The Struggles of Johnny Cannon (27 page)

Which meant that's probably where Rudy was taking Tammy Jane. Or, at least, that's where he was headed. We was going to catch him before he got there. I hoped.

“You know, Bob hasn't let go of my pa's hand one time, the whole time he's been in the hospital,” Willie said. “Even when Eddie went in there, I heard one of them nurses say he kept on holding on. Ain't that something?”

Dadgum Willie. Always trying to find something to take our minds off of things.

“Yeah, it's swell,” I said.

He looked out the window, like he was trying to think.

“Hey, did you see that slick stranger that was waiting in the lobby? That was Mrs. Buttke's son. Flew down from Detroit,” he said. “Must be nice to have that kind of money. Of course, he's apparently the chief of surgery at Henry Ford Hospital, so I reckon he's got money to spare.”

“That's great,” I said.

He looked down for a second. “Hey, I talked to Martha for a bit. She's warming up to you again, I think.”

“Look, Willie—”

“So, I'm thinking we can get Operation Happy Ending going again.”

“Willie—”

“In fact, I'm already coming up with a humdinger for you.”

“Willie!” I said. “Shut up.”

He looked like I slapped him, but he kept quiet. For about five seconds. Then he spied something in the floorboard. A manila envelope.

“Is that it?” he asked. Short-Guy nodded.

“Marge is a miracle worker,” he said. “Even I can't believe how fast she got it.”

I was wondering what they was talking about, but I wasn't all that interested in asking about it, so I went back to watching the road in front of us. We was coming up onto a fork.

“Which way you going to go?” I asked.

Short-Guy looked at the seat next to him. “Let me find this on my map.”

“You don't got to, I can tell you where both ways head,” I said. “To the left you'll go back toward the highway, which is the smart way to go if you're aiming for Birmingham. To the right will take you down to Flood Creek, which ain't the way anybody'd want to go, 'cause it's prone to doing what it's named for, especially this time of year.”

“It floods?” he asked.

“Yup, the whole road goes underwater about five miles from here.”

He headed to the right.

“Wait, what you doing that for?” I asked.

“If he goes to the highway from here, the troopers will get him. But that Corvette trying to drive through water? If he went that way, he's ours for the taking.”

The road was gravel and dirt, and he was driving so fast the rocks was pelting the bottom of his car and making it real loud inside. Which was fine by me, 'cause I reckoned that meant Willie wouldn't try to say nothing else. Of course I was wrong. It just meant he was going to yell.

“It's going to be okay, you know,” he said, real loud. “It's like you was saying before about the Pilgrims and September sixth. Tomorrow's a day of new beginnings. When the sun comes back up, it'll be a new start, and you'll have your baby sister back home, and it's all going to be okay.”

“I ain't so sure about that,” I said. “You know what happened on September sixth, 1901? Leon Czolgosz shot President William McKinley in Buffalo. Assassinated him. So, sometimes September sixth is a day for terrible endings.”

“Well, it's also John Dalton's birthday,” he said. “The father of atomic theory. And you know what he did?”

“Willie,” Short-Guy said. “Shut up.”

He put on the brakes right before we went around a turn in the road, and he pointed on the other side of the trees.

Just through the leaves we could see a cherry-red Corvette. And a dadgum kidnapper that was trying to push it through two feet of water.

Short-Guy turned off the car, dug under the seat next to him, and pulled out a walkie-talkie. He handed it to Willie.

“Radio the others and tell them where we are.”

Short-Guy pulled out his gun, checked to see that it was fully loaded, and quietly opened up his door.

I didn't figure I'd be staying behind, so I opened mine, too.

He shot me a look, but since he was trying to be quiet, he didn't say nothing. He pointed for me to get back in the car.

I shook my head. And he knew I wouldn't budge without a tongue lashing, which he couldn't give right then. So he pointed for me to get right behind him.

Willie started whispering into the walkie-talkie, telling whoever was listening that we was at Flood Creek and that they needed to get their behinds over there as fast as possible, speed limits be darned.

