Spencerville

Keith took a deep breath and informed Billy, "I think I want to take him alive."

"No way."

"Yes, I want to tie him up and throw him in the back of the pickup truck and bring him to the law. I've been thinking about it, and that's the way I want to do it. You think about it."

"I already thought about it, Keith. I know what you mean. He'd rather be dead than face the music for what he done. But I gotta tell you, the fucking law works fu

Keith considered that. Aside from all the humiliations that Baxter would face, in a year or two he could be loose on the world again. Cliff Baxter was sick, and the state might agree with Baxter's attorney that he needed therapy and counseling. He'd had a traumatic experience, seeing his wife in bed with another man, a slick seducer from out of town, and he did what any man would do: He beat up the boyfriend, then, instead of kicking his wife out, he took her on a little vacation and tried to work things out. Sure, he overdid it a bit, which is why he needed counseling. Keith thought about that and finally decided that, despite his promise to A

"Okay... if that's what you need to make it right for you, I'm okay with that. I like it. Hope we can do it."

"We'll do it."

Billy said, "Hey, after we finish this shit, I'm goin' to Columbus to look her up. I couldn't do that while he was alive. You know?"

"I know."

"I couldn't look nobody in the eye, Keith. I hung around that town, and I'd see him on the street, and he'd laugh at me. He'd arrest me sometimes when he saw me drunk and take me in and make me go through a strip search, and the bastard took pictures, and he said he mailed some to Beth with him standin' next to me."

Keith didn't respond.

"And you're probably wonderin' why I hung around. I'll tell you, because I was try in' to get up the nerve to kill him, but I never got the nerve... and I never was going to get it. Until you came along." He added, "Remember, if I don't make it..."

"Okay. Enough." Keith looked at Billy, sitting with his back to the tree, staring off into the dark. Billy Marlon, Keith thought, sober now and with the insight of all lost souls who saw things too clearly, had probably foreseen his own death, and Keith thought he might be right. But Billy had reached one of those rare moments in life, he thought, perhaps the rarest of moments, when it was equally good to live or die.

They waited, listening to the infrequent night sounds of autumn — a chipmunk, a squirrel, a hare, an occasional bird. Keith looked up at the moon, which was nearly overhead now. It would set in perhaps three or four hours. That would be the time to move, except he needed the moonlight if he was going to use the crossbow on the dogs.

Keith didn't want to think about what was going on in the house, but he thought about it. Undoubtedly, Cliff Baxter had snapped, and his possessiveness had turned to something far more ugly. Keith knew that Baxter would beat A

He put himself in the right mind-set for what was to come. He had to act rationally, coolly, and with the same cu

Billy said, "I got this feelin' he knows we're here. I mean, he don't know, but he knows."

Keith said, "Doesn't matter. It doesn't change a thing, for him, or for us."

"Right. He's got himself in a corner." He thought a moment and said, "I guess we're in a corner, too. We can leave, but we can't leave. You know?"

"I do."

"Hey, I wish I had a smoke."

"Do you need a drink?"

"Well... you got somethin'?"

"No. I'm asking you if you need a drink."

"I... do. But... it'll wait."

"You know, maybe you can get your life together after this, if you lay off the juice."

"Maybe."

"I'll help you."

"Forget it. We're even." Billy asked, "Did you ever think we got fucked big-time?"

"Yeah. So what? Every veteran since the first war got fucked big-time. Maybe you should stop feeling sorry for yourself. There's no war long enough or bad enough to mess up your head as bad as you messed it up yourself."

Billy thought about that awhile, then replied, "Maybe not your head. You was always together. My head couldn't take too much."

"Sorry."

"Tell you somethin' else, Keith — if you don't think you're a little fucked-up, too, you ain't listenin' to the bells and whistles, in your skull."

Keith didn't reply.

They waited another hour, mostly in silence. Finally, Billy said, "Hey, remember that Findlay game in our senior year?"

"No."

"I was playin' that day, halfback, and we was down seven to twelve, and I take the handoff and shoot off left tackle. They nailed my ass at the scrimmage line, but I didn't go down — I spun off and flipped the ball back to you. You was playin' fullback that day, remember? The Findlay bastards were all over you, but you chuck the long bomb out to some end — what the hell was his name? Davis. Right? And he didn't even know he was in the play, but he turns around, and the ball lands in his hands, and he gets hit and falls in the end zone. Touchdown. You remember that?"

"Yes."

"Hell of a game. Goes to show you. Even when things are goin' wrong, if you hang in there, you can catch a break. I wonder if they still got a film of that?"

"Probably."

"Yeah, I'd like to see that. Hey, do you remember Baxter from high school?"

"No... actually, I do."

"Yeah, he was always a prick. You ever get into it with him?"

"No, but I should have."

"Never too late to settle a score."

"That's just what he's thinking, and that's why we're all here."

"Yeah... but we never done nothing to him in school. I never done nothing to him. He just gets off on fucking with people. I can't understand why somebody didn't take him down long ago."

Keith said, "He picks on weak people."

Billy Marlon didn't respond to that but said, "Hey, he's really pissed at you." He laughed, then added, "You know something, after I saw you in the bar, like the next day when my head was straight, I remembered about you and A

Keith didn't reply.

Billy went on, "I guess he figured that out, too. You know, I used to see her sometimes on the street — I mean, I never knew her too good in school, but bein' we was old classmates, she'd always smile at me and say hello. Sometimes, she'd stop and talk a minute, you know, askin' me how I was doin'. I'd stand there, like not knowing what to say, thinkin' to myself, 'Your husband fucked my wife, and I should tell you that,' but of course, I never did. And I didn't want to talk too long, because I was afraid that if he saw me talkin' to his wife, he'd do somethin' nasty to me, or to her."