That night, we ate at a restaurant in town. Dust was dressed for it, and I felt like celebrating. I was still using the money I’d found in Jim’s floor safe. I’d gone through a lot of it but still had some left, more than I’d ever had at one time in my life. PIs tend not to get rich. They get to be independent, and maybe that’s a kind of being rich. When the summer was over and Dust was in his new school, I’d go back to work. People always had a need for someone to solve their problems for them.
We had a great dinner in a much fancier restaurant than I was accustomed to eating in. Dust ordered steak, and told the waiter he wanted it rare. Pat and I smiled.
After dessert, Pat returned to my apartment because of work the next day, and Dust and I drove back to the house. Travis was there waiting. Dust changed out of his new clothes after Travis had gotten an eyeful, and the two of them said goodnight and climbed into the tree house.
I felt really good. I’d lived my life pretty much on my own terms. I hadn’t had an unhappy childhood but had been on my own a lot because my father was always busy with something. Unconsciously, I’d adopted his independent ways. I’d grown bigger than most people; that had helped. It had opened some doors for me. But everything I had, I’d earned. Because of the way I was—independent and certainly much too sure of myself—I become something of a loner. I took risks like a lot of teenagers do and found I relished the excitement. Every challenge that came my way was one I was eager to meet.
I’d been happy living alone, being dependent on no one and having no one dependent on me. I liked having no encumbrances.
My father had had his way, and I’d ended up going to college. With what he apparently felt was his responsibility for my education taken care of at last, or possibly just because of his advancing age, he softened just a little toward me, losing some of the stern stoicism he’d worn throughout my childhood. As I matured, I saw more and more how much I was like him. I hated working for a boss; I liked challenges and problems and proving I could do what I set out to do. I liked independence. I also liked helping people as I’d done uprooting the bullies I’d met in high school. Eventually I became a private investigator. It allowed me to do my own thing, myself against the world. As with the bullies, I got to thwart the bad guys.
Now, in a remarkably short time, I seemed to have acquired a family. And a house for us all to live in. I had what amounted to a girlfriend and a quasi son. Maybe two. And to my complete surprise, I didn’t feel the edginess or discomfort I usually felt when people got too close. In fact, I was enjoying having them around. I’d loved watching Dust grow emotionally. I’d loved being part of that. I loved watching him with Travis, too. The two of them together was uplifting to witness. They make me smile.
I also was aware that I was in love with Pat. I didn’t like to admit it for some reason I didn’t quite understand, but I loved her and didn’t want to be apart from her. That was going to take some real thinking, because I’d never had a commitment like that. I was pretty sure it was because I’d never really accepted growing up. Growing up meant being responsible, being like my dad had been toward me. In the life I’d led, I seemed to be always trying to prove something. Was I past all that now? Had I grown up? I wasn’t sure, but I doubted it. All those things that seemed to be part of me, an essential part, were still there.
There were many times I still felt like a kid. Like I’d missed a stage in my development and was looking for it. Or maybe I just liked the feeling taking risks gave me. I still enjoyed the adrenalin rush when things were dicey, too. Maybe settling down was still in the future for me.
But Pat felt like a part of my life now. She fit well. She was one of the few women I’d known who stood up for herself against me. I’d had no idea how attractive I’d find that.
Thinking about her and the boys gave me a sense of fulfillment. I fell asleep that night with them in mind and slept soundly.
» » »
I was awakened next morning early when I heard the front door open and shut. Dust must have wanted to get a head start on running. Because the house was finished, we’d stopped running so early, going out now about 8 AM every day. Travis liked that a whole lot better, too, as he got to snuggle a little longer in the morning.
It was earlier than usual, but if he wanted to go now, I was up for it. I yawned and got out of bed, slipped on my running shorts and shoes and was about to go out to meet him when my bedroom door was filled with a presence much larger than Dust’s. I looked up, and Cramer was standing there, a triumphant grin on his face and a snub-nosed .38 in his hand.
“Pretender, huh?” he said. “Rank amateur, huh?” The grin had become a sneer. “You’re going to find out, bud. I’m plenty good enough to take care of you and that pansy son of mine. I checked, and he’s not here. Where is he? I want you both.”
“He had a sleepover with a friend. Won’t be back till this afternoon.”