I got in behind Short-Guy and we started sneaking along toward them trees, which would be a real good place to stake out if we was hunting deer. We crept along, crouched down like we was ducking under a low hanging branch or something. As we got closer, I could hear Rudy cussing up a storm while Tammy Jane did her own baby-cussing, squalling in the seat of that car.

Short-Guy didn't notice it, 'cause he ain't a woodsman, but I saw some turkey feathers peeking up out of the tall grass we was headed for.

But I didn't notice it in time.

Short-Guy bumped right into that crazy-headed turkey, which went nuts and started gobbling and turkey-cussing at the both of us. Short-Guy grabbed me and pulled me down next to him, flat on the ground. The turkey went running off to go find a better place to have a nap.

Rudy stopped cussing. Tammy Jane didn't, though.

After a few seconds, Short-Guy peeked over at the car again. He breathed a sigh, held his finger up to his lips, and slowly got back up again. So I got up right behind him.

Rudy was standing with his back to us, still facing the car. But he wasn't pushing it no more. He was just standing there.

Then I noticed his shoulder holster was empty.

Short-Guy took another step.

Rudy spun and fired.

Short-Guy dropped back to the ground, so I dropped right next to him.

Rudy shot another couple of times, hitting the trees next to us and sending chips of bark flying all over us. Then he stopped. I rolled over behind a tree and peeked to see what he was doing.

He'd gone and picked up Tammy Jane, and he'd started running on down the road.

I hurried back over to Short-Guy.

“We got to get going. He's on foot, we can catch him easy.”

He was groaning something fierce. I looked down at his gut. He was clutching his side, but blood was already dripping from his fingertips.

“I have a kit in the car,” he said. “Go get it.”

He didn't have to tell me twice. I jumped up and ran back to the car. Willie was sitting with his back to the front seat, which was actually a pretty smart thing to do since there'd been bullets flying and such.

“I already told them we was in a shooting match over here. They said they're on their way.”

I nodded and reached under the seat. There was a second radio and a first aid kit.

“Short-Guy was hit,” I said. “Bad. C'mon.”

I didn't have to tell him twice, either. He got up and hurried with me. We got over to Short-Guy and he started telling us what to do, which bandages to get out, and all that stuff.

“Hey, remember when I shot you?” Willie said.

“Shut up, for the love of God,” Short-Guy said.

Willie got in there with all that mess and started trying to stop the bleeding. I probably should have helped, but I only had one thing on my mind.

I picked up Short-Guy's gun, put it in the back of my pants, and grabbed the second radio.

“What are you doing?” Short-Guy said.

“Going after him.”

“No!” he said. “You will not do that, do you understand me?”

“He's going to get away,” I said. “And then Tammy Jane'll—” I couldn't finish that sentence.

“We already have men at the warehouse. At all the warehouses. We'll catch him.”

“But what if he throws her down? What if she slips out of his arm? It's going to be dark soon, and then we'd never find her.” I shook my head. “Nope, sorry, I'm going after him.”

“He's had too good of a head start, and there's no way he'll stick to the road.”

“I'm fast. And there ain't nobody that knows these woods like me. It's just like tracking a bobcat. Easy as pie. Plus I'll have this radio, so I can let y'all know where we're at and such.”

He was probably about to say something else, but Willie stuck him with one of the suture needles and distracted him. I thought it was an accident at first, but then Willie shot me our blood brother look, and I knew he'd just opened the door for me.

I took off running.

Short-Guy started shouting, but I ain't never been too good at listening, especially when the folks I love are bad off.

I went down the road, the same way I'd seen Rudy go, and once I'd gone a little ways, I stopped. 'Cause that's what you do when you're tracking something, you have to stop and look around.

Rudy wasn't going to stick to the road, that was pretty clear. But he was in a hurry, which meant he wasn't going to be aiming to trail-blaze either. I spied a path off to the right, which was where I'd go if I was running from the law. So that's where I went.

