Shooter Galloway Read online

  Still, the big man seemed to glare his way. At first, Shooter thought the sheriff might have been the stranger’s interest, but nothing changed when Brunner left the table.

  Galloway judged the fat man’s stare as powerfully unfriendly. Perhaps the man was one of the environmental people who had come to weep and wail over the timbering of The Notch.

  Gabriel had allowed a few of the more sensible ones to enter and examine what had been done to their hoped-for virgin timber stand, but none of them liked it. They could not argue that the thinning of the forest giants had not been good for the woods, but the destruction of unblemished wilderness infuriated most of the visitors.

  Gabriel Galloway told them, straight from the shoulder how it was.

  “This land has been studied and restudied by the most renowned experts in the Commonwealth, so there wasn’t much new to discover.

  “This is Galloway land, and we have nurtured and protected it since we arrived hundreds of years ago. The unfortunate fact is, if you and people like you had been content to visit and study, I might have left The Notch as it was, but your crowd decided you had to own it and that only the government could satisfactorily do what we Galloways had been doing since before the Revolutionary War. You were trying to take my land, and you would probably have succeeded.

  “So, blame yourselves, people. You caused the logging. Quit whining and learn to keep your hands off other people’s property.”

  It had been an interesting couple of weeks, but no one came anymore, and Shooter did not remember a glary-eyed fat man, anyway.

  In his Marine Corps experience, Galloway had encountered out of control men, and he knew the signs. Most had been angry drunks. A few had raged against discipline or orders given. None had been fat men. The Corps did not have those.

  This fat man’s stare had become murderous, Galloway judged. About what, Shooter could not imagine, but he doubted there would be anything more than glaring or perhaps hot words in a restaurant on the town square, with a complete stranger.

  Still, Shooter would be pleased when Sheriff Brunner got back. Sonny was the law, after all, and few chose to unnecessarily attract law enforcement attention.

  Hugely fat men were often monsters to grapple with. Simply carrying their immense weight made them unusually strong, and if four hundred pounds fell on a normal man, getting out from under was extremely difficult.

  Most were grossly out of shape, of course, and tired rapidly. A wise man used speed and a lot of maneuvering room against over-size opponents.

  Galloway supposed all of that was correct. Those were the tactics claimed within barracks discussions, and although he had never battled a fat man or even seen a fight that included a huge man, the tactics sounded right.

  The argument went that once you wore the big guy down by moving around, an ordinary sized man could make his move. Shooter wondered a bit about that. What move could you make against such a monster?

  Perhaps he was going to find out. When Sonny Brunner entered the men’s room, the fat man rose and lurched a clumsy but determined path toward Gabriel Galloway.

  Instantly, Shooter’s heart rate went through the roof. The fat man wasn’t kidding. He came like a slow freight train, and to Galloway’s eyes he seemed almost as intimidating. Still, he would stop and talk . . . wouldn’t he? Shooter waited.

  The human tank did stop, almost across the table from Galloway. His body seemed to strain and his fingers were clawed as though anxious to grab. Piggy eyes glowed hatred from a great moon face. Shooter shifted his balance as best he could and wished he had a pistol.

  The fat man’s voice was a surprisingly high squeak, but his words dripped venom.

  “I know who you are, you little piss ant.”

  Ex-Sergeant Galloway knew better than to back away. He said, “I don’t know you, so get away from my table.” Galloway’s voice was louder than his challenger’s and as cold as he could make it.

  The restaurant’s few patrons silenced as if personally threatened, but the fat man did not react.

  “You’re the cause of all of our troubles. You always have been, and don’t think we don’t know it.”

  Shooter wondered, what troubles? But the man went on.

  “You sold that timber right out from under us when we needed it most, and we know damned well that you killed Box and Pap, and you probably pushed our house over the cliff.

  “Well, I’ve had enough of you, Galloway. I should have pounded you out years ago, but it ain’t too late yet.”

  And the huge figure charged.

  Shooter let him take a step before he swung the topless peppershaker across the monster’s flushed features. Gabriel had chosen a full one, and he had tapped the shaker before he unscrewed the top to make sure that the black pepper would fly.

  It flew, in a thick cloud that struck the fat man’s staring eyes, and it settled in.

  Shooter Galloway was not waiting for results. Galloway went straight down, and he was below the tabletop when the huge body landed on it. The table sagged and bowed under the hundreds of pounds spread upon it.

  The monster’s scream of agony from the burn of the pepper reached Shooter as he scrambled wildly to get out from under and into the open space of the dining room.

  Galloway came out with a rush, knocking aside the fat man’s flailing legs, and gaining his feet, his fists raised ready to fight, his body balanced prepared to battle or run, whichever seemed best.

  The fat man was belly down on the table clawing at his eyes and squalling, his piping voice still gaining strength.

  Although he hadn’t done anything exhausting, Shooter found his breathing pumping as if he had run hard. What now? He really did not know.