“Probably taking it up the ass, the little faggot. Maybe you’re getting some of that, too? Huh? It don’t matter. You’ll be dead soon, and then I’ll come back for him. He’s going to die slow, talking to me like he did. You, I’ll just have a little fun with. I’m going to make it symbolic. You’re going over that cliff he found so inspirational. Better for me because there won’t be any bullet holes. He’ll go over, too, eventually. Now, move, unless you want to die here. Give me any shit and you will. I’d rather it there, though. I want to hear you screaming all the way down. Till the screaming stops. Yeah. Get going.”
There was nothing I could do but obey him and hope an opportunity would present itself. Refusing to go with him would simply get me shot, and the noise would bring Dust and Travis down from their tree, and they’d get shot as well.
I started walking for the doorway where he stood and he yelled, “STOP!”
I stopped.
“Slowly,” he said, then backed away from the door while keeping me in sight. I could see he was nervous. I wasn’t going to do anything that might risk him pulling that trigger. I was thinking, though. Same advice I’d given Dust: keep thinking.
I followed him out of the room, him walking backwards, me following. I stayed 15 feet away from him so as not to scare him. The way he was holding the gun, I could see how excited he was. I didn’t want him pulling the trigger by accident. On purpose would be bad enough.
He backed all the way into the living room. I stayed my distance from him, following along. He moved to the center of the room, and I came with him, and he had me stop again.
“Okay, here’s what we’re doing. You walk slowly out the front door. I’ll be behind you. You cross the porch, walk to my car and get in. Get in the back on the passenger side. There’s a pair of handcuffs there, one side locked to the seatbelt holder, one side unlocked. Lock that cuff around your wrist. I’ll be following you all the way. Make a run for it or do anything other than what I say, I’ll shoot you. When you get in the car, do not close the door. I want to see you lock that cuff. Then you can close the door.”
I nodded, then turned so I was facing the door. I slowly started walking toward it, and at the same time I started muttering. “Dammit. Dammit. DAMMIT!”
When I was in the yard, I got louder. “DAMMIT! Everything was going well, and now I’m going to die. I’M GOING TO DIE! DIE JUST TRYING TO SAVE SOME KID I DON’T EVEN MUCH LIKE. DUSTIN! EVEN HIS NAME IS FAGGY! DUSTIN! HE’S NOT WORTH IT! NOT THIS! DAMMIT!”
I was screaming by then, and he shouted, “Hey, shut the fuck up!”
I quieted down, but kept muttering. If he thought I’d gone round the bend with fear, so much the better.
I got to the car and kept muttering, then beat on the roof before getting in. It made some noise, but I didn’t think enough. I slid into the backseat and saw the handcuff. I put it around my right wrist, clicked it shut, then reached for the door and shouted, “DAMMIT!” again for effect and slammed the door as hard as I could.
All I could hope for was I’d awakened Dust, and that hearing me sound insane, he might be a little cautious and not race down to see what was going on. But I had no idea if he’d heard anything at all.
Cramer was grinning as he got in behind the wheel. He looked back at me and scoffed. “Some professional,” he said. “Scared like a baby.”
I was trying to look scared. The fact was, I’d been in circumstances this bad before and had managed to survive. I could again—or maybe not. It would depend on how many mistakes Cramer made or if Dust had heard me. I wasn’t counting on Dust, though.
“We’re going to that cliff,” Cramer said. “Tell me how to get there. You fuck around with me, I’ll waste you right then and there, so you’d better steer me straight. Got it?”
“You’re the boss,” I said, sounding meek.
“Damn right I am,” he spat, his arrogance showing, and underlined the point by hitting the gas hard enough that the tires spun, kicking up gravel from the driveway as he left the yard.
I couldn’t see any purpose in trying to take him on a wild-goose chase. Being out of the car would give me a much better chance of somehow overcoming him, much more than when I was cuffed inside it. So I directed him to turn left out of the driveway and go up to the top of the hill. At the top, I told him to stop, that we had to walk across the field to get to the cliff.
He parked on the edge of the road and got out, then came around the car to my door. Opening it, he tossed me the cuff keys. I started to unlock the cuff from the seatbelt bracket, and he stopped me. “You think I’m stupid? Leave that locked up and open the one on your wrist. I’m not going to have you swinging that thing at me. I don’t need you cuffed after this and you can’t be when you go over the cliff. Hope you’re enjoying your last few minutes alive. Just think as we’re walking across this field, every step you take is one step closer to death.”
No, I wasn’t enjoying this. I started thinking about last night and how happy I’d felt. Maybe that’s what I should be concentrating on, I thought. Dying happy would beat dying scared.
But no, I wasn’t planning to die, so thinking was better than remembering. I had to come up with a way to get out of this.
