Danforth was pleased to see his shack was exactly the way he’d left it, just a bit shabbier and weather-worn. A thief would be interested in a house like that.
The two young men dropped their sacks at the front door, while Danforth pulled some keys out to open the door.
“Well...” said Krakauer.
“I can’t say that I expected to spend my hard-earned leave in a dump like this.”
Danforth chuckled out loud looking around as they walked in.
Krakauer looked out the back window, just to see the yard. The land was flat all around them, with the occasional bush here and there. The main road ran parallel to the horizon. It was a straight, long and dark road, with no extra lightning whatsoever.
“There isn’t much traffic around here, is there?”
“Nope, and if a car comes within the vicinity, you can hear it five miles away.”
Danforth busied himself puttering around his shack for a bit. He made sure the pilot light lit, switched the power back on and checked if the counter was still working while Krakauer brought their two sacks inside.
“Okay Krak, everything’s still in working order here. What now? Do we feel like hitting the sack or would we rather have some beers out?”
“Are you kidding me? Let’s go get some drinks in town somewhere. Does this dump have running water?” he said snickering.
“I heard something come out of the taps when I opened the water valve. Anyway, I paid all the utilities in advance before I left on tour so the water better be fucking running!”
“Don’t call it a tour, man: we are professionals. Words like “tour’, ‘the real world’ is the kind of jargon rookie’s use.”
“Uh-huh, whatever. Let’s give the water a try, shall we? Let’s see what the hell’s coming out of those pipes!”
The two had a shower, put on some civilian clothes and by the time they got back into the car, it was half-past twelve already.
“We’re going to the Burnin’ Sun, seeing as it’s the only place open until late.”
The Burning Sun had three tables, a billiard table, a jukebox and there were less than a dozen customers including two women who were standing on their own –undoubtedly prostitutes. There was also a truck driver, a couple of bikers in another corner, and everybody just seemed to be minding their own business. Not exactly, what you could call a regular party-hub.
Danforth greeted the bartender he knew well, and asked him if he had some marijuana or anything else along those lines.
The bartender smiled, so he obviously did.
Danforth and Krakauer drank all night, smoked outside the bar and played billiards.
It had been a quiet night up until a biker asked to have a game with them.
There was tension in the air almost instantly.
It was very clear that both Danforth and Krakauer were military personnel, probably on leave, and young military personnel was notoriously known for wasting their money when they came back. That had apparently made the biker think those two soldiers might have been ‘easy prey’ so-to-speak.
Back in those days, soldiers were easy prey primarily for two reasons.
The first was because there weren’t all that many places in the Vietnam jungle where one could spend money and have fun so soldiers on leave usually found themselves with a whole lot of money and fuck all to do with it.
The second reason was that many soldiers quite probably considered their leave be their last time in the US – alive, that is – and so some of them used to spend everything they had before they headed back. The reasoning behind that was they were sure they wouldn’t see the light long after they’d returned.
Danforth got his stick ready while quietly laughing to himself and patiently waited for the man to suggest a friendly wager.
He was playing against a man who was quite big and tall and had a protruding belly evident from the leather jacket. He went on to ask for a hundred dollar bet but Danforth agreed to a tenner instead.
Danforth wasn’t looking for trouble.
The two then played without even grinning at one another all under Krakauer’s watchful eye as he sat quietly in a corner just drinking away.
When Danforth sunk the last victorious ball, Krakauer’s sixth sense seemed to kick in, so he hung onto his bottle of beer with great nonchalance. His grasp on it reminisced of event-filled nights. One never knows what will happen, so better safe than sorry.
All things considered, it wasn’t hard for a brawl to get underway even if it was over ten bucks.
The biker however, smiled instead, gave Danforth a pat on his shoulder and said:
Danforth handed him the joint he was smoking and asked him if he wanted a drag.
“Nah,” the biker replied.
“And you shouldn’t be smoking either,” he added.
Danforth squinted and stared right in the middle of the guy’s chest, just like they’d taught to do in hand to hand combat situations.
