<<< Back Table of Contents Next >>> 28 Bad Ending As they drove in silence through the shattered landscape, Anton wrote his last poem, transmitting it to Timmins on their special channel. The porch, the clouds, Clothes caught in a backslap of air, Gusts in the shape of canyons, Just a slow downhome Sunday in cow town. Motorbikes from before the war Line the streets of Frontierland, The world's oldest city. The bars are jukeboxes playing Texas blues. On the seat next to him, Ann knew nothing of his fractured reporting. They crossed into Utah. The towns grew farther apart as the sun slanted toward the horizon. The desert was punctuated by spires and domes of windswept rock. His eyes strained ahead into the slowly unfolding canvas. Towards dusk on the outskirts of a small town, flashing blue lights came on behind them. Looking nervously in the rear view mirror, he adjusted it for a better view. He slowed down and pulled over, stopping on the shoulder. Ann moved closer to him on the seat, but he put out his hand to keep her away. "What is it?" she asked. "I don't need any trouble right now. Not even the simple kind." He still had his eye on the mirror. He watched the officer step from his car and walk slowly toward them. The man kept one hand on his gun, just in case. "Yes, officer?" he said when the man reached the window. "License and registration, please." He reached into the glove compartment for the registration, and took the license from his wallet. He gave them to the officer, who scanned them briefly. "What seems to be the problem?" "Speeding. And neither of you is wearing a seat belt." The man returned to his car to complete the identification by radio. Anton waited tensely, eyes on the mirror. The officer sat behind the wheel of his car, talking into the handset. The procedure was taking longer than it should. Ann stared into space, popping her gum. The air was strangely still. After few minutes, the officer looked up in surprise and squinted in their direction. He kept talking into the handset. "Something's up," Anton said. Ann looked over with a snap of her gum. "What is it, honey?" "Are you ready for a wild ride?" "Whatever you say." The officer got out of his car and came toward them. "Here we go!" Anton said under his breath. He swerved the car onto the road in such a way as to throw the man off balance in his trail of dust. In the mirror he watched the officer draw his gun, aim with both hands and fire twice. The shots missed, so he ran back to his car to begin the chase. By that time, they'd lost him around a curve. Anton threw all his weight onto the wheel, taking the turns at top speed. Ann was in a state of nervous excitement, verging on panic. "What's happening? Did you do something wrong? Why is he shooting at us?" "Because it's his job. He's a cop." "Tell me the truth, honey. What's going on?" She clutched him as he tried to drive. He swatted her away violently, sending her into the opposite corner. He turned on her in a rage. "If you want to get through this, just shut up, will you?" They had a powerful engine, and the advantage of a head start. The curves and the growing dark worked in their favor. Coming to a long, straight section, he floored the accelerator. Far behind them, the flashing lights appeared. He pulled off the road at the first opportunity, onto a dirt track. He followed this toward a range of low hills. Before they got there, he left the track entirely, setting out across the plain desert. The lights were no longer behind him. He drove into a dry streambed and cut the engine. The car was screened from view by the land and the trees. The only sounds were the ticking of cooling metal and Ann's stifled sobs. It was already dark. He scrambled from the car, pulling her along by the arm. In his other hand was his gun. When she saw the gun again, she stared dumbly at it. He grabbed the wad of cash and stuffed it in his jeans. "Let's go! We don't have much time." He felt like he was in a movie. "We've lost them for a while, but they haven't forgotten about us." They climbed the bank and surveyed the stunted plain, clearly visible in the moonlight. Ann's face was a picture of terror and confusion. He wondered if he should cut her loose. If he left her behind, she would help the cops find him, whether she wanted to or not. "Come on, follow me. We'll look for a place to hide out." In the distance were a few lights. He headed in that direction. After a few steps, he realized that she was still standing where he'd left her. He waved the gun at her, beckoning her on. "I said let's go! You wanted an adventure, and this is it." He walked on now without looking back. Ann followed as if in a trance. Having committed herself this far, she felt