An Incidental Reckoning (8 page)

Jim swung the gun away from Will and pointed it at him.

“He’s in the stream. Back there. I’ll show you if you want,” Jon said, trying to keep his voice steady and failing. He knew he would beg if it came to it and worry about whatever shame that brought at some future point.

Jim stared hard at him, and finally let the gun drop.

“All right, show me. But first we need to take care of the Amish, here.”

Jim crouched down next to Isaiah, who was staring at his hands. Blood had crusted on his face, and Jon could see a goose egg on the side of his head near his temple. He looked alert enough now and didn’t seem that he’d suffer any permanent damage.

“Can you hear me? Do you understand English?”

They boy didn’t look at him but nodded. Jon felt sorry for making fun of them earlier, the Amish. Sitting on the ground and bleeding, he looked just like any other scared kid.

“I’m going to let you go. I left your buggy about a mile up the road. Damn horse stopped and I couldn’t get him going again.”

Jon thought he caught a small smirk on the boy’s face, and nearly giggled. He looked over at Will, still on the ground with his hands on his head, but looking out towards the stream.
The gun
, Jon thought. He prayed Will wouldn’t try to get it, certain that Jim would shoot him dead before he even got close. But was that better than waiting to see what he planned to do with them both?

Jim continued talking to the boy. He put a hand on his shoulder, and then removed the hat from his own head and handed it to Isaiah. “But here’s the thing. You’re going to forget about anything you saw here. Me, these guys, and the big guy too. You’re going to go find your buggy and when you get home, you tell them the truth, that someone beat you up. But that’s it. You’re supposed to forgive those who trespass against you, right?”

The boy stared sullenly at the ground. Jim gave him a little shake, his hand still firmly on his shoulder. “Right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You do that. No here’s where it gets tricky. If anyone asks, you didn’t get a good look at whoever did it. Nothing about motorcycles and buggy rides. And when you talk to God about that little fib, you tell him to put it on my tab, all right?”

Jon watched, noting the posture and demeanor of Jim, like a father addressing his son, that to an outside observer could easily be mistaken for tenderness. But Jim exuded a quiet menace that troubled him more than Chris for all of his size and ferocity; Chris was brute force all up front, Jimbo was cunning and hurt coiled up and waiting just under his skin.

“Okay, that’s it. Except one more thing and this is most important. I suppose you have some brothers, sisters. Most of you people got big families, I think. So if you don’t listen, and go talking about what happened here, I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll find your little brother or sister, and they will be punished for your sins. I’m not joking about that, Isaiah. So you think about what concerns God more – you telling a little lie, or something bad happening to one of them. And I do mean bad. Are we clear here?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, put her there and we’ll shake on it. Go on, not letting you go until we seal it.”

Isaiah slowly took Jim’s hand, and then turned and looked him in the eye, holding his gaze with a stony expression.

“I can see you’re angry. I don’t blame you. And that’s one of the reasons I’m not threatening you, cause I’m not sure which way it would go. I can admire that, but there’s a lot at stake here. So you think about what I said. Maybe you don’t have a little brother or sister, but an older one, a cousin, your mama…any of those will do. And now that we shook on it, I’m taking that as your word. Now get up and go. You ain’t hurt bad, you’ll heal, and this will all be a memory soon. Hurt your pride more than anything else. But pride goeth before the fall, as the Good Book says, so you might need to tell God about that, too. Go.”

Isaiah stood up and gently placed his hat back on his head. He swayed and Jon stepped forward instinctively to catch him.

“You stay put,” Jim said, and pointed the gun at him. “He’s fine, and if he ain’t his own people will take care of him. We can get to our business, soon as he goes.”

The Amish boy turned and looked at Jon, and he believed he read an expression of apology before Isaiah turned and walked through the campground towards the exit, stopping several times and putting his hands to his head before resuming. When he had reached the highway, Jim turned his attention to Will.

“Now what did you find so interesting over there?” He walked beyond Will towards the stream and came to the gun. He looked down at it for several seconds before crouching down to retrieve it, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. He sprung the magazine and looked inside, then pushed it back into the grip, and finally tucked it into his pants.

“This doesn’t belong to Chris. Sure getting interesting. All right, now you show me where he is.”

He motioned for Will to get up, and he came abreast of Jon and they walked together towards the stream. Jon hoped that somehow the body had floated further downstream on its own, but he doubted that could happen with the shallowness of the water. And anyway if the body wasn’t there, it would amount to a lie in Jim’s eyes. Either way, he didn’t see any happy ending. Maybe they should both try to run, each darting a different way. One of them at least had a chance. But he had no way to signal Will, or find out if he would agree to the plan…and he especially didn’t want to be shot. For his part, Will only stared straight ahead and gave no indication as to his thoughts. And then they had reached the bank of the stream.

“Down there,” Will said.

Jim stopped behind them. “I want you two to climb down there so I can see all of you at once. You try to run, I guarantee one of you will die, but more likely both of you.”

Will went first and Jon came down behind, sliding on the slick and exposed dirt from their previous climb up the bank, and splashed into the water, the corpse bobbing up and down in the waves they created. Jon turned around so he wouldn’t have to look at the dead man. He stood nearly knee deep in the cold water. He caught Jim’s perplexed expression as he looked beyond them at Chris.

“Well I’ll be. Getting more interesting by the minute. Come on back up here, both of you and let's talk.”