“When the two of you arrived here the bartender called the sheriff, man. He told him you were here. You should probably be hitting the road ‘bout now.”
Danforth was very surprised by that last comment. So surprised in fact that his body became rigid and suddenly feeling his muscles tighten up like a coil or a compressed spring, and ready to bounce back on demand as it saw fit.
In light of the distance between them, he could have killed that man in ten different ways, and all of them instantaneously.
“You know what, I know you, we’ve met before,” the biker told him.
“You were Lucille’s pimp.”
Lucille’s pimp.
The name Lucille took Danforth by some surprise.
Two women who came to mind when he thought carefully about the name Lucille, but only one of them had worked with him there, years before. It was quite likely therefore, that both he and the biker were referring to the exactly the same Lucille.
He certainly remembered her. How could he forget?
She used to be his, and by his, he intended she’d been one of his whores. As such, Danforth had loved her, loving her at the time, in his own way.
One might even go as far as saying that they had become friends.
“So how’s Lucille doing then?” said Danforth.
“She passed away three months ago actually, of an overdose.”
Danforth looked away.
Fucking hell - he thought to himself.
“Jesus; I’m sorry” he went on to say.
“Thanks, man. She talked about you a lot, you know.”
Danforth loosened his grip on the billiard stick and finally started to feel a little more at ease. Something had changed in the biker’s tone of voice, giving him the impression he was no longer a threat.
“Yes, she always spoke positively about you. She always said you were crazy because you volunteered freely for all this and that your life was probably hell on earth by now. Even if you were her pimp, she always talked about you as though you were friends. You were good to her, Joseph Danforth.”
Joseph shot the bartender a quick look.
The man had become pale assuming an almost ghost-like colour, and the two women who were sitting at the front counter, disappeared as soon as they heard what Danforth’s surname was.
That doesn’t look very good – he thought.
He was right, it wasn’t.
It seemed that although Danforth hadn’t been there for over than two years, everybody remembered him exactly the way he was the day he left.
All things considered, it was to be expected.
On the other hand, in that town, people knew him as the one who killed the old man and got away.
In Lonestone, people didn’t forget easily.
What the fuck was I thinking when I decided to come here on leave?
Why the fuck haven’t I sold that dump yet and move elsewhere else?
Because you haven’t had time to even think about it yet, that’s why– another voice answered back in his head.
You were a soldier in Vietnam and when they gave you your leave, you did exactly the same thing everybody else does.
You went home.
“You know... - Danforth said to the biker, but keeping his eyes on the bartender – When I was in Vietnam, a rifle backfired right in my face. Can you see the scar?”
“It happened right before a Vietcong jumped into the hole I was hiding in and I had to stab him to death while I was still in shock from the explosion.”
The bartender swallowed as he listened on.
At first, the bartender didn't move.
With some difficulty however, he said:
“Y-you... You’re the one who k-killed old Bob.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Danforth replied.
Then he turned back to the biker:
“Fucking hell,” he said.
“Fucking hell is right... in fact, when you decided to come back to town you pretty much just screwed yourself over, all on your own.”
Danforth looked at him coldly.
“You don’t have a clue about what your name means to Sheriff Hatfield. He took it personally, and he doesn’t just forget. There’s no way to get around the Sheriff either, so you shouldn’t have come back in the first place.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that when I got here?” said Danforth.
“I wanted to see who you really were Goddammit, that’s why. I wanted to know whether Lucille was telling the truth about you or if she got fucking taken in, because you know, women constantly think they’re in love. Absurdly they don’t even have problems falling in love with men that try to beat sense into them for fuck’s sake. Let’s not forget that Lucille wasn’t exactly known for how well she picked men judging by any asshole she’s been with in her life.”
Danforth turned to leave, but the Biker held him back grabbing onto his arm.
“Hang on man, I’m not finished yet.”
Danforth stopped.
“The old man was a friend of mine too.”
Danforth got a shiver down his back.