she had little choice. They scrambled down a slope of rocks and low, twisted trees. They crossed a stretch of flatland broken by isolated clumps of grass. It wasn't hard to see where to put their feet. The moon and stars were like inverted daylight, giving an illusion of negative space. He saw the lights of two cars in the distance, and pointed them out to Ann. "They've found our trail. Before long, they'll find where we left the car. They'll know we're on foot." They approached a group of houses with some trees at the perimeter. From their shadows he surveyed the territory. He looked at her and smiled for the first time, touching her face where she'd been crying. "You okay?" She nodded mutely. "Sorry, babe." She tried to smile back. He indicated the group of houses. "We're going in there. We're gonna be real quiet from now on, you understand? Maybe there's a house that's empty, or who knows, maybe a car for the taking. You know how to hotwire vehicles?" She shook her head and almost laughed. "Neither do I." He studied his hands, wishing he knew more about cars. He saw one of them holding the gun. It surprised him, finding it there. He led her slowly into the compound. "Come on. Let's hope we don't wake up any dogs." With extreme care they moved among the houses, which were widely spaced. They passed a window with a television, another where a woman was doing dishes. At times they could hear voices, but couldn't make out the words. Finally they came to a house that was dark. He approached its walls and listened. There was no sound. He made a tour. It was shut up tight. He found a window close to the ground, and tapped on the glass with his gun. It fell in, shattering on the cement floor. For an instant he didn't move, then he opened the latch from the inside. He whistled softly to Ann, who appeared from the bushes. He went first, then helped her through the open window. She landed on the basement floor in a crouch, feet crunching against broken glass. They dusted themselves off. Finger to his lips, he led her upstairs, into the house. The kitchen table was bare except for some dried flowers in the center, on a little doily. In the living room was a sofa beneath a large picture window. In front of the sofa was a coffee table with a phone on it. Light from the night sky spilled onto the coffee table. "Wait here," he said. He climbed the stairs to the second floor, gun in hand. He checked the bedrooms one by one, opening each door quietly. When he was satisfied that the house was empty, he collected some blankets and returned to the living room. Ann was standing in the middle of the floor, an expression of panic frozen on her face. She was staring at the phone, as if it were the one detail in the scene that left her perplexed. He grabbed her and pulled her against the wall, into the darkest part of the room. "Don't you know enough to stay away from the window?" "But there's no one out there!" "There will be. It's just a matter of time. We can stay here for a few hours, no more. We'll have to be out of here before dawn, but we can rest a little. Maybe even eat something." The thought occurred to him as the words left his mouth. "Stay right here." Putting the blankets in her arms, he went into the kitchen and looked through the cupboards and fridge. He found some bread, some sandwich meat, a jar of mayonnaise, a box of cookies. He left them on the counter and went to the door to summon Ann. "Come on. Bring the blankets." When she appeared in the doorway, he gestured with his head that she should follow him to the basement. He scooped the food in his arms and went down the stairs. After setting everything in the darkest corner, he took the blankets from Ann. He started arranging them into a sort of nest. "We'll be safer down here. No one can see us, and there's only two ways in." He indicated the stairs and the broken window. "We can't be taken by surprise." He beckoned her to join him among the blankets. They sat down and began to eat. The silence was devastating. The hopelessness of their situation began to sink in. After a while she ventured, "Steve...?" He looked at her. It took him a moment to realize she was talking to him. "Do you think maybe they'll forget about us, and let us go away from here? I mean, we got away from them once. Maybe they'll just let us go?" He couldn't help laughing. He reminded himself that she was only eighteen. "You don't know about cops. They want me, and they know that I'm here. Not here in this house, maybe, but somewhere around here. They won't give up until they've got me, or until they've lost the trail. They're like dogs in that way. Once they've picked up a scent, they can only think of one thing." "What do they want you