruiserflew forward, fishtailing slightly. Taylor fought for control. Ifthey went into a skid on this road, they were finished. They’d beover the edge and down the mountainside.
“Grant, is there a place coming up where Ican pull over?”
“They almost went over the side that time,”Grant reported.
“Is there a place I can turn off?” Taylorrepeated. “Grant?”
“There’s the Sawmill Road turnoff. It’sabout another mile on the right.”
Another mile. God. Every second felt like aneternity.
Taylor risked it and punched the gas. TheLand Cruiser shot ahead once more,
