Angry words passed above him, and then, as Walt had predicted, someone started down to the ground in the makeshift elevator. Walt had told Tom to expect Sonny in the cage, and ten seconds later, the old Double Eagle appeared, clinging to the bars of a flimsy metal elevator as the winch groaned and whined high above him.
Tom heard Walt descending a metal staircase on the other side of the elevated shack, but he seemed in no hurry. As Walt had predicted, Sonny seemed to think this was a chance for escape. Wearing only pajama pants and a wifebeater T-shirt, he peered back at the staircase, gauging Walt’s rate of descent, a sly smile on his lips.
When the cage hit the ground, he jerked up the safety bar that held him inside and started toward his pickup truck. Either he kept a spare key inside, or there was a gun under its seat. Tom stepped out of the shadows, directly in his path. The old Eagle’s eyes went wide, then narrowed when he recognized Tom.
“What you doin’ here, Doc?”
“Waiting for you, Sonny.”
Thornfield looked back up at the staircase. Walt was only about halfway down and he hadn’t increased his pace. “I need to get somethin’ out of my truck, Doc. I’ll be with you in a sec.”
Tom took the Smith & Wesson out of his waistband and pointed it at Thornfield’s potbelly. The T-shirt that covered it was stained with fried egg and something dark, maybe jelly. “You wait right where you are.”
“Hey, Doc, take it easy with that. There’s a guy upstairs tryin’ to rob me.”
Tom couldn’t help but smile. “He’s not here to rob you. He’s here to help me. We need to ask you some questions, Sonny. We’ve got a proposition for you.”
Walt’s boots clanged on the metal steps as he neared the ground. Thornfield seemed to understand that once the man in the cowboy hat reached ground level, he would lose all chance of escape. Without another word, Sonny started running toward the next house over.
“Stop!” Tom shouted.
Sonny looked back over his shoulder but didn’t stop.
Tom raised his pistol, aimed between Thornfield’s shoulder blades, and cocked the hammer. The old man turned, trying to decide whether Tom had the nerve to fire.
“I’ll kill you, Sonny,” Tom said, surprised by his desire to pull the trigger. “You deserve it, for what you did to Viola.”
Thornfield stopped backpedaling and stood uncertainly between the camp houses. Tom walked toward him, still aiming the pistol. “You raped Viola when she was a happy young woman. You and Frank and the others. You ruined her life. If I kill you now, I could pin Viola’s murder on you, along with whatever else your buddies need to take off the books.”
Sonny’s eyes widened, and then his face took on the cast of the eternal loser who feels put upon by the world. “What do you guys want with me? I ain’t nobody. And I ain’t done nothin’ to you. I didn’t hurt that Viola none, neither. You got the wrong idea, Doc. Way wrong.”
Walt took a couple of steps past Tom. “If that’s the case,” he said, “I’m sure we’ll find a way to make it up to you. But right now, you need to step into that van over there.”
“No way,” Sonny said, glancing at the Roadtrek. “I ain’t gonna. I ain’t no fool. And Doc ain’t gonna shoot me.”
Walt raised his derringer and touched the barrel to Thornfield’s forehead. “Maybe not. But I’ll blow your damn brains out and never lose a moment’s sleep over it. So, you can take your chances in the van or you can die where you stand. Make your choice, bub. I need some coffee.”
“Who are you?” Sonny asked.
“Captain Walt Garrity, Texas Rangers.”
Sonny’s mouth worked around as though trying to raise a plug of spit. There was a lot of white showing in his eyes.
“Life or death, Sonny?” Tom said. “Life is in the van.”
“Shit,” Sonny said. Then he started walking toward the Roadtrek.
CHAPTER 50
IF A MAN is forced to choose between the truth and his father, only a fool chooses the truth. That quote rings in my head like a mocking mantra as I pull into my parents’ driveway. Annie sits puzzled beside me. I woke her from a dead sleep an hour after realizing why I’d sought out the old photograph of Viola. After my epiphany about the night my father left me stranded at the hospital, I struggled to understand what might have resulted from their relationship, and I quickly came to the conclusion that Lincoln Turner was one possible answer. This realization must have overwhelmed me, because I quickly slipped into a dreamless coma. But while I slept, a key of some kind turned deep within me, for I started awake with my second revelation of the night. To my surprise, it concerned my mother, not my father.
When I called my mother earlier tonight—my second call of the evening—she told me my father was still asleep. The wrongness of that answer should have hit me instantly. Had this not been one of the most stressful days in all our lives, it would have, but I assumed that Dad was exhausted from the day’s events, and from grief over Viola. But when I snapped awake in my chair the second time, I knew how mistaken I’d been.
I can’t remember ever being at my parents’ house at night with my father asleep and my mother awake. Invariably, my mother lay in bed while my father dictated medical charts by phone, painted lead soldiers, read in his library, or watched movies in bed while Mom snored under the influence of her sleeping pills. Only during the day would I find my father asleep and my mother awake. As soon as this realization hit me, I knew I had to go to my parents’ house. I calmed Annie as much as I could after waking her, but during the drive over, she quickly sensed my anxiety. I took her hand in mine and told her everything would be fine, but I’m not at all confident of this.
Together we get out of the car and walk hand in hand to the carport door. On the way over, I called Chief Logan and told him to warn his patrolmen that I would be coming, but I didn’t call my mother. Ringing the bell at this hour might frighten her, but I’m unwilling to let her manipulate me any longer. If I must choose between the truth and my father … I choose the truth.
“Who is it?” Mom calls through the door.
“Penn.”