“Now that we’ve actually met and considering what Lucille used to say about you, I don’t think you’re a bad person. Then again, don’t get me wrong, I know you’re the one who killed him, but I can see you’re no criminal either. I guess it must have been an accident or something.”
Danforth swallowed.
“The two of you look like killers and I can see it written all over your faces. Everything Lucille said about you was right. You’re the kind who will strike when pushed, Joseph Danforth and maybe you enjoy it too, but you only do it when pushed, or to survive.”
Danforth retreated a little surprised from that man, almost tripping as he did.
Not only was he sure that he and Krakauer had to flee now but they needed to do it fast too.
Danforth threw the billiard stick onto the table, nodded casually to Krakauer and the two of them moved quickly out of the premises.
Out in the open, the night was dark, the sky was clear and the stars hung in a vault like fashion over their heads.
The two Baker Team men moved quickly toward their car.
Before jumping in, Danforth looked left and then right first, to make sure there wasn’t anybody following them.
“We have to clear out,” he said slamming the car door in rage.
“Come on, we’re talking about a Sheriff here, Joseph. How dangerous could he possibly be?”
“Listen, I told you man...” Danforth said, shaking his head.
“I told you I’d be needing some pretty good backup here on leave.”
“Shit!” he cursed turning the car on.
“Yo, Danforth, why don’t you just chill out, eh? Now what’s the problem?”
Danforth pulled out of the parking abruptly onto the main road making the tyres screech as he did.
“Maybe you don’t get it...”
“Don’t get what?”
“This time, that Sheriff... This time he’s gonna’ kill me. He wasn’t that far from succeeding last time already.”
“What do you mean?”
“When they accused me of using force against a public official two years ago, well, it was all bullshit. It was nothing more than a charade set up by the cops trying to frame me. That old man Bob the biker was talking about, well, old Bob wanted me dead so that’s why I wasted him. They didn’t have any evidence against me so the Sheriff went ahead and framed me for something else.”
Krakauer looked at him in confusion.
“Oh fuck... Do I have to spell it out for you, for Christ’s sake? Let me put it this way, Has anyone ever told you to ‘drop your weapon!’ when, in all actuality, you’re not even holding one?”
“Oh, Jesus,” said Krakauer.
“Yeah, that kind of game,” he added.
“Now do you get it? That fucking Sheriff tried to kill me in cold blood last time and I still don’t know why he didn’t end up doing it.”
“Got it,” replied Krakauer.
Everything finally made sense in his head. For that Sheriff, Danforth was a pending debt.
“Alright, alright, but next time, just tell me it’s a matter of murder before we go on vacation,” said Krakauer.
“I mean, I thought we were going to deal with a pissed off Sheriff, not with some psychopath cop on a vengeance for murder.”
“I am no fucking murderer, GOD DAMN IT.”
Danforth beat his hands down hard on the steering wheel.
“Okay, okay,” said Krakauer.
“So, what do we do now?”
“It’s my call and I say we run away, and we do it fast, God damn it.”
“For fuck’s sake, give me a break, will you,” said Krakauer.
“ ’Cause if he gets his hands on me, fuck it’s over. If he doesn’t kill me he’ll try to throw me in the slammer again and there’s no way I’m going back to fucking jail.”
Danforth hit the steering wheel for a second time.
“Shit, shit, shit! It was fucking ludicrous of me to come back here!”
“Hey man, just calm down eh?” said Krakauer turning to look straight at him.
“And most of all, don’t forget who the fuck you are!”
Danforth took a deep breath.
“Who the fuck are you soldier?” Krakauer pressed him but Danforth continued to stare at the road.
Krakauer then replied on his behalf:
“Ok, then I’ll tell you who the fuck you really are. You’re fucking SOG and not only. You’re Trautman’s fucking SOG a.k.a Baker Team B. And what the fuck are you going to do about it now?”
Danforth still didn't say anything in reply.
“There’s something moving over there,” interrupted Danforth, shooting a quick glance at the rear-view mirror.
“What? Where?”
“I see something, moving.”
Krakauer turned.
“I don’t see a...”