for?" "A lot of things. Anything. Or everything put together." He was suddenly tired. She took his arm and drew closer to him, under the blankets. This time, he didn't push her away. He closed his eyes and slept, the gun still in his hand. He was awakened by footsteps outside. Alert and tense with fear, he got up and moved to the window. Ann was asleep. In the yard he saw shapes moving, with flashlights. Two sheriff's deputies were conducting a house-to-house search. He caught glimpses of their starry badges. One of them passed around the corner to check the other side of the house. The other moved his flashlight along the bushes at the edge of the yard. He told himself they'd been stupid not to leave the house while they could. The beam of the flashlight caught the broken window. The deputy reached for his gun and moved closer. The gun remained in its holster, but his flashlight was trained steadily now on the window. "Hey, Nick!" he called to his partner. "I think I got something." The entire window was filled with light. Anton flattened himself against the wall beneath the opening, gun ready. He bit his lip in frustration. A hand reached in and opened the window. The flashlight moved across the room, searching the corners. When it reached the spot where Ann was sleeping among the blankets, it stayed there. She moved slightly, putting an arm over her eyes. The deputy started to climb through the window. Anton took a breath, closed his eyes and fired. The window slammed shut, and the light disappeared. Ann was wide awake now. "Steve, what's happening?" "Shut up, we've got company!" He was already on his way up the stairs. He hadn't expected the deputy to retreat, and wasn't sure what to expect next. From the kitchen landing he called back, "Are you coming?" Through the picture window in the living room, he saw a patrol car parked on the road below the house. The flashing blue lights cast a morbid glow over the furniture, the walls, his face. One of the deputies was talking on the radio. The other was probably still at the basement window, watching the house. Ann stood at the top of the stairs, blinking helplessly. He brushed past her without a word on his way to the back door. His hand was on the doorknob when he saw a second patrol car making a rapid approach from that direction. A third set of lights was further away, coming in from a different angle. It would be only a minute or two before all the cars were in place. He thought of making a run across the desert, but the land around them was flat with no cover. They would chase him in their patrol cars until he was surrounded. He would be captured, or die in a shootout. He hesitated as the seconds ticked by. He released the doorknob. He collapsed against the door, and slumped to the floor. There was a thin sweat all over his body. He knew now how it would end. Ann sat in the living room, wrapped in her blanket, staring ahead in a silent fury. The patrol cars were now in position. They formed a ring around the house, headlights pointed inward to illuminate the yard. The deputies stepped from their vehicles, guns ready. Watching through the picture window, Anton ran a hand through his blond, spiky hair. Feeling the weight of the gun in his hand, he smiled thinly. "I've still got my reasons for not wanting to be taken by surprise." "Steve...." "If you want to talk, this isn't the time." "I just don't want you to kill anyone, that's all." He laughed sharply. "They don't want to kill me either, but we're in a standoff. They want me to go, and I don't want to. I think I've found the answer with the least bloodshed, but it won't work if we're taken by surprise. So would you go upstairs and watch the back of the house? If those folks start moving on us, just yell real loud, okay?" She came over to him from the couch, smiling uneasily. He could see that she'd been crying again. She pressed herself to him, looking into his face. "Okay, honey." She attempted a small kiss. His face froze for a moment, and he kissed her back. "Steven James Banning!" one of the deputies called through the megaphone mounted on the roof of his car. He gave her a pat on the bottom to nudge her away. "They could be negotiating from this side while moving in from the other, did you think of that?" Obediently, she mounted the stairs. He turned his attention to the megaphone. "You're under arrest! Put your gun down and come out quietly, hands on your head!" "I'm not coming out," he shouted with all his strength. "If you want to come in after me, I'll defend myself!" The deputies consulted among themselves. How dangerous was the suspect? Was the woman with him a hostage or an accomplice? For now there was no further action. They seemed to be waiting