  Unable to reach the floor, the fat man’s legs continued to flail, and Galloway wondered if he could smash a fist into the monster’s crotch. The immense thighs seemed to meet only a little way above his knees. Shooter doubted he could reach sensitive parts, and if he didn’t? Galloway wanted a more certain plan.

  The fat man at the counter had caught Sonny’s law enforcement eye, and as he lined up before the urinal, Brunner tried to place the man. The stranger had avoided eye contact, outwardly caught up in his coffee drinking. If there was something, Sonny couldn’t come up with it. He would look again going out.

  Brunner was almost finished when a woman screamed. The panicked and agonized squall was an automatic shut off, and the sheriff zipped as he burst through the men’s room door.

  People were scrambling, but Brunner found the source—it wasn’t a woman, it was the fat man screaming, and he was sprawled on their dining room table.

  What in hell?

  Shooter Galloway was standing at the man’s feet, and as he pushed through watchers, Sonny saw Galloway grab the huge and flapping pants legs and haul mightily.

  Shooter pulled, and it was enough. The table collapsed with the fat man tangled within the wreckage.

  Galloway had gripped the pant legs cross-handed, and as the monster fell with the table, Galloway bent a barely resisting left leg at the knee and placed the ankle behind the man’s extended right knee. Then he bent the right leg and lunged on it with all of his body weight.

  The leg bent, of course, and the ankle behind the knee acted like a wedge and a fulcrum. The man was fat, but his joints were normal, and with Galloway’s full weight dropping hard against the bending leg the hugely stressed knee blew out as easily as a knife-punctured tire. Shooter heard cartilage crack and crumble, and he felt ligaments stretch.

  The fat man’s screech altered to a tortured bellow. His arms thrashed frantically among the table shards, but the pain became too much, and the movements stilled. Galloway believed his attacker was unconscious, but he was not backing off. He had no intention of allowing the monster-man to gain his feet and resume the battle.

  Shooter gripped the man’s lax right foot against his chest, twisted it as far as possible, shifted his weight, and re-straightened the broken-kneed leg with a powerful bac
kward jerk. Anything undamaged left within the tortured knee gave and some of it parted. Shooter figured that the fat man was through fighting or even standing for a very long time.

  The moments had been explosive, and his lungs heaved from effort and adrenalin rush. Galloway dropped the unresisting foot and stepped away.

  Brunner broke through paralyzed customers and reached Shooter’s side. He was late. The action was over, and voices began to rise.

  Sonny asked, “My God, what happened?” The sheriff thought he knew, but he needed a firsthand description and time to absorb the intensity of the almost lethal fight.

  Shooter was not entirely sure himself, and he was not certain that he wanted to repeat what the monster had said.

  The words had been clear enough. The fat man was one of the Elders, and he had flat-out stated that they believed Gabriel Galloway had killed their kin. Shooter had hoped to never hear anyone make that claim.

  Gabriel Galloway said, “I think he is one of the Elder boys, sheriff. He doesn’t look like I remember them, but he blamed me for selling The Notch to someone else, and claimed that I had shot his Pap.”

  Shooter let his dismay show. “My gosh, sheriff, I hope they are the only ones around who think that. My gosh . . .” Gabriel let his voice die.

  Brunner’s mind caught up. Somewhere he had heard that one of the Elder’s had gotten hog fat. He could not recall which one, but that would come out quickly—assuming Shooter had not killed the man.

  Sonny kicked himself for not recognizing an Elder, but the change was monumental, and the Elders had not been around in years.

  The sheriff’s inquisitive mind instantly wondered if the Elders had information about the killings that he did not.

  Doubtful. The Elders had probably reached the same conclusion as he had—no proof, no evidence, but no other explanation. He would certainly inquire.

  Someone said that the ambulance had been summoned, and about then the fat man began stirring. When he stirred his screaming resumed.

  Brunner recognized that Gabriel had really hurt whichever Elder had attacked him. Voices tried to comfort the injured man. A blanket was provided, and promises of early treatment were extended.

  Shooter Galloway had gone to the counter and was resting, his chin propped on his hands, elbows on the countertop.

  Sonny went over and sat beside him. As if anxious to unload, Gabriel began explaining.

  “The instant you disappeared, he charged my table, Sheriff. I thought he was going to run over me, but he stopped and began yelling.

  “I‘d been watching him glaring over your shoulder, and I thought he might be sore at you. I took the top off the peppershaker just in case, and when you left he came like a freight train.

  “When he lunged at me, I let him have the pepper right in the eyes, then I crawled out under the table.”

  Shooter paused, “I’ll tell you, sheriff. Having that monster getting up and coming at me again was about the last thing I wanted, so I dragged him off the table, which collapsed under him, and I broke his knee as completely as I could.”

  They turned to watch the Ambulance Company’s paramedics stabilize and prepare the fat man for transportation. Sonny went over, and after some yelling and more squalling, he managed to speak with the injured man and got some responses.

