<<< Back Table of Contents Next >>> 28 Bad Ending As they drove in silence through the shattered brown 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, World's oldest city. The bars are jukeboxes playing Texas blues. On the seat next to him, Ann knew nothing of his fractured reporting. A thousand miles away, in a shaft of late afternoon sunlight, Timmins twitched his ears and glowed. They crossed into Utah. The towns grew farther apart, and the sun slanted toward the horizon. The desert was an inland sea, punctuated by spires and domes of windswept rock. His eyes strained ahead of him into the slowly unfolding canvas. Towards dusk on the outskirts of some town, flashing blue lights came on behind them. He looked nervously into the rear view mirror, adjusting it for a better view. He slowed down and pulled over, stopping on the shoulder. Ann moved closer to him on the seat. He put his hand against her 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 up the road. The man kept one hand on his gun butt, just in case. "Yes, officer?" Anton said once he got to 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's the problem?" "Speeding. And neither of you is wearing a seat belt." He returned to his car to complete the identification by radio. Anton waited tensely, eyes on the mirror. The procedure was taking longer than it should. The officer sat behind the wheel of his car, talking into the handset. Ann stared into space, popping her gum. The air was strangely still. Now he looked up in surprise and squinted hard in their direction. He kept talking into the handset. "Something's up," Anton said. Ann looked over at him 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, more urgently this time. "Here we go...!" said Anton under his breath. He swerved the car onto the road in such a way as to throw the officer off balance in his trail of dust. In the mirror he watched the man draw his gun, aim with both hands and fire twice. The shots missed, so the officer ran back to his car to begin the chase. By that time, they had lost him around a curve. Anton threw all his weight onto the wheel, negotiating the turns at top speed. Ann was in a state of nervous excitement, verging on panic. "What's happening, baby, did you do something wrong? Why is he shooting at us?" "Because he's a cop. It's his job." "Darling, tell me." She clutched at 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 out of this, just sit there and shut up, hear me?" His car 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 pushed the accelerator to the floor. Far behind them, the flashing lights appeared. He pulled off the main road at the first opportunity, and turned again onto a dirt track. He followed this toward a range of low hills. Before they got there, he left the road entirely, setting out across the plain desert. The lights were no longer behind him. He drove into an arroyo and stopped 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 roughly 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 money and stuffed it into his jeans. "Let's go!" he said sharply. He felt like he was in a movie. "We don't have much time. We've lost them for a while, but they haven't forgotten about us." They climbed out of the arroyo 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. She would be a drag on him. But if he left her behind, she would help the cops find him, whether she meant to or not. He made a decision. "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, this is it." He walked on now without looking back. Ann followed as if in a trance. Having committed herself this far, she felt that she had little choice. They climbed down a rough slope of stones and low, twisted trees. They crossed a long 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 the illusion of negative space. Anton saw the lights of two cars in the distance, above them and to the left. He 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. "Exciting, huh? 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? 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 the gun 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, and 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 which was dark. He approached its walls and listened. There was no sound. He made a tour. It seemed to be 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, and in front of the sofa, a coffee table with a phone on it. Light from the night sky spilled onto the coffee table. "Wait here." 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 for some reason, as if it was 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," he explained. "No more. We'll have to be out 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 meat sealed in plastic, some mayonnaise, a box of cookies. He left these things 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 into his arms and went down the stairs. He set the food in a dark corner and took the blankets from Ann. He started arranging them into a sort of nest. "We'll be safer down here," he said over his shoulder. "No one can see us, and there's only two ways in, here and here." He indicated the stairs and the broken window. "We can't be taken by surprise." He beckoned for Ann 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 Ann ventured, "Steve...?" He looked at her. It took him a moment to realize that she was talking to him. "Do you think that maybe they'll just...forget about us, let us go away from here?" He couldn't help laughing. "I mean, we got away from them once. Maybe they'll just...let us go?" He reminded himself that she was only eighteen. "Listen, you don't know about cops. They want me, and they know I'm here. Not here in this house, exactly, but around here someplace. They won't give up until they've got me, or until they've lost the trail. Even then they'll keep looking. They're like dogs in that way. Once they've picked up a scent, they think of only one thing." "Why do they want you?" "I don't know, it could be anything. A lot of things. Or everything put together." He suddenly felt very tired. She took his arm and pulled herself closer to him, under the blankets. This time, he didn't push her away. His eyes closed, and he slept. The gun was still in his hand. He was awakened by the sound of footsteps outside. Alert and tense with fear, he got up and moved to the window. Ann was still 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 back of the house. The other moved his flashlight along the bushes at the edge of the yard. He was thinking that he'd been stupid not to leave the house with the supplies, and sleep in the open if need be, when the beam of the