for a signal from higher up. Anton slumped on the sofa, gun on his thigh. From where he sat, he could see outside, but the light from the yard left him in shadow. After an hour, he went to the kitchen to fix a pot of coffee. He took it upstairs to Ann, to help keep her awake. Bleary-eyed, she came to the bedroom door and took the pot. "Hey, thanks." "Thank you." He indicated a second bedroom across the hall. "I'll be in there." He went to watch the front of the house. After a few minutes, Ann called to him. "Steve, I'm scared." "So am I. So what?" "What are you going to do now?" "I'm going to try to talk my way out of it. If that doesn't work, I'm going to shoot myself." There was a long pause. "You'll what?" "It's better that way, for you and me both. You don't have to worry, you haven't done anything wrong. From their point of view, you're just a girl along for the ride. You can say I threatened you, or kidnapped you. You wanted to give yourself up back at the car, but I pulled a gun and made you follow me." She'd come to the door of the room, and was staring at him wide-eyed. He wished she would go back to watching the cops. "They'll question you, of course. Maybe hold you for a few days while they try to decide if you were an accomplice. But they won't press it too hard, and in the end they'll let you go. With me it's a different story. I already ran from them once. Once they have me again, they won't let me go. I can't let them do that to me. I'd honestly rather die." "I don't get it. You're not much older than me. What could you have done, that they want you so bad? Rob a bank or something?" "It's not anything I did. It's what I know. Let's just say I've always known more than I should, for my age." It was almost dawn. As they were talking, a new car pulled up outside, a civilian car. A man in a pastel suit stepped out, chewing gum. He looked like a football coach. With a start, Anton realized it was Johnny Champion. Of all possible representatives, Reinhold had chosen the one who hated him the most. If the Colonel had sent Champion, that proved he wasn't in a negotiating mood. He watched Champion tap a number into his mobile phone. Downstairs, the phone rang. "I know that man," he said as he brushed passed Ann on his way to the living room. "Anton..." Champion began. As they spoke, the two men had a clear view of each other through the picture window. "I'm here." "I thought we could have a decent conversation this way, and not have to shout." "That's very thoughtful of you." "You've been bad. It's time to come home." "I'm a free man, you know. I was right to quit when I did." Champion chewed his gum slowly, face impassive. "You don't have anything on me. Nothing that counts." Hearty chuckles came over the phone. "We can throw anything we want at you. You fired on a deputy just last night. You're a danger to society, and a fugitive from justice back in Portland. I believe that Kliff ran down the charges for you the last time you met. If that isn't enough, I can make up some new ones. You'll spend the rest of your life in jail. Or you can cooperate," he said as an afterthought. Anton wondered if Kliff had suffered any reprisals for warning him about the raid. Maybe Reinhold had wanted him to run all along, just for the pleasure of catching him again? "Either you let me walk out of here, or I'll make it impossible for you to take me alive. I know what to expect if I go with you, and I don't deserve it. I've given my best in every way. I've never held back. If you continue to misunderstand that, it's not my fault. Ever since I met you people, my life has been a prison for me. So I'd rather die than go with you. You can't touch me then. My body will still be here, but I'll be gone." "And the alternative?" "The alternative is, you let me go." "You're facing charges, kid. There's a legal system in this country. Once that's set in motion, we can't just make it disappear." "I guess that simplifies our options." "If you cooperate, we'll give you a deal. Concurrent sentences, parole. You'll end up serving no more than two or three years, even with charges in different states." "Do you think I'm bluffing? Do you think I won't put a bullet in my head?" "Our final offer, then, is called total compliance. Come back to the Colonel, and we'll protect you like we did before. The case against you will backfire. Your enemies will be discredited. In exchange, no more improvising from you. You'll do as you're told from now on. Because if you start freelancing again, we won't be having this friendly chat." Anton exploded in anger. "Did you hear anything I just said? The only options for me now are freedom or death. Freedom means walking out of here without conditions. Otherwise, I'm