2
Half an hour later,
the rain was coming down hot and slow. Black clouds covered the
already faint sun. It was dark as dusk and the temperature had
dropped ten degrees. Coming up over the clay cliffs, Ryan smelled
how the rain stirred up the dust and gave it a chalky odor.
He leaned against a
poplar and looked down at the bank below. The creek was wide there,
deep and fast enough to look treacherous for animals, and the water
hitting the surface of it made wide, soft circles.
He hefted the
Winchester, aimed, and shot the hat directly off the head of Dennis
Kittredge.
Kittredge put on a
little show. Knowing that there was nowhere to hide, that he was
several precious yards from either boulders or trees, he pitched
himself to the right and started rolling in the dust.
Ryan put another shot
a few feet ahead of where Kittredge was about to light.
This time Kittredge
let out a crazed animal yelp. A fella didn’t like to think that
circumstances were completely beyond his control, but obviously
they now were.
“Just stand up, Mr.
Kittredge,” Ryan said, starting down the slope, keeping the
Winchester right on Ryan’s chest. “That way you’re not likely to
get shot.”
Kittredge got to his
feet. His fishing pole had rolled off the bank and dropped into the
water.
“What the hell do you
think you’re doing?” Kittredge said. Unlike Carlyle, Kittredge
didn’t seem so much frightened as angry. He was casual enough to
dust off his trousers.
Ryan didn’t answer.
He came down the clay to the bank and then put the Winchester in
Kittredge’s face.
“You know why I’m
here, Mr. Kittredge.”
“I know why you say
you’re here. I talked to Carlyle. He said you think we had
something to do with a bank robbery.”
Ryan smiled. “We’re
beyond pretenses, Mr. Kittredge. I’d say ask Carlyle, but I’m
afraid you can’t do that. Not anymore.”
“What’s that supposed
to mean?”
“It means he’s
dead.”
For the first time,
some of Kittredge’s anger waned and something resembling fear
narrowed his eyes and pulled his face tight. “You kill him,
Ryan?”
“I did.”
Kittredge didn’t say
anything.
Ryan said, “You
should’ve seen it. He was pleading with me to do it.”
“I don’t want to hear
about it.”
“He was on the ground
and I put the rifle hard against his nose.”
“He didn’t have that
coming.”
Ryan considered him a
long time. “It’s my understanding you don’t have any children, Mr.
Kittredge. It’s my understanding that your wife can’t bear you
any.”
Kittredge glared at
him.
“Then you can’t
appreciate what it is to lose a child. Oh, I know that you
think you can, Mr. Kittredge. But believe
me, until you see your child-”
He didn’t finish the
sentence.
Thunder rumbled
across the sky; lightning trembled gold and silver beneath black
clouds. The rain fell in stead, monotonous drops.
Ryan said, “Anyway,
Mr. Kittredge, it’s not something you can imagine. It’s something
you have to experience.” He smiled at Kittredge. “You know what my
daughter’s very last words were to me, Mr. Kittredge? I’ll never
forget. She came up to me from the back of the store and said,
‘Daddy, I’d like to take the bank deposit over now. Then I’m going
to stop and pick you a bouquet of flowers because I love you so
much.’ Those were her very last words, Mr. Kittredge.”
Kittredge let his
gaze fall to his feet.
Ryan said, “She never
did get to pick me those flowers, Mr. Kittredge. I keep wondering
what kind she would have gotten me.” He looked at Kittredge and
smiled again. “What kind do you think she would have gotten me, Mr.
Kittredge?”
Kittredge said
nothing. He would not look up.
“You think she would
have brought me roses, Mr. Kittredge?”
Nothing.
“Or maybe
daisies.”
Nothing.
“You going to answer
me, Mr. Kittredge?”
Kittredge shuffled
his feet. Still he said nothing.
“Seems to me an
intelligent man could make an intelligent guess about what kind of
flowers she would pick for her father, Mr. Kittredge. Roses or
daisies or zinnias.”
Kittredge’s head came
up slowly. He looked at Ryan for a long time.
Kittredge said, “I’m
sorry your little girl died, Ryan.”
“You didn’t answer my
question.”
“I really am
sorry.”
“Do you think she
would have picked roses for me, Mr. Kittredge?”
“This won’t bring her
back. Killin’ Carlyle or killin’ me. It won’t bring her back, Ryan.
It won’t bring her back.”
Ryan hit him so hard
with the butt of the rifle that Kittredge easily went over
backward, his arms flailing all the way down.
Ryan went over to him
then and kicked him once, hard in the face. You could hear his nose
shatter and splatter. Right away the bleeding was bad.
Ryan said, “If you
think I’m going to get it over with fast, the way I did with
Carlyle, you’re wrong, Mr. Kittredge. Carlyle didn’t have the
brains of a rock. But you-you and Griff-you’re smart men,
responsible men. So you’ve got a special price to pay and you’re
going to pay it.”
Through a very bloody
mouth, his eyes wild now the way Carlyle’s had been, Kittredge
said, “I’m sorry about your little girl, Ryan. I really am.”
This time Ryan kicked
him hard on the side of the face, along the jawline.
Kittredge rolled into
the dirt, facedown. He made moaning and sobbing sounds.
The rain hit
Kittredge’s back so hard it sounded like bullets being absorbed by
the flesh.
The creek rattled
with rain now.
Ryan stood over
Kittredge and then finally he took the rope from his pocket.
Ryan said, “Here you
go, Mr. Kittredge. Here you go.”