Hard News

a bench facing the city and waited for more darkness to fall. He stubbed out his cigarette, after taking one long final drag, deciding that the menthol made him less thirsty.
    Eight potato, nine potato, no cops anymore
…
    The blue-and-white that had been parked on the highway near the houseboat, the cops eating sandwiches, drinking coffee, pulled away, made a lazy U-turn, then headed north.
    Time to go to work. He pulled out his gun and eased slowly toward the houseboat.
    “ I LEARNED A LOT OF LAW FOR ONE THING. THEY HAD A mess of law books Inside. Some of the fellows write their own appeals. They do pretty good at it.”
    Rune nodded. Boggs was working on his Corona—he still wasn’t drunk, or even tired, it seemed—and Rune was sipping herbal tea and eating Twinkies. She’d wanted to tape him and ask him more questions about what life was like in prison. But he’d begged off. He was tired. Tomorrow, he said. Shoot me all you want tomorrow.
    Courtney had gotten cranky; it was a little early for bed but she’d had a busy day helping get prisoners released from jail and playing the role of a convict’s daughter so Rune gave her a bath then put her to bed. She fell asleep almost at once. Rune bounded back into the living room portion of the cabin and saw Boggs sitting on the couch, looking uneasy, nervous.
    He cleared his throat and looked at her for a long moment, then away.
    Something was on his mind and she wondered if this was the moment when he was going to bring up sleeping arrangements again or even make a move.
    As in, a man and a woman alone together.
    As in, a man who’s been behind bars for three years suddenly alone with a woman.
    But no propositions were forthcoming. Boggs got another beer and kept up a nervous chatter. They talked about life in the city for a few minutes, about Atlanta, about politics and Washington (he seemed to know a surprising number of facts for someone who appeared so redneck). Rune, expecting the line at any minute:
You know, I was thinking I might have me some trouble getting a room
…. But just as that was going through her head Boggs yawned and looked at his watch. He said, “I ought to be finding a room for the night.”
    And she surprised herself by saying, “You want, you can sleep in the living room. Courtney’s got the futon but we could fix up something.”
    But he was shaking his head. “No, it’s funny, I can’t explain it but I’d really be inclined to spend the night by myself, you know?”
    “Sure.” Not understanding at all, but feeling relieved that he wanted to do this. “Let me pack up the rest of the beers. And I’ll give you some pizza for breakfast.”
    “Uh, no thanks. I’m pretty partial to oatmeal.”
    “I got some packets of instant,” she said. “You want a couple?”
    Which was a question that never got answered.
    With a huge crack, the front door burst open, hitting a table and knocking over a pile of Rune’s books.
    She looked at the fat man rushing into the houseboat, saw the big gun in his hand and instinctively leapt in front of the storeroom where Courtney was asleep. Rune pulled the door shut, standing defiantly in front of it. Staring back at the man she knew without a bit of doubt had killed Lance Hopper and Bennett Frost.
    This was Jimmy.
    Boggs stood up fast, knocking over the beer, which chugged onto the floor.
    The big man stopped then closed the front door slowly, calmly, as if he’d been invited in.
    He stood with his arms hanging awkwardly at his side. Cautious, but confident, squinting, checking out the room and its inhabitants. Nothing he saw scared him.
    Randy Boggs, his eyes wide with shock, faced the man. The way Boggs stood made him look like a soldier. No, more like a boxer—one foot forward, turned side-ways. Which was crazy because even without the gun, no way could he have taken this fat guy, who outweighed him by a hundred pounds and looked like a ball-kicker and eye-gouger. A dirty fighter.
    “What do you want?” Rune whispered.
    He ignored her and stepped right up to Boggs. Five seconds of complete silence passed as the men seemed locked in a staring contest.
    No one moved.
    It was Randy Boggs who grinned first, then said, “Jack Nestor, you son of a bitch! Wasn’t expecting you for a couple of days or so.”
    The fat man laughed and let out a whoop. He slipped the gun into his belt and the two men embraced like long-lost cossack brothers suddenly reunited.

    chapter