First Daughter - Eric van Lustbader [105]
Gus lets Jack drive on the way home, as well. He says, "Whut you 'spect t'do, out there onna golf course?"
His voice isn't pissed off; it isn't even querulous. If Jack didn't know better, he'd think there was a note of tenderness.
"I was worried."
"Huh, 'bout me?" Gus pulls out his Magnum .357.
Jack says nothing, concentrates on making it home without getting lost. He supposes this to be a lesson, what's behind Gus's decision to let him stay behind the wheel.
"You bring a weapon, kid?"
Jack is startled out of his thoughts. "Uh, no."
"Why the hell not?" Gus puts away the enormous gun. "Whut you think you could do out there if things got ugly?"
"They almost did," Jack says, happy now to speak up.
"Huh, don' take no chances like that again, heah?"
Jack nods.
"They's a key behin' the kitchen door."
"I've seen it."
"Bottom right-hand drawer of my desk. They's a snub-nosed .38. Jus' right for a young feller like you. It's loaded, but there's a coupla boxes of ammo inna back."
"I don't like guns," Jack says.
"Huh, who the fuck does?" Gus shifts in his seat. "But sometimes there jes' ain't no substitute."
JACK WANTS to stay awake. In fact, with all the excitement, he's certain he will. But Gus turns on the stereo. Music, familiar, earthy, shuffling, comes from his room, wraps Jack in a cocoon of melancholy history, and soon he's in a deep sleep.
He opens his eyes to see a bird on the branch of the oak outside his window. It's perched near the empty nest. Its head swivels as it looks in, peers around. It's morning. A thin, milky light stretches across the bare plank floor. Jack throws the covers off, stumbles to the bathroom to empty his bladder and splash cold water on his face.
He wonders what Gus is going to make for breakfast this morning. He hopes it's wild-blueberry pancakes. Since he doesn't smell anything cooking from downstairs, he knows there's time enough to put in his request with the chef.
Padding out into the hallway in just his underwear, he yawns hugely, scratches his stomach. He knocks on the partly open door of Gus's bedroom, calls his name, and walks in. The curtains are drawn and it's dim, still night here.
Gus is lying on the bed, the sheets and blanket rucked beneath his huge frame. He's facedown, his arms splayed wide. Jack assumes he's in a drunken stupor, calls his name more loudly. Getting no response, he pulls the curtains. Morning steps into the room, floods the scene.
Jack sees the bedclothes are black and shiny. He sees Gus's mouth half-open, as if he's about to yell at someone. He's staring right at Jack.
"Gus?"
Then Jack sees a knife with an odd-looking hilt jammed into Gus's back.
MUCH LATER, after the police have come and gone, after he's given his statement, after Reverend Taske has come, prepared food for Jack, after the house empties of light and life, Jack goes to the stereo, puts on Out of Our Heads. As Mick Jagger begins his aural strut, Jack stands fixed, staring at nothing at all. He knows he'll spend the night down here—maybe many nights to come. He can't bring himself to go upstairs, either to his room or to Gus's. But he wonders if that bird is still in the oak. He wonders what he was looking for.
Nearly a month after that, Detective Stanz comes to see him at the Hi-Line, the running of which Jack has taken over. Stanz walks slowly along the length of the glass cases, as if he's in the market to buy one of the odds and ends displayed there. But Jack knows why he's here. The only mystery is what took him so long to show up.
At last, he gets to where Jack is standing behind the register. He clears his throat. "You have some, uh, documents that Gus was keeping for me. I'd, uh, I'd like to have them back."
Jack considers for a moment. "I know what documents you mean. They belonged to Gus; now they belong to me."
Stanz's face looks like a fist. "Why, you little—!"
Jack reaches under the counter, pulls out a plain manila envelope. "I have one of them here."
He opens it, so Stanz can see the photocopies of the