He moved up close behind me, within 10 feet of me, but it was a safe 10 feet, and he stayed there all the way across the field. There was nothing I could do. If I’d suddenly juke left and run right, he was still only 10 feet away. Even the snub-nose would be accurate from that distance, and I couldn’t outrun the multiple shots he could fire in only a few seconds. He wasn’t likely to miss them all, and then I’d not be able to run far—or at all.
We trudged across the field that way, me in front, him 10 feet behind. I wasn’t muttering now. There was no point. I was thinking, but not coming up with anything.
We came to the end of the field. The cliff was right before us. I stopped a few feet short of the edge. The only thing I’d thought of was: if I was going over that thing, he was going with me. Unless his first shot was instantly fatal, I was going to grab him, accept a couple more shots in the process if need be, and yank us both over the cliff as I died. At least Dust would be safe that way.
What I was hoping was Dust had heard me and was awake. And was coming. If he was, I had to give him time to get here. I had to delay Cramer as long as possible.
Cramer stayed away from me but glanced out over the city lying far below us. He slowly moved toward the edge, keeping the gun trained on me, and took a quick look down. There was a sharp drop off from the top to about fifty feet below, where it began to taper out so it wasn’t quite vertical, but the face there was studded with rocks and debris. There was nothing to stop one’s fall if he went over the edge here, and a lot to tear him up as he fell.
I was looking at him now, and he grinned, a grin containing no humor at all, only victory.
“Good place for you to die, hotshot.”
“One place is as good as any,” I said. “But you can’t kill Dustin. You’d be the prime suspect. They’d hunt you down.”
“They will, anyway, if you had time to tell the cops to check that pill bottle. That’s why I came today, hoping you never had that chance.”
“I didn’t,” I said.
“You can say that, but I have no way of knowing. So, I’m getting out. I made a fortune here and can do it again elsewhere with a new identity. But I’m cutting loose ends before I go. You and Dustin. He gets it, too. I’ll enjoy that. I’m going to make him crawl. Talking to me like that!”
“You can shoot me and the body’ll be found, and because of yesterday, they’ll put an APB out on you. You kill Dustin, it’ll be the same thing. But if I go off the cliff, there’ll be no evidence it wasn’t an accident. I’m dressed in running gear. Maybe I was out for an early jog and it was still dark and I just got too close. But I won’t do it without being shot unless you agree to leave Dustin alone.”
“What, you’re bargaining with me? With what? I can promise you the moon and you’ll be dead, so why would you do that? You have no guarantees I’d do anything I agree to.”
“I want the boy left unharmed. I’m going to die anyway. It’s the best I can do.”
He thought for a moment, then said, “Okay, deal. I won’t kill him. Go ahead. Jump.”
I’d delayed things about as long as I could. I moved to the edge and looked down. Anyone going over that edge would die. There was no question of that. My stomach started knotting up, and my head got a little woozy. I really didn’t like heights.
I backed away from the edge a couple steps. “I don’t think I can,” I said.
His eyes opened wide. “Really? You’re scared! I can see it. I can hear it in your voice. Yeah, you’re scared. Well, good, that’s it, then. You’re going over. Whether I have to shoot you or not, you’re going over. If you won’t go voluntarily, I’ll just shoot you so it isn’t fatal—several times if I have to—and then push you if I must. Or you can save yourself that. Go ahead. Do it. DO IT!”
I was standing with my back to the cliff, facing him, and that’s when I saw Dust appear. He was running, hard, and he had his rifle.
I didn’t look at him; I looked at Cramer. I kept my voice as it had been. “I can’t. I . . . I . . . I’m afraid of heights.”
Dust was running across the field. But he was getting too close! He needed to stay out of the range of accuracy of Cramer’s pistol.
“Step back,” said Cramer, taking a step toward me and raising his gun.
“STOP!” I yelled.
Both of them stopped.
“Okay,” I said loudly. “You’ve got the upper hand. I’ll do it. I guess I’m done. You got me.”
I took a very short backward step toward the cliff, then, thinking hard, turned around to face the edge. I had to hope Dust had the courage to do what had to be done. He had to shoot his father, either his hand holding the gun or his head. He could easily hit his temple.
He didn’t. He did exactly the wrong thing instead. He called out to his father.
“Hold it,” he yelled. He was pointing the rifle at his father. His voice was high, a child’s voice.
