Free Fire - C. J. Box [68]
As he spoke he turned toward the bar, in profile, and Joe suddenlyknew where he’d seen Keaton before.
“So you try to keep up with what’s going on in the park, huh?” Joe asked.
Keaton hesitated a moment. “Yes . . .”
“So you probably knew Rick Hoening and his buddies?”
“Savages! Nonbelievers!”
“And you like to check out visitors,” Joe said. “Is that why you and your buddy there were in the Mammoth Hotel last night? Trying to see what I was doing here?”
That stopped Keaton. His eyes narrowed until they were nearly shut. “We were there,” he admitted, “but not why you think.”
“Then why?”
“In a moment,” Keaton said. “I have to urinate. Which,” he said, sliding unsteadily off his stool, “if you take my philosophy to its logical conclusion so it applies to absolutely everything— like pissing your pants instead of going to the restroom after you’ve drunk too much beer—one would go mad while being stinky as well. But there is still something to be said for simple human dignity, despite all that.” And he staggered to the men’s room in the back.
After a few beats, Nate turned to Joe. “I thought he might have been one of them. I heard him mention he came from the north this morning.”
“I wonder what he wants,” Joe said.
“My guess is it’ll surprise you.”
“Meaning what?” Joe said, his mind still reeling.
“If we want to understand motivation,” Nate said, “we might want to step outside convention and procedure. We might need to consider that some things happen up here because it truly is different.”
“What are you saying?”
Nate shook his head. “I’m not sure. But since dozens of peoplehave studied this crime and come up with nothing, maybe we need to try and think about it differently. Maybe we need to consider that what happened was absolutely unique to this place, and for a reason we never even thought of before.”
Joe nodded. “Maybe.”
Nate drained his beer. The bartender pointed at the clock behindthe bar, signaling it was time to close.
“I didn’t like that bit about germs and me farting,” the bartendersaid. “Didn’t like it one bit.”
As if on cue, the bartender reached out both hands to grip the bar and Joe felt suddenly unsteady but didn’t know why. Then he heard the tinkling of liquor bottles on the shelf behind the bar, and he saw ringlets form in the water in the sink. Just as quickly as it happened, it was still again.
“Just an earthquake,” the bartender said. “Little one.”
“My God,” Joe whispered, turning to Nate. “So that’s who you wanted me to meet, Doomsayer.”
“No, not really.”
“Then why did you bring me here?”
Nate took a deep breath and his eyes flitted away for a second.Joe was confused.
Nate walked over to Keaton’s companion, who was still sleeping on the bar.
“You said you saw two men in the hallway up in Mammoth,” Nate said. “Two old guys. Doomsayer was one of them, I think we know now. Is this the other one?”
He grabbed a fistful of thin hair on the head of the companionand pulled his face up. Joe felt as if a lightning bolt of bile surged up into his throat. His boots seemed spot-welded to the floor.
Oh, how he recognized that face.
“Dad . . .” Joe said, but the word croaked out.
Two bloodshot, rheumy eyes cracked open, wobbled, focused.
“Son,” George Pickett said thickly.
“This is why I wanted you to leave your gun,” Nate said.
14
Joe awoke to the sound of old faithful