gonna check out on my own." Champion shifted his weight. "That woman in there, is she some kind of hostage?" "Do you think I can only keep a woman with me at gunpoint? She's been tagging along whether I want her to or not. Like she was my wife. Sure, why not? She's not my hostage, she's my wife." "She's a perfectly good hostage, so why not use her?" "I'm my own hostage! It's me I'm threatening to kill." "Since when does a man hold himself hostage? That's almost perverse." "Let's be honest. Whose life is more valuable to you, mine or hers?" "Maybe you value yourself too highly, Anton. We're all equal in the eyes of God." "Then we've got nothing more to talk about." He hung up the phone. Champion blinked slowly, and lowered his phone to punch in another number. He had Reinhold on the line, and was filling him in on their just-finished conversation. "Ann, get down here!" Anton yelled. She appeared on the stairs, scrutinizing him carefully. "I think the climactic moment has come." Laying his gun on the table for a moment, he drew her away from the window and held her hand. The phone started ringing again, but he ignored it. "That man out there asked if you're my hostage, and I said no, you're my wife. So it's time I trusted you with something important." Her expression clouded over. "Aren't you going to pick up the phone?" "Look, this is important. When I'm gone—" "Anton! Pick up the phone!" Champion said over the megaphone. "When I'm gone, I want you to go to Iowa and see a friend of mine. Tell him what happened here, how it went down. You're the last person to see me alive, and I want him to hear if from your point of view." She took back her hand and stared at him stubbornly, jaw clenched. "Hey, what's the matter?" "He called you Anton. I knew you were Anton!" He shook his head numbly, incredulous. "I want to come with you!" "What do you mean, come with me? I'm going to shoot myself!" "Don't you understand? I loved you when you were Steve, and now that you're Anton, I love you even more! You can't leave me. Do you know what that would be like? To know you, then live a whole life without you? I've done some thinking too, you know. I'm not staying here to face the men who hate you. If you're going, I'm going too." "Do you know what you're saying?" "If you're going to kill yourself, then kill me first!" "It's crazy. You're not even involved." "Of course I'm involved. I'm your wife!" The phone was still ringing. Champion was back on the megaphone, and his voice had grown in menace. "Anton! Pick up the phone!" "You're not my wife. That was a joke. You want to die because of me? I won't allow it." "Then I'll do it myself!" She grabbed the gun from the table, put it to her head and pulled the trigger. She fell to the floor, dead. Anton stared at her body, uncomprehending. Finally, he retrieved the gun from her hand. The phone had stopped ringing. Champion gave a signal, and the police lobbed tear gas into the house from long metal tubes. One of the canisters shattered the window, rolling to within a few feet of Anton. His eyes already smarted from the smoke. He considered the situation in disbelief—the steaming canister, the broken window, the body and the gun. He stripped off his shirt and held it over his face. He ran to the bathroom next to the kitchen, and locked the door from the inside. Setting the gun on a shelf above the sink, he wet his shirt and stuffed it under the door to keep out the fumes. He grabbed the wad of hundred dollar bills from his pants and tore them apart one by one, scattering them in the toilet. All the while he was muttering under his breath, in rhythm with each tear, "Stupid bitch, stupid bitch. She said she loved me, so she killed herself. Now I have to do it, too. No more time, no way out. What a fucking bad ending." In spite of the wet cloth, the gas was creeping into the room to sting his eyes, his nose, his throat. It took all his concentration to keep from tearing at his face with his hands. He flushed, but not everything went down. He flushed again and the bowl was empty. The sounds coming from the other side of the door told him the police were preparing to storm the house. He looked at himself in the mirror and, holding his own stare, put the gun in his mouth. "Kissing death," he thought, and burst out laughing. At the same time, he wanted to throw up. He had to take out the gun to compose himself, resting it on the edge of the sink and breathing heavily. Finally, he put it back in. It occurred to him that for someone about to die, he wasn't bad looking. Still holding his own stare, he pulled the trigger. His bloody corpse lay on the ground. He'd made an awful mess of himself, really. <<< Back Table of Contents Next >>>