officer's flashlight caught the glass of the broken window. Instinctively he drew back, but he kept an eye on things. The officer 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 below the opening, gun ready. He bit his lips 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 officer started to climb through the window. Taking a deep breath, Anton 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 officer 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 just below the house. The flashing blue lights cast a morbid glow onto the furniture, his face. One of the two deputies was talking into the radio, reporting that they'd found the suspect, and that he was armed. Anton guessed that the other was still near the basement window, watching the house. Ann stood at the top of the basement 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 only be a minute or two before all the cars were in place. He imagined making a run for it across the desert, but the land was flat and there was little cover. They would chase him in their patrol cars, and he would die in a shootout. He hesitated as the seconds ticked by. Ann moved from where she was standing, but he didn't notice. His hand released the doorknob. He collapsed against the door, letting himself slide to the ground. His exhaustion was total. There was a thin sweat all over his body. He knew now how it would end. Ann went into the living room and sat huddled in her blanket, staring straight ahead in silent fury. The patrol cars were now in position. They formed a ring around the house, headlights pointed inward to illuminate the yard. The officers stepped from their vehicles, holding their guns ready. Watching through the picture window, Anton ran a hand through his spiky blond hair. "I can't watch the whole house at once, and I want to know what's going on." Feeling the weight of the gun in his hand, he smiled thinly. "You see, I still have a reason for not wanting to be taken by surprise." "Steve...." "If you want to talk, this is really not the time." "I just don't want you to kill anyone." "They don't want to kill me, either. But here we are. They want me to go with them, and I don't want to go. We have a problem. We're in a standoff now, and I think I've found the solution with the minimum of bloodshed. But if they take us by surprise, it won't work. So would you please go up to one of the back bedrooms and watch closely? If those folks out there start moving on us, just yell real loud, okay?" She smiled uncertainly, coming over to him from the couch. 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. For a moment his face froze, then he smiled and kissed her back. One of the officers was speaking through the megaphone mounted on the roof of his car. "Steven James Banning!" He gave her a pat on the bottom to nudge her on her way. "Go! They could be negotiating from this side while they move in from the other, did you think of that?" Obediently, she mounted the stairs. He turned his attention to the man with the megaphone. "You are under arrest! Put your gun down and come out peacefully, hands over your head!" He shouted with all his strength. "I'm not coming, so forget it! There's nothing to talk about. If you want me, I'm here, but I'll defend myself!" The officers consulted among themselves. He could imagine their questions. "How dangerous is he?" "That woman he's got with him, is she a hostage or an accomplice?" "They want him in Oregon alive." They seemed to be waiting for some signal from higher up. He slumped on the sofa, gun resting on his thigh. From where he sat he could see out, but the light from the yard left him in shadow. After an hour with no action, he went into 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?" He told her the truth. "I'm going to try to talk my way out of it. If that doesn't work, I'm going to shoot myself." She didn't get this right away. Finally she said, "You'll what?" "Honestly, it's better that way. For you and me both. You don't have to worry, you haven't committed any crime. Even if you've done something wrong by coming here, I'm sorry, but you're just a girl along for the ride. You can say that I threatened you, or something. Tell them you wanted to stay at the car, but I pulled a gun on you. Then I freaked out under pressure and killed myself." 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. "You've done something foolish, and they'll question you, of course. Maybe they'll hold you for a few days as 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 away from them once. Once they have me again, they won't let me go. I can't let them do that to me, no way. I'd honestly rather die." She said finally, "You're not much older than me. What could you have done, that they want you so bad? Rob a bank or something?" He laughed wearily. "It's not for anything I did, it's for what I know. Let's just say I've always been precocious." She screwed up her face at the unfamiliar word. "That means I know more than I'm supposed to, for my age." It was almost dawn. As they were talking, a new car pulled up outside. It was a civilian car. A man in a pastel suit stepped out, chewing gum. He looked like a football coach. This was the word from higher up they'd been waiting for. With a start Anton realized it was Johnny Champion. The last time he'd seen Champion was when he'd been let out of prison. Of all possible representatives, Reinhold had chosen the one who hated him the most. If the Colonel had sent Champion, that proved he was in no negotiating mood. He watched Champion punch a number into his mobile phone. Downstairs, the phone rang. He hurriedly left his post. In the hall he met Ann, who had done the same. She looked startled. The phone was still ringing. He gestured outside and said, "I know that man." He went downstairs to answer the phone. As they spoke, the two men had a clear view of each other through the picture window. "Anton..." Champion began. "I'm here." "I thought we could have a decent conversation this way, and not have to shout at each other." "That's thoughtful of you." "You've been bad, Anton. 