They clambered back out of the stream and had nearly reached the top, when Jim said, “Shit. A ranger. Get back down. Either of you says anything, I’ll kill him, and then at least one of you. And the other can live out his life knowing he was responsible for three deaths today. And be quiet.”

They obediently crawled back down. Jon’s thigh still hurt, and he also felt a throb in his hand, looked down at the four small puncture wounds where the snake had bit him, had forgotten all about it, seemed so trivial now. He assumed it wasn’t venomous or he’d be in bad shape, wondered what else he could get from a snake bite. Probably a flesh-eating bacteria, which would fit right in with the direction things had gone today.

They heard the sound of a vehicle door slam, and then Jim said, “Hello, sir. Something I can help you with?”

“Evening. I found an Amish kid walking down the road, said he was harassed by a couple of guys just a little while ago near the park. When he tried to leave they attacked him. He didn’t know any car models, but said theirs was green. Did you happen to see anything?”

“No, I didn’t. Wish I had, so I could have helped him out. Is he going to be okay?”

"I think so. But he didn't even want me to call the police. It burns me that someone would do that. They're good people, just want to be left alone."

Jon could hear everything said clearly, figured that if the ranger took a few steps forward he would see him and Will and Chris. He knew that the state park rangers carried sidearms, but doubted that in the time it took the man to process what he saw and then react he would still be breathing. He looked at Will and caught him shivering, and only now realized that his own legs had started to lose feeling.

"I agree. As a biker, I understand how people ostracize what they don't understand. But I guess in our case, we're not the sort of people you want to attack. Maybe they ought to start painting flames on those buggies and getting tattoos."

Jim laughed, and the ranger chuckled reluctantly along with him, but then his tone grew serious.

"Say, I actually came around here to talk to those guys over at site 13. They're the only ones I have registered to camp. Do you plan on staying the night? Need to pay for it if you do. And I saw two motorcycles but I only see you. Everything all right?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. My friend took a little walk on the trail over there. Loves nature. Me, I'm not a fan of bugs and snakes, so I told him I'd wait right here. We're not staying, just pulled over for a rest, be heading on to a buddy's place in Altoona in a bit."

"Well, this area is for camping only. We have some picnic tables and a pavilion down that way for day use. But since we aren't busy, I'll let you slide this time, as long as you don't stay the night. Have you seen those two at all? I'd like to ask them if they know anything about the Amish boy."

"Nope, I haven't. But we just got here maybe a half hour ago. Could be they went hiking ahead of Chris...that's the guy I'm riding with. If I see them before we leave, I'll be sure to ask them. Did he say what they looked like? These guys that beat him up? Maybe my friend and I could have a little chat with them, if we would happen to catch them on the road."

"No, said that he kept his head down, trying not to provoke them and then covered up when they started to hit him. I got the feeling that he knew more than he let on, but nothing I could do. His horse got spooked, too, and ran a ways down the road. I should tell you that it's best the police handled this...but if you do happen to have that 'chat', say a few words for me, okay? Off the record."

"Will do, sir. And I promise we'll be gone in a few hours, tops. I'd actually have preferred not to stop, not crazy about riding in the dark. But Chris insisted we pull over and stretch our legs."

"Okay, well drive...or ride careful then. Thanks for your help."

"Wish I could do more. Take care."

Will heard the door close and the vehicle pull away, until the sound of it faded, leaving only the stream's constant babble and Jon's chattering teeth in its place. Jim appeared at the top of the embankment and signaled for them to come up. They stumbled and slid their way up the now muddy bank, growing worse with each passage. Jon pushed with legs he could no longer rely on. At the top he collapsed on the ground, unable to stand. Will tumbled down next to him. Jim looked on bemused.

"Okay, right to the point. Can't risk someone else coming in here. Did one of you throw rocks through the window of my car? That's what it said on the invite in my mailbox. You're the only two here, and I couldn't fathom that either of you little girls had the balls to do that...but now Chris is dead and here you are. So tell me... just who the hell
are
you?"

Jon couldn't have spoken if he had wanted to. If he had heard correctly, if he had pieced together what Will had told him, minus the complete mystery of the invitation, the man that stood before him wasn't Jim and his friends did not call him Jimbo. His name was...

"I did it, Brody. And I left the note. He didn't know anything about it. It was all me."

"All 'me' who? How do you know my name?"

"You don't remember us? Tanville High School? You made us fight each other. Will Roup and Jon Albridge."

Brody stared at Will, and then at Jon. Whatever answer he had expected, it wasn't this.
He looks like someone showed him a picture of his grandmother naked
, Jon thought, biting his cheek to keep from laughing. He knew it was hysteria edging in to take the controls and refused to allow it. Not now.

"What? Are you...kidding me? Is that what this was all about? You and him? You're...
those
guys?" He began to say something else, but he trailed off, and sat down hard on the ground facing them. He put a hand to his head and ran it through his hair. And then he laughed. Once begun it rolled out of him. Tears ran down his cheeks. “You guys…YOU guys,” he managed to say while gathering more air to fuel the laughter.

Jon supposed, in a way, it might be funny. Could be, if they hadn’t killed a man. His nervous hand had found a rock when he sat down, embedded in the soil. Carefully, he had worked at it, digging his fingers under the edges and wiggling it back and forth and finally it had come free. A rock the size of his fist. He discretely closed his hand around it, felt a connection with the hard mass that was such an apt metaphor for the anger building in his heart, and in almost a lazy motion, as Brody continued to laugh, cocked his arm and loosed it.