There was some freshly broke sticks and dirt scuffs over there, about the size as might be made by a man, and I reckoned I was going the right way. Of course, if he was an animal, there'd be some poop nuggets to confirm, but that didn't seem likely in this case. Not impossible, but not likely.

I followed that path, checking for broken branches and other signs that I was still hot on him. I kept going along, and the path turned deeper into the woods. The branches was getting broken more often, which meant he was starting to panic. Which wasn't good, 'cause panicked people holding babies was a pretty bad combination.

I came to a clearing that you could just as easily head off to the left or to the right. The real bad news was, there wasn't no clear signs to show where he went.

But that's where the woods was able to help me.

See, the funny thing about nature is that it likes to keep a good balance in the way things are happening. Especially noise. If you're as quiet as can be, the forest can be as loud as a hi-fi, blasting nature noises all around you. But if you're busting through trees, carrying a squealing baby? Well, then nature decides to shut itself up.

I closed my eyes and listened. To my right, the birds was chirping good night to each other, the bugs was humming as they got ready for the moths to wake up, and there was even some squirrels scurrying around to find them some last-minute nuts. To my left, it was stone-cold silent.

I went left.

After a little bit that way, I caught up to a footpath that had been set up, and from the looks of the mud prints, Rudy'd decided to follow it off to the south. As I kept going, I started hearing the faint sound of Tammy Jane's cry.

I started running along the path.

The path led along to a footbridge, which I could see coming up ahead. The footbridge went over a railroad track.

And, standing right in the middle of that footbridge was Rudy, still holding Tammy Jane. And also still holding his gun.

I dropped and hid behind a rock. I figured I'd give him a few seconds to cross the bridge, then I'd radio Short-Guy with where I was. Wherever it was that I was.

I peeked out again. Rudy hadn't moved.

What in tarnation was he waiting on?

Then I heard it. The train was coming.

But there was no way he was that crazy, was there?

He climbed up onto the railing, still holding the baby.

Yup, he was that crazy.

I jumped up.

“Hey! Get down from there!”

He real quick turned that pistol and fired a shot. I ducked back behind the rock. The bullet knocked some pieces off the top and they showered down on me.

The train was getting closer. About to come around the bend and go under the bridge. I reached behind me and grabbed that gun. Then I pushed the button on the walkie-talkie.

“He's fixing to jump on the train,” I said. “I ain't exactly sure where it's going, though it's headed south. Maybe to Birmingham, or something. Anyway.” I took a deep breath. “I'm going to try and stop him.”

I turned the walkie-talkie off so they couldn't try to tell me nothing, tossed it to the side, and jumped back up. I aimed that gun right for his head. Wasn't really sure what I was fixing to do, but I knew I had to do something.

The train arrived and the engine went under the bridge.

Rudy looked at me, but he didn't fire at me.

I started running, gun still aimed at him.

“I'm a darn good shot, Rudy,” I hollered.

There was several cars on that train. The first ones passed underneath.

I got to the bridge.

“Give her to me. Then I'll let you run off as far as you want,” I said. “Just give me the baby.”

He closed his eyes, the way you do when you're preparing yourself for something reckless.

“Don't you do it!” I yelled. “Don't you dare!”

He dropped off the bridge, clutching Tammy Jane to his chest.

I tried to catch him, tried to run over and grab him by his hair or something, but I wasn't fast enough.

My heart wasn't beating at all as I got to where he'd been and looked over the edge. He had rolled over in the air and landed on top of the train, on his back. He'd slid a bit, but he'd caught his foot on a railing that kept him on top of the train car. Still holding Tammy Jane. And still holding his gun.

He was getting away. He even had the smuggest smile I'd ever seen on a fella that probably had broken a rib or two on landing. I imagined he figured he was another one of them great mobsters that never got caught by the police.

But I wasn't the police. I was a pissed-off big brother from Alabama. We don't give up nearly that easily.