the remote. You press down on that button, the van blows, right then. That’s why I’ve made a little box for the remote, with foam all around it, so even if the thing falls off the dashboard when you’re driving into town, you’re not going to blow yourself up. But once it’s out of the box, it’s very sensitive.”
“I’m not stupid,” Dougie said. “I just forget things once in a while. But that don’t make me dumb. I’ve even been writin’ some of this stuff down, so I won’t forget any of it. Mom’s idea.”
“He’ll be okay, Timmy,” Wendell said. “I’ll be driving in after him, if he has any problems, I can help him out.”
I couldn’t see Timmy, but I could sense him mulling it over. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lawrence’s arm moving. He tapped me lightly, motioned me toward him.
He put his mouth right up to my ear. “A lone wolf,” he whispered.
I looked around, expecting to see a large, dog-like creature sneaking up on me.
“No no,” Lawrence said. “It’s an FBI term. A lone terrorist. Timmy’s out to make a statement of his own. Not part of a larger group.”
“A lone wolf with family support,” I whispered back.
“We have to get help, do something right away. We need everybody. Forget Orville. I’m talking the feds. Now.”
I nodded. Then Lawrence did a series of motions-pointing to himself, then pointing around the barn, then pointing at me, and finally, pointing at the ground. I thought I got the message. He wanted to get a peek inside the barn from the other side, and I was to stay put.
As he crept away, I put my eye back to the crack and heard Wendell say, “I’m starving.”
“When’s Mom coming with sandwiches?”
Jesus. I didn’t figure Lawrence had heard that. He was on the move, slipping around the corner of the barn. Timmy and the boys were expecting a visit from Charlene, any moment now.
“She’ll be out soon enough,” Timmy said.
“I hope she doesn’t put cheese on mine,” Dougie said. “I think I forgot to ask.”
Wendell said, “Jesus, she’s only been making you sandwiches for twenty years. I think she knows you don’t like cheese on ham, even if the rest of the entire fucking world does.”
I took a step, thinking that maybe I should go after Lawrence, but then thought, Lawrence was no fool. He had to know something like that was possible. One of the men in the barn could decide to head back to the farmhouse, the dogs might get let out. Any number of things could happen. He might-
Through the crack, I saw guns.
Big guns. Long ones.
Wendell was standing next to Dougie, at the back of the van, each holding a shotgun of some kind. I’ve never, and still don’t, know much about guns, even though I’d fired a couple in recent years, even shot a man in the leg not that long ago, but guns are not my thing. I don’t like them, I don’t own them. A gun in our house, if I were the incompetent wielding it, would undoubtedly put my family at greater risk, not less.
But even though I didn’t know much about guns, I thought I recognized the weapon in the hands of those young men. Pump action shotguns. With double barrels.
Bad bad guns.
Maybe, by now, Lawrence had staked out a new position on another side of the barn, and had peered through a crack and seen these guns.
An image of Dick Tracy flashed in my mind. If only Lawrence and I had two-way wrist radios. Cell phones that could text message would have done the trick.
I couldn’t stay put. I had to join Lawrence.
I moved up to the corner of the barn he’d disappeared around, stuck my head around it, let my eyes adjust. Crossing along that side, he would have scooted past the big barn door, which had been pulled shut about ninety percent of the way. There was no Lawrence. So he must have gone around the next corner, and was peering in from the opposite side.
From this vantage point, I could see the farmhouse, and as I started to make my move to the next corner, the back door of the house swung open, and out stepped Charlene, a tray in her hands.
The sandwiches were on their way.
I couldn’t go around the barn that way without being seen by Charlene, so I doubled back to the other corner, all the while aware of the murmurings of Timmy and Wendell and Dougie inside. I peered around it, and again, no sign of Lawrence. Which only left one side of the barn for him to be on.
I tiptoed through the tall grass, sidestepped a rusting plough blade from God knew how many decades ago, and when I reached the end of the wall, tipped my head beyond the edge.
No Lawrence.
Pressing myself up close to the barn, I moved along the wall, wondering what could have happened to him. He couldn’t have gone the other way. That would have exposed him to the house, and Charlene the Sandwich Lady.
The ground was built up on this side, and I realized it was a ramp leading to the upper part of the barn. My eye followed the ramp up to a narrow opening, a door that was only slightly ajar.
Lawrence had gone into the barn. What the hell was Lawrence doing in the-
“Okay, nobody move!”
Oh shit.
I ran up the ramp, squeezed in the doorway, my shoes kicking old hay and stones out of the way. Once in, I found that this upper level of the barn afforded a view into the lower area, where the Wickens crew had been occupied with the white van. And down there, I could see Lawrence, doing the cop stance, both hands on his gun, barking commands at Timmy and Wendell and Dougie.
“Put the guns down,” Lawrence said.
“The fuck?” said Wendell.
“Jesus,
“I know, Dougie,” said Timmy. “I talked to him. Remember?”
So Lawrence had snuck in from above and gotten the drop on them. I sure hoped he had a plan for subduing the three of them. Was he carrying several sets of handcuffs I didn’t know about? And if not, where was my friend Trixie when you really needed her?
And where, exactly, was Charlene?
She should have been to the barn by now. It wasn’t a long walk. Which meant she must have been almost to the barn with her tray of sandwiches when she heard Lawrence’s voice, and knew there was trouble inside. So where had she gone? Was she running back to the farmhouse? Going for help?
What to do? Shout to Lawrence? But would that distract him, give the others a chance to get the jump on him? Maybe if-
“Drop it.”
Off to Lawrence’s left, standing in the narrow opening of the big barn door, stood Charlene, a long-barreled gun in hand, a goddamn six-shooter it looked like from my hiding spot up in the barn, pointed straight at Lawrence’s head.
Fucking Ma Barker.
32
NO ONE MOVED.
Not Wendell or Dougie. Not Lawrence. Not Charlene. Lawrence had his gun aimed at the three men, who were clustered together at the back of the van, and had, I could see from my hiding spot, put down their weapons. But Charlene Wickens had her gun firmly in her grip, and it was trained on Lawrence.
“Put your gun away, Mrs. Wickens,” Lawrence said evenly. “Drop it.”
“I don’t think so, boy,” she said. She practically spat out the last word.
