The Highway Kind(12)

“Give me a hand here,” Pingston said to Wade. The two men wedged themselves into the two-foot opening and each put a shoulder to opposite doors. With a sound like rolling thunder, the doors opened wide.

Brandon watched Pingston walk into the shed and disappear in the dark. A wall of icy air pushed out from the open doors. It was colder inside the shed than outside, Brandon thought. Then a single match fired up in the corner and he saw Pingston’s finger toggle a light switch. Above them, two of four bare bulbs came on.

“See, I remembered where the lights were after all this time,” Pingston said.

“Good for you,” Wade said without enthusiasm. “You figured out how to operate a light switch.”

The shed layout was familiar to Brandon and much of it was the same as it had been. Some of the equipment was so old it looked almost medieval in the gloom. Thrashers, tractors, one-ton flatbed trucks without wheels, a square-nosed bulldozer, a faded wooden sheep wagon as old as Wyoming itself, a lifetime of battered pickups. And there, backed against the far sheet-metal wall, was the toothy front grille and split-window windshield of the ’48 Power Wagon. It sat high and still on knobby tires, its glass clouded with age, the two headlamps mounted on the high wide fenders looking in the low light like dead eyes.

“Son of a bitch,” Pingston said. “There it is.”

Wade blew out a sigh of relief.

“How you doin’, old girl?” Pingston said to the truck. He approached it and stroked the dust-covered hood. “It looks like the old man backed it in after they arrested me and it hasn’t been moved since,” he said.

Brandon put his hands on his hips and took a deep breath. He said, “Then I guess my work is done here.”

“Not so fast,” Wade said, stepping over and placing his hand on Brandon’s shoulder. Then to Pingston: “Check it out.”

Check out what?

Pingston nodded and opened the front door of the Power Wagon and leaned inside. Brandon was surprised how obedient Pingston had been to the command. Then he realized Wade was actually the one in charge, not Pingston.

“What’s he looking for? The keys?” Brandon asked.

“Shut up.”

Brandon pursed his lips and waited. He could see Pingston crawl further into the cab and could hear the clinks of metal on metal.

After a long few moments, Pingston pushed himself out and looked to Wade. Pingston’s face was drained of color.

“It’s not there,” he said in a weak voice. “The tools are on the floorboard but the toolbox is gone. The old man must have found it.”

Wade closed his eyes and worked his jaw. Brandon felt Wade’s hand clamp harder on his shoulder. Then Wade stepped back quickly and kicked Brandon’s legs out from under him. He fell hard, half in and half out of the shed.

When Brandon looked up, Wade was crouching over him with a large-caliber snub-nosed pistol in his hand. The muzzle pressed into his forehead.

“Where is it?” Wade asked.

“Where is what?” Brandon said. “I don’t have a clue what you’re looking for.”

“Where. Is. It?” Wade’s eyes were bulging and his teeth were clenched.

“Honest to God,” Brandon said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t been in this shed for years. I wasn’t even sure the Power Wagon was here. I have no idea where the keys are.”

He tried to rise up on his elbows but the pressure of the muzzle held him down.

“Fuck the keys,” Wade said. He barked at Pingston, “Look again.”

Pingston practically hurled himself into the cab of the truck. His cowboy boots stuck out and flutter-kicked like he was swimming.

“Don’t lie to me or I’ll kill you and your wife,” Wade said and Brandon didn’t doubt it. “Where is it?”

Brandon took a trembling breath. He said, “This is my first day back on this place. I have no idea what you’re asking me. I’ve not been in this shed. You saw how rusty that lock was, Wade. It hasn’t been opened in a long time.”

Something registered behind Wade’s eyes. The pressure of the muzzle eased but he didn’t move the gun.

“My old man was in this shed since I was here last. Hell, Dwayne Pingston was in this shed after I left. I don’t know what you’re looking for. I’m an accountant, for God’s sake.”

Wade appeared to be making his mind up about something. Then his features contorted into a snarl and he withdrew the revolver and hit Brandon in the face with the butt of it. Brandon heard his nose break and felt the hot rush of blood down his cheeks and into his mouth. Wade struck again and Brandon stopped trying to get up.

Wade got off him and Brandon tried to roll to his side but he couldn’t move his arms or legs. He was blacking out, but he fought it. For some reason he thought about the fact that the only violence he had ever encountered in his life was here on this ranch. And Marissa was back in the house...

His head flopped so he was facing into the shed. Through a red gauzy curtain, he watched Wade stride toward the Power Wagon with the gun at his side.

And he heard Wade say to Pingston, “You stupid, miserable old son of a bitch. I knew I should have never believed you about anything. You kept me on the hook for years so I’d watch your back inside.”

Pingston said, “Wade! Put that down.”