His father turned and looked at him. First he smiled, and then he laughed. “What, you’re going to shoot me? What’s that, a .22? That’s a pea shooter! It might sting, but that’s it.”
“It’ll do more than that. If I shoot you in the head, it’ll kill you. You don’t have much chance to hit me from this distance, but I can sure hit you.”
“Yeah, maybe, if you had the balls to do it. And anyway, I’m glad you showed up. I’m going to shoot your buddy here, and you get to watch. Watch me shoot him and then push him over the cliff still alive.”
And then he moved, moved so that he was between Dust and me. I don’t think he did it intentionally, but where he was now, if Dust shot and missed, he’d hit me.
Cramer couldn’t have realized it, but he was putting his son to the supreme test. Dust had gained confidence in himself all summer long. Now, to do this, he’d have to have enough confidence to shoot toward me, confident he’d hit what he was aiming at. He’d have to believe in himself.
“His hand,” I yelled. “Shoot it!”
“Turn around and jump!” Cramer yelled at me, raising the gun.
I figured it would all be over in less than a second. I turned around, stood where I was, started to count Mississippi One, but threw myself flat on the ground when I’d barely reached Mississi. Just as I did, I heard two shots, first the treble crack of the .22 followed almost simultaneously by the louder report of the .38.
I’d known Cramer would instinctively reach out with his gun to shoot me, and that would be when Dust would have his best shot. Would he do it? Or would he hesitate? That had been the question. I’d hoped he’d shoot. It was the only chance either of us had.
I’d known Cramer wouldn’t wait. When I turned, I knew I’d hear a shot almost immediately. I hoped it would be the .22 I heard. But still I waited almost a second, the longest quick second of my life to give Cramer time to extend his gun and for Dust to shoot at it.
Dust had. He’d hit the .38 just as Cramer was pulling the trigger. Dust’s round went through Cramer’s hand, hitting the gun’s handle and ruining Cramer’s aim. By that time I was already falling to the ground, twisting as I did so I’d land on my hands. I’d been hoping the .38 slug would miss me, and, almost certainly due to Dust’s shot, it had.
Cramer was screaming, his hand bleeding, the gun tumbling to the ground. I didn’t wait any longer. From my prone position on the ground, I lunged into him, tackling him like I had running backs long ago. Except they’d generally weighed 180 to 200. He probably weighed 270.
I dived into his legs, trying to tackle him so he’d fall away from where the gun had landed. But he was a big man, bigger than I was, and I’d had very little leverage because I’d been almost flat on my stomach when I dived to tackle him around his shins.
He fell, but partly on top of me. The only thing I could do was use our momentum. I used it to roll over, taking him onto his back. It worked, but by the time I was on top, he had momentum, too, and as he was much heavier, he kept us rolling till he was back on top. He fought to stay there, to hold me down, but he only had one good hand. As I caught a glimpse of Dust running toward us, I managed to roll again, but he again was able to take me all the way over onto my back, and I reached out and felt the end of the earth. I was on my back partly hanging over the edge of the cliff.
Cramer was on top of me. He saw where we were, and a look of terror came into his eyes. As my shoulder was hanging over the cliff, part of him was over it as well. He was partly lying on me, clinging to me with one hand; the other was slippery with blood and didn’t seem to be working.
His only purchase onto anything solid was me, and I could feel both of us starting to slip backwards, the edge of the cliff beginning to crumble under our combined weights. He could feel it, too, because he cried out.
Desperately, I yanked a hand loose from between us and reached for his injured hand, caught it, and squeezed hard. His cry became a shriek as he felt the pain, and the pain distracted him enough to cause him to loosen his grip on me with his good hand. That was what I was hoping for. Using all the strength I’d developed through years and years of bench pressing, aided no doubt by gallons of adrenalin pumping through my system, I grabbed his jacket on both sides near his shoulders and lifted him up off me. I was able to see his face, see his terror, and then I tossed him backwards over my head and he was gone, falling, his scream rising in pitch until he hit the first outcropping of rocks below. After that there was silence.
I almost screamed, too, because I was still slipping farther off the cliff’s edge towards oblivion. Then a weight fell across my legs. It wasn’t very heavy, but was just enough to stabilize me and stop me from slipping any farther.
Dust was lying across my legs. His face was filled with fear, but he was holding me back. Little by little, I was able to use one hand to reach the cliff’s top and start to pull myself back. I pulled and worked and Dust stayed right there, pinning my lower half to the grass.
My heart took forever to slow down after I was safely back on solid ground. I really, really didn’t like heights.