  As the ambulance departed, Brunner came back to the counter. He ordered coffee before he told what he had learned.

  “Well, that fat guy is Andrew Elder.” Sonny’s eyes grew distant. “Who’d have believed it? I can remember when Andrew Elder was a hell of a West Perry running back.” Brunner sighed. “Times do change.”

  “The state police will be looking into all of this, Shooter. I’ll get witness names. Hell, I already know everybody that was here. You’ll have to make a statement, of course.”

  Brunner said, “It might not be a bad idea to get Dan Grouse in on this at the start. Lawyers think of things that other lawyers will attempt where the rest of us just try to do the right things.”

  Brunner sighed again.

  “There isn’t a chance in hell that Elder won’t sue you. Grouse can make sure that he doesn’t succeed.” Sonny looked regretful. “I wish I had seen it all so that I could testify firsthand.”

  He grinned, “My old man’s bladder betrayed me.”

  Shooter said, “I think he was waiting for you to go away, sheriff. He had it planned, and he came fast.”

  Sonny laughed. “Well, he picked a bad target, Galloway.

  “My God, you about ruined him, Shooter. I could almost feel that knee tearing apart. I never heard of that leg hold, but it’s a mean one. I doubt his leg will ever be right again.”

  Galloway shrugged, and Brunner could sense the disinterest. “His fault, sheriff. He scared me half to death.”

  When Gabriel looked Brunner in the eye, Sonny felt hackles rise. Galloway’s eyes were expressionless, and his voice was flat and cold. “I was afraid for my life, sheriff.”

  Sonny Brunner had been a law enforcement officer for decades, and he recognized the best defense there was when he heard it. A lot of very hard things can be done when one is in fear of his life without the law finding fault.

  Brunner recognized that Gabriel Galloway knew the ropes, but he doubted, really doubted, that Shooter had been all that fearful for his life.

  Andrew Elder? Shooter tried to visualize the man as he had known him years before, but the memory was vague, and the loss of clarity was discomforting. Shooter had assumed his practiced hatred and determination for revenge would keep his memory clean and sharp. It had not.

  What else about the Elders was slipping away, and what did the losses signify—if anything?

  Did a blurring memory, a loss of small details, mean that Gabriel Galloway’s wish to kill all of the Elders had been blunted?

  Shooter found himself unnerved by the thought. Since he was eleven, he had been planning to execute the Elders—when he got around to it, and when he believed it was safe.

  Or had his delaying been only an unrecognized indication that he no longer was interesting in finishing off the men who had helped hide his father’s murder?

  Helped hide the murder? Gabriel was again shaken. He had always thought of all of the Elders as murderers. Not as part of a cover up.

  There were more urgent points to consider, and Shooter forced his thoughts to shift. Would witnesses who had heard all or most of Elder’s threatening remember the words? If they did, Sonny Brunner would weigh their meaning.

  Shooter wondered, as he had many times before, if the long-time sheriff had his own unprovable suspicions. Gabriel believed he did because, since the very beginning, he had accepted that Sheriff Brunner was smart and unrelenting.

  If the Elders had reached correct conclusions, so could Brunner. Shooter judged it was time to twist the sheriff’s thinking a little with a preemptive strike of open and innocent astonishment at Andrew Elder’s accusation.

  Making and signing his statement took hours. Over the phone, Dan Grouse made him correct and rewrite. The sheriff was tied up helping witnesses explain what they had seen and organizing his own testimony, but finally it was done, and Shooter and Sonny were alone. It was lunchtime, and Shooter made the obvious suggestion.

  “Geez, half a day gone over a fight. In the Corps an enlisted fight would have taken about ten minutes to settle, another two minutes to decide on who got punished, and that would be the end of it.”

  He asked Brunner, “You hungry, sheriff? I’d like to eat—assuming they’ll let me back inside the restaurant.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Gabriel. Nobody will disagree, and when Elder sues, which he surely will because they always do, Dan Grouse will take care of it. I doubt you will even have to appear. It’s a done deal, slam dunk, ancient history.” Brunner had no doubts.

  Shooter had his chance. “Did you hear what Elder said, sheriff?” Galloway did not wait for a reply.

  “Elder said that they—I suppose he meant he and h
is brothers—knew that I had shot Boxer and his father—and even pushed their house over the cliff.”

  Shooter made himself choke a little. “Geez, I don’t like that at all. I didn’t know that anyone thought I had done any of it.”

  Sonny put him to the test. He watched closely and said, “Well, you didn’t did you, Gabriel?”

  Outwardly jolted, Shooter’s eyes flew wide.

  “I was only a kid when all of that happened, Sonny. My God, I . . .” Gabriel choked on his words.

  Galloway was dumbfounded by the question—Brunner was sure of it. Gabriel had never before called him Sonny, and the young man appeared wounded to the core.