U Is for Undertow

look? What wiggle room does it give my defense attorney if the law ever catches up with me? You’ll rat me out and you’ll be a hero while I take the rap. I mean, does that seem right? Think about it. You were in it the same as I was—every step of the way. You never once spoke up. You never expressed any reservations at all—until now.”
    “Times change, Jon. I’ve changed.”
    “But I haven’t.” He held his hand out. “Look at this. Steady as she goes. No wavering on my part. No ambivalence, no getting all weepy-minded. You’re the fly in the ointment, if you’ll excuse the cliché.”
    Walker recoiled in mock horror. “So what are you going to do, rub me out ? ”
    “Pretty much.”
    Walker offered up a flickering smile. “You can’t be serious. You think silencing me will protect you?”
    “I don’t see why not.”
    “What about Sutton?”
    Jon stared at him.
    Walker blanched. “Oh, shit, what did you do?”
    “Shot him,” I said, raising my voice. I’d reached the top of the hill, which was utterly without cover. They couldn’t fail to notice my arrival so I figured I might as well speak up. In a heartbeat, Walker realized who I was. Jon was slower on the uptake. He looked at Walker. “Who’s this?”
    I crossed the grass. “Kinsey Millhone. I’m an old high school class-mate. You probably don’t remember me, but I remember you.”
    I had my gun in hand. I wasn’t pointing it at anybody, but I thought it would be effective nonetheless.
    Jon said, “This doesn’t concern you.”
    “Yes, it does. Michael Sutton was a friend of mine.”
    He noticed my gun for the first time and nodded. “Is that thing loaded?”
    “Well, I could end up looking foolish if it weren’t.”
    Casually, he removed a gun from his windbreaker pocket and pointed it at me. “I’m telling you to get the fuck off this hill before I shoot you.”
    I made a face I hoped conveyed humility and regret. “Sorry to make a fuss about it, but here’s my view. I’ll bet Sutton was the one and only guy you ever killed in cold blood. I, on the other hand, have killed more than once. I can’t give you the count. I try not to keep track because it makes me look like a vigilante, which I’m not.”
    “Up yours.”
    “I don’t want to sound racist about this, but what we have here is what’s called a Mexican standoff.”
    He smiled. “Right, the question being which of us will fire first.”
    “Exactly.” I fired a shot, hitting his right hand. The gun popped up and landed in the grass. Walker jumped while Jon yelped in pain and dropped where he stood. I must have looked like a sharpshooter, but in truth he was fewer than fifteen feet away so it didn’t require any tricks. Point and pull the trigger, easy does it.
    “Jesus Christ,” Walker said. “You fuckin’ shot the guy!”
    “He’s the one who talked about firing first,” I said.
    I removed a hankie from my shoulder bag and bent down to retrieve Jon’s gun, wrapping it daintily to preserve his fingerprints. Jon had rolled over and risen to his knees. He leaned forward, head almost touching the ground as he gripped his shattered right hand in his left. He watched himself bleed, his face ashen, his breathing ragged.
    “You’re fine,” I said to him, and then turned to Walker. “Give me your tie and I’ll make a tourniquet.”
    Walker was so rattled his hands shook as he pulled the knot on his tie and passed it to me. Except for the whimpering, Jon offered no resistance as I made a slipknot and secured the tie around his forearm. It’s only in the movies the bad guys keep firing. In real life, they sit down and behave.
    “I can’t believe you did that,” Walker said, distressed.
    “Neither can he.”
    “We can’t just leave him here without help.”
    “Of course not.” I handed him my car keys. “My Mustang’s parked down below. Take it to the nearest service station, call the cops, and tell ’em where we are. You better ask for an ambulance while you’re at it. I’ll wait here with your pal until you get back.”
    He took the keys, pausing to stare at me. “Did you just save my life?”
    “More or less,” I said. “So how’s it going down with the clean-and-sober shit? That’s a tough one. You gonna make it?”
    Disconcerted, he said, “Good. It’s great. I got a lock on it. Ten days.”
    I reached over and gave his arm a squeeze. “Good for you!”

EPILOGUE

    As of the writing of this report, Jon Corso’s hired a