The impact was so strong it not only sent the car flying out of control Danforth was almost unable to keep hold of the steering wheel control as one of the lights popped and they were suddenly screeching blindly in the dark.
It was dark outside the car it was like floating aimlessly in space – yet they weren’t floating at all, as another car had just rammed them full on
Krakauer turned around, stared into the darkness when out of nowhere, he saw a police car moving towards them with all its lights turned off.
“Jesus Christ,” said Krakauer.
“Speed up!” he added then.
Danforth did as his friend suggested, and sped up.
“Fucking Hell, those cops aren’t on duty. Not with their lights off they aren’t.”
Krakauer smiled.
“This is serious, man.”
The Sheriff’s car began to speed up.
“What the fuck is he doing now?” asked Danforth.
“He is going to slam up against us and push us right off road. Are you ready? He’s coming back for seconds.”
“I was born ready!”
Danforth was barely able to keep the car under control right from the initial impact, and they were skidding off road at such a speed they were risking their lives.
Danforth tried to think fast since that’s what he trained all day and every day to do, particularly in situations like this.
They didn't have any weapons and pulling over meant the Sheriff would have just shot them down showing little or no mercy.
There was no way they could let what had just happened go however. Given the fact that their car was slower and dangerously light could only mean that sooner or later that police car would’ve found a way to drive them off the road.
Paying attention to the feelings inside him, Danforth realized he was actually afraid. Although he'd lived through and seen far worse situations and circumstances in Vietnam, those things had happened there. Now that he was back in the US, being in a situation liked that seemed surreal. It was far more frightening than its counterpart could ever hope to be in Vietnam.
The problem was that he needed to focus if he wanted to get out of this alive.
More focused than he was managing to have right then and there, at least.
“Fasten your seatbelt!” Danforth yelled out.
“What’re you gonna’ do?”
“I’m gonna’ let him ram us.”
“Man... He’ll destroy our car and then he’ll get out of his and shoot us. With the two of us stuck in the wreck it’ll be like taking Candy from a baby.”
“In any case, we have no other hope, at least with this car that is. On the other hand, if we manage to get out of the car alive, it may just work.”
“Okay,” said Krakauer.
When the County Police car reached them, it rammed them again, hitting them in the middle of the bumper. That made pushing them off road impossible.
“Don’t let him get right next to us!”
“I know, I know!”
-
Krakauer tried to come up with some ideas but couldn’t. If there was a solution, it sure wasn’t coming to him now.
He couldn’t even see if the Sheriff had brought back up with him.
Danforth was zigzagging down the middle of the road so he wouldn't get side swiped, and he couldn’t slow down because it was too dangerous.
“Hit the brakes!” Krakauer yelled out to him.
-
There was nothing else he could do, so Danforth decided to give it a try.
He jerked the steering wheel as hard as he could to the right and headed straight for the Sheriff slamming on the brakes.
“No! Not like that!” screamed Krakauer.
Unfortunately, it was too late. The car spun out and the tires started burning out on the concrete.
Krakauer held on to the dashboard for his life.
The Sheriff’s car overtook them and drove straight past them as fast as a missile as they continued to spin off road.
The car lifted off the ground onto two wheels, but it then fell back down to the ground without flipping over.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” shouted Krakauer.
The Police car slammed its hand brake and did a three-sixty right before their eyes.
When it finally stopped, you could see the engine smoking in the cold night.
The two young men could smell burnt rubber in the air.
“What now?” said Danforth.
Krakauer shook his head, unsure of what to say.
“I think we’re fucked, Eagle.”
The two cars sat facing each other the way two cars would after an accident, while the desert all around them was silent. It was silent and nothing moved.
The Baker Team guys didn’t get out of the car and waited to see what the Sheriff’s next move would be.
After what seemed as long as an eternity, the sheriff’s car door finally opened and they watched him slowly put one foot down on the ground.
He shouted out to them and his voice echoed through the air.
Again, total silence.
“Do you hear me, Joseph? Tell your friend he can go. This doesn’t concern him. It’s between you and me!”
