Sokowski
The fire had nearly gone out. A few coals still glowed, but it would only be a few minutes before they burned through and turned to ash.
The house was quiet except for the constant ticking of a six-foot-tall grandfather clock that stood guard in the corner of the living room—a little after ten A.M. Sokowski gave the clock a quick glance before turning back to Danny.
“Up on your feet, boy. It’s time to answer for what you’ve done.”
Sokowski noticed how Mrs. Bennett clung to the side of her husband—the poor old bitch looked scared enough to drop dead of a heart attack.
Mr. Bennett held his wife’s hand tight and cleared his throat. “Just a minute, Deputy. Where’s the sheriff?”
Sokowski turned his cold eyes on him. “Out looking for this killer, I imagine.” Sokowski lifted his rifle off his shoulder and tapped the barrel into Danny’s chest. “On your feet, I said.”
Mrs. Bennett let out a low moan as she watched Danny struggle to his feet.
“I didn’t hurt Mindy,” Danny managed in a soft whisper.
“Shut the fuck up. I saw what you did.”
“Hold on there. Maybe it’s best for Danny to wait until the sheriff gets here,” Mr. Bennett tried again.
Sokowski kept the barrel of the rifle pressed to the center of Danny’s chest. “I didn’t ask what you thought, Sherman. Danny here is a threat, and you’re pushing my patience. This is police business. I don’t tell you how to run your business, and I would suggest that you don’t tell me how to run mine.”
Mr. Bennett stood his ground. “You’ve been drinking, Deputy. That much is clear. I think it best to wait for Lester.”
Sokowski’s reactions were a bit sluggish. His body pivoted like he was moving in slow motion toward Mr. Bennett and glared at the old man with utter disgust. “You had a killer sitting on your couch. You’re lucky we showed up before he did the same to you and your wife as he did to Mindy.”
Sokowski watched Mr. Bennett’s face shift—a seed of doubt creeping in. Mr. Bennett took a slight step away from Danny, and Sokowski took note. “You’re goddamn lucky.” Sokowski grabbed Danny by the shoulder and shoved him forward.
Danny looked over to the Bennetts, eyes pleading, and struggled to speak with each word causing a world of hurt. “They were in the trailer when I got there. They told me to stay there.”
Sokowski jerked Danny’s thick, flabby arm to shut him up. “Save it, Danny. No one is gonna believe your lies.”
Mr. Bennett took a breath and stepped in front of the door. Shook his head. “Sorry, Deputy. Can’t let you boys take him. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Goddamn it, old man, I ain’t gonna tell you again.”
Carl finally spoke up behind him. “Maybe he’s right, Mike. Maybe we should just wait here.”
“Christ. Why don’t all of you just shut the fuck up? I’m handling the situation.” Sokowski took a moment to level a look at all of them. “I’m the one with the badge. Am I making myself clear?”
Not one of them said another word.
Sokowski moved to pull Danny forward again, but Danny stood firm, not budging his near three hundred pounds.
“Don’t get smart on me, Danny, or I’ll be happy to put another hurting on you.”
Danny looked Sokowski straight in the eye and took a breath. “This here is wrong. It was you and Carl.”
Again the room filled with uncomfortable silence. Just the steady ticking of the old grandfather clock. Danny’s words hung out there like big stained sheets on a clothesline for all to see.
“You’re wrong about that, retard. You’re dumber than shit, you know that? I know what you are. You act all quiet and meek as a mouse, but you ain’t fooling me none.”
Mrs. Bennett looked over to Carl, who stared down at the floor and couldn’t keep her scrutiny. Her eyes went back to Sokowski and to the scratches on his face and cauliflower ear.
“What the hell you staring at, woman?” Sokowski snapped. His hand went up and pulled his stringy hair over the disfigured ear.
Mr. Bennett spoke up beside her. “Look here, Deputy. We’ve known Danny for a long time and can’t see him doing something like this.”
Sokowski felt all the judging eyes on him. He knew what they were thinking. “Yeah, but sometimes you don’t always know people as well as you think.” He noticed Mr. Bennett’s eyes go to the telephone that hung on the wall between the living room and the kitchen.
“I think we need to call Lester,” Mr. Bennett said, trying for steely resolve, but it fell far short of that.
“I don’t think you folks are listening. I’m not here asking for your opinions.”
“Whatever Danny may have done, he’s in no condition to do more harm. You can see that, can’t you?” Mr. Bennett asked.
Face flushing with anger, Sokowski didn’t give him an answer. He had had enough. He walked over to the telephone and ripped it straight off the wall. He tossed it to the floor, where it made a dull, weak clang as the ringers knocked against each other inside the housing.
“There. You got me good and pissed off. You happy now?” Sokowski looked over at Mr. Bennett. “Christ. You got a liquor cabinet? Could use a drink of whiskey right about now.” Mr. Bennett didn’t say anything. “Well. Do you? A little drink, and then we’ll be on our way.”
Mr. Bennett shot a glance toward his wife before turning and shuffling into the kitchen for a minute.
Sokowski kept his position in front of Danny but looked to Mrs. Bennett, who had turned about as white as a bag of flour. He tried again. Kept his voice level and calm-sounding. Even forced a smile. “Ma’am, you got nothing to be scared of. Danny here did what I said he did. He’s got the brain of a six-year-old. Probably didn’t mean to do what he did. Confused, is all.”
Mrs. Bennett nodded, then looked past Sokowski, and her face went even whiter. She tried to speak, but nothing came out of her mouth. Sokowski glanced back toward the kitchen, and his shit-eating smile faded right away.
Mr. Bennett strode back into the living room holding a rifle. He held it firmly, with the confidence of a man who was used to carrying a gun and not afraid to use it.
“All right, you listen up, Deputy. This here is my home, and no one marches in here telling me this or that. Danny is staying put. I’m only gonna tell you once to get the hell out.” He lifted his rifle and held it on Sokowski.
Sokowski didn’t move. His eyes squinted into narrow slits as he sized up Mr. Bennett—the old man didn’t appear to be fucking around.
“Well, shit. Didn’t see this coming from you, Sherman. You’ve been watching too many Clint Eastwood movies.” He chuckled, but Mr. Bennett kept the rifle pointed right at him. “I guess I ain’t getting that drink of whiskey, am I?”
