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“Did you know I had a wife, too? Back then?”
Kinnick tried to recall; had he seen a woman in court? He shook his head.
“Yeah, not the sort of woman to wait a couple of years while you’re in a federal institution. She lives in Billings now.” Dean took a deep breath. “I tell you what.” He pulled his handgun from its holster and flipped it over, so the handle was facing out, Kinnick wondering briefly,Is he going to hand me his gun?“I’m gonna do you a favor,” Dean said.
Kinnick felt a charge go through his legs, and his mouth went dry. Jesus, the man wouldn’t shoot him, would he?
“I’ll even up our work and then we’ll go,” Burris said. And with that, he swung the butt of the gun at Kinnick’s head. Rhys leaned back and got his arm up, blocking some of the blow, but the gun butt connected hard with his jaw, staggering him backward.
The pain, again, was excruciating. But Kinnick felt perversely proud that, this time, he hadn’t gone down.
Burris was red-faced. “Oh, no, Rhys Kinnick, staff writer, looks like I accidentally broke your jaw instead of the other cheek.” He turned and looked again at the goateed man. “Sorry. I messed up your work, Bobby.”
Bobby didn’t answer this time.
Kinnick held his hand against his throbbing right jaw. It felt like, if he let go, the whole thing would simply fall off his face and drop to the ground. He ran his tongue along a cracked molar and tried to stop the moan that escaped his mouth.
Burris turned back. “How about this? What if I break yourleftjaw, then yourrightcheek. Then you’ll have two breaks on each side. Top and bottom. You’ll be evened up. You’ll be—what’s the word?” He looked confused for a moment, then turned back to Bobby, the goateed man. “What’s the word I’m looking for, Bobby? When both sides are the same?”
“Thymetrical,” Kinnick managed to say.
And with that, Burris spun back and swung the gun in his fist again, but this time, Kinnick didn’t get his hand up and he took the brunt of it to his right cheek and eye socket, and, hearing the cracking sound of celery stalks again, he went down hard in the dirt. He couldn’t stop the scream that came from his mouth.
“Ooh, Iheardthat one!” Burris said.
That’s when the front door of the house opened behind Kinnick, Shane coming out on the porch, hands out, peacemaker style. “That’s enough, Dean!”
Dean laughed. “Is it, Shane? Is it enough? Boy, it didn’t take long to turn you back into a pussy-whipped little piece-a-shit, did it?” Dean turned to Bobby again. “Little man can’t keep his woman at home, and he wants to tell me what’senough?”
“Dean—” Bobby began.
“I’m saying, you made your point,” Shane said. “Look, I appreciate your help. But you can go now. I got it from here.”
“You got it?” He gestured at Kinnick with the butt of the gun. “Your asshole father-in-law ruined my life, brought a cop to my church, shot up my truck, and you think you got it?”
On the ground, Kinnick was dizzy with pain. He rolled over onto his hands and knees. He didn’t see the next blow coming—a kick, Dean’s boot snapping his face back, his nose and mouth spattering the dirt driveway with blood as he landed on his back again.
“Stay away from him!”
Splayed out on the ground, coughing blood, Kinnick looked back over his shoulder, through bleary eyes, to see his daughter descending the front porch steps with... something in her hands. He squinted. Was that... his little Dragonfly pellet-shooting air rifle? His raccoon defense system—she must’ve found it upstairs. Maybe when she moved the kids up there. She held the gun against her shoulder, and was looking down the barrel, as if she’d fired a rifle before, Kinnick wondering when, and how, and with whom. Shane, maybe? More fatherly failure on his part, never teaching his daughter to shoot. Of course, an air-powered pellet rifle wasn’t likely to break the skin, let alone stop a lunatic wearing a bulletproof vest. But as terrified as he was, Rhys couldn’t help but be proud of Bethany’s effort; hell, maybe Dean would be fooled, and think, for a moment, it was a real rifle, a kid’s .22 perhaps, pointed at him.
“Bethany—” Shane sounded a warning. “Don’t—” He put his hand out, but she walked past it, the gun pointed at Burris’s face.
This latest development threatened to send Dean over the edge. “Shane,” he said, “control your whore wife, or I’ll do it for you!”
Shane took another step toward Bethany. “Beth. Let’s calm down now—”
“Wait. Is that anairrifle?” Burris cut him off. He was squinting at Bethany. He looked over his shoulder once more at quiet, goateed Bobby. “You seeing this, Bobby? Whore’s got a pellet gun. Maybe she’s gonna put my eye out with it.”
Bobby gave no answer.
“Beth.” Kinnick rolled over again and started crawling in the dirt toward his daughter. “Pleathe.”
“We’re almost finished working on your father’s face, Sister Bethany,” Burris said, “but if you want, I can take a run at yours next.” He took a step toward her. “Or, if you want, I can shove that gun up your—”
“Stop it!” Bethany said, and the tears began streaming down her cheeks. “Just stop it! Get out of here. Now!” She looked over to her husband. “Shane. Please.” Her voice quavered. “They’re gonna kill him. And they’re terrifying the children.”
That’s when Dean Burris rushed her, yanked the pellet gun from her hands, and threw it aside. It clattered in the dirt. Bethany put her hands up to stop him, but Burris grabbed her by the wrist, twisted, and spun her to the ground.