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, his face impassive. "You don't have anything on me. Nothing that counts." Hearty chuckles came over the phone. "You're a danger to society, kid. We can throw anything we want at you. You fired on a police officer just tonight. You're a fugitive from justice back in Portland. I think 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." So Reinhold knew that Kliff had tipped him off about the raid. He wondered briefly if Kliff had suffered any for doing that. Perhaps not. Perhaps Reinhold had wanted him to run all along. Champion said as an afterthought, "Or you can cooperate." "Look, I've reached a decision. Either you let me walk out of here and forget that I exist, 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 the best of myself 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, life has been a prison for me. So I'd rather die than go with you. Death doesn't faze me. You can have the body, but I'll be gone." Champion waited for him to run down. "And the alternative...?" "The alternative is, you can let me go." "There's a legal system in this country, kid. You're facing charges. Once that's set in motion, we can't just make it disappear." "That sort of simplifies our options, doesn't it?" "If you cooperate, we could offer incentives. Combined sentences, parole. You'll end up serving no more than two or three years, even with charges from different states." "Do you think I'm bluffing? Do you think I can't put a bullet in my own head?" Champion gave him a cold smile. "Okay, kid, let's talk about the backup plan. It's what we call the total compliance option. That means you're with us all the way. The case against you will backfire. The people who've been pushing it will lose their posts. In exchange, no more improvising from you. You stick to the script, as written. Because if you start freelancing again, we won't be having this friendly chat." He hadn't liked the idea of giving Anton a way out. It would make the Colonel look soft. Still, Reinhold had insisted on it. "I'm fastidious. I know he's too proud to come back. Only this way, it's his choice. We can wash our hands of the matter." Reinhold had been right. Anton exploded in rage. "You mean I'm under orders from now on? That won't happen. There's only two options for me now, freedom or death. Freedom means walking out of here without conditions. Maybe one day I'll come back to you on my own. Who knows? Anything can happen. But that's the only way you'll ever see me again. Otherwise, I'm checking out of here. Say goodbye to the beautiful, wonderful Anton Dupree." Champion shifted his weight. "That woman in there, is she some kind of hostage?" "What's the matter, do you think I can only keep a woman with me at gunpoint? She stays with me whether I want her to or not. She followed me this far, God knows why. Like she was my wife. Sure, why not? She's not my hostage, she's my wife." "Well, it's just...you've got a perfectly good hostage right there, 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!" "Honestly, 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 none of this really matters, does it?" He hung up the phone. Champion blinked slowly, then lowered his phone to punch in another number. He had Reinhold on the line now, and was filling him in on the details of 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 coffee table for an instant, he took two items from his pocket, a microcassette recorder and a small notebook. During his flight from Iowa, he'd imagined himself vanishing alone into the desert, never to return. He'd expected a final reckoning, but something sacred, not a police standoff. He'd wanted to make a record as he approached the exit point. Now he wished he'd never developed this stupid habit. He didn't want his discoveries to fall into enemy hands. He flipped open the little recorder with his thumb and palmed the cassette. The phone started ringing again, but he ignored it. He said to Ann, "I told that man out there that you're my wife. He asked if you were my hostage, and I said no, you're my wife! So how's that? It's time I trusted you with something important." He drew her away from the window. Her expression clouded over. "Aren't you going to pick up the phone?" It was still ringing. "Look, this is important. Under no circumstances must this stuff fall into the hands of that man out there. When I'm gone—" "Anton! Pick up the phone!" said Champion over the megaphone. "When I'm gone, I want you to get rid of these things. Make sure no one sees you do it. Lose them somewhere. Hide them. Destroy them if you want. Or keep them as a souvenir, I don't care. You can slip them into your jeans. Maybe as a hostage you won't be searched. Just make sure they don't get into the hands of that man in the suit, no matter what. Can I trust you with that?" He tried to hand her the notebook and the cassette. She stared at him stubbornly, jaw clenched, hands at her sides. "Hey, what's the matter?" "He called you Anton. You are Anton!" He shook his head numbly, incredulous. "I want to come with you!" "What do you mean, come with me? I'm not going anywhere!" "I love you, don't you understand? I loved you when you were Steve. Now that you're Anton, I love you even more! You can't leave me, do you know what that would mean? 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, then I'm going too." Anton was stunned. "Do you know what you're saying?" "If you're going to kill yourself, then kill me first!" "It's crazy, you're not 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. Forget that, it was a joke. You want to die because of me? It can't happen. 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 now. 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. He considered his situation in disbelief: the steaming canister and the broken window, the body and the gun. His eyes already smarted from the smoke. He stripped off his shirt and held it over his face. He ran into the bathroom next to the kitchen, locking the door from the inside. He set the gun down on a shelf above the sink. He wet his shirt under the tap and stuffed it under the door to keep out the fumes. He shredded the flimsy little notebook and tossed its pieces into the toilet, all the while 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 and stinging his eyes, his nose, his mouth. It took all his concentration to keep from tearing at his face with his hands. He tossed the microcassette in the toilet. 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 that the police were getting ready to storm the house. He looked at himself in the mirror and, holding his own stare, put the gun in his mouth. He'd wanted to see the face of his killer, and here it was. "Kissing death," he thought, and burst out laughing. At the same time, he wanted to throw up. He had to take the gun out of his mouth 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 watching himself in the mirror, he pulled the trigger. His bloody corpse lay on the ground. He'd made an awful mess of himself, really. Timmins put the last strokes on his painting of the suicide. "Well, I guess it's happened." The paint was already dry. <<< Back Table of Contents Next >>>