Not long after that, the Sheriff stepped out of his vehicle. He had yellow tinted shooting glasses on and was by himself.
He was holding his revolver and pointing it right at their car.
“This is between you and me, Joseph!”
“Something I should‘ve done years ago!”
-
Unexpectedly, the Sheriff saw the car door thrust open by a man who jumped out once it did and took off running. He was heading in the opposite direction, running down the side of the highway, straight to nowhere, and sure enough, it wasn’t Danforth.
Fucking coward – the sheriff thought to himself.
As the figure became smaller and smaller, he'd managed to distance himself quickly, leaving only the Sheriff and Danforth behind.
Or so it seemed.
He was alone and unarmed. Danforth remained seated in the car that still parked in the middle of a road. He was out in the open, and there was nowhere to hide.
This time Joseph Danforth was really his.
Sheriff Hatfield looked around at the desert by night and gave careful thought to where he was. As far as he was concerned, everything was perfect.
It was all so fucking perfect.
All he'd to do now was shoot Danforth and simply drive away as though nothing had happened.
No one would have known.
Not at the bar, not in town, nor anywhere else. Not a single person would have said a word about it.
Finally – yes, finally! - He would have settled that damn score he really couldn’t live any longer with.
A score he'd patiently waited to settle for the past two years and instead of fading away into a distant memory, as the years passed, it simply got worse.
You’re mine now, you asshole.
You’re all mine.
“PUT YOUR HANDS OUTSIDE THE WINDOW, JOSEPH DANFORTH. NO FUNNY BUSINESS, YOU HEAR ME? I’M BRINGING YOU IN!”
Nothing moved in the car.
It was too dark to see the inside of the vehicle, but it didn’t matter.
At least not from that distance, it didn’t.
As long as Danforth was unarmed and the Sheriff armed, all he had to do was keep his distance from the car and he was safe.
The Sheriff moved in a little closer, just to take a better look keeping his gun firmly pointed at the driver’s side of the car.
He wasn’t afraid, not in the least. Gun in hand; he had a feeling of absolute power.
He needed to be very careful and not shoot point blank.
Yup.
That could turn into a problem for him.
It couldn't look like an execution and the ballistics would if he shot point blank. The gun blast creates a very distinct burn on its victim.
No matter how small the risk, he was not going to risk being accused of murder.
He therefore needed to shoot from the right distance, but not too far.
He wanted to be close enough to look him in his eyes when he did.
He had to make it look like the prisoner was trying to escape.
Because it wasn’t right, Goddamn it.
It wasn’t right that a killer like Danforth could weasel his way out of jail time because the country was losing a shitty war. A war that, frankly speaking, no one really gave a shit about.
It wasn’t right in memory of Bob.
It wasn’t right for his town either.
Most of all however, it wasn’t right for their United States, and it hurt him as a law enforcer because Sheriff Hatfield did believe in what he did and the town he protected.
Hatfield took his time moving forward slowly. Time seemed to have stopped.
You could hear crickets chirping.
Hatfield stopped somewhat alarmed because nothing had been no movement in the car as of yet.
“DANFORTH!” Hatfield yelled aloud.
“I’m right here,” said the soldier finally, and the Sheriff immediately recognized the voice immediately as though he’d heard it only days earlier. It was unlikely however, that he’d ever forget the voice that killed Bob.
His friend Bob.
At least he was sure it was actually him.
Danforth was the evidence that even a righteous small town like Lonestone could breed monsters. It did the very same way a human body sometimes grows a tumour. It happens for no particular reason and out of nowhere.
In any case, he was about to remove their tumour.
He cared very little about the fact that Joseph lived to ‘serve’ his country. Actually, it was quite the contrary.
That made him all the more furious.
It’s all that Goddamn’ Vietnam’s fault – he thought.
From the moment that damn war started, the country has gone to shit.
“Put your hands outside the window, Joseph Danforth. Put them where I can see them.”
The car window lowered and two empty hands came out of it.
It was all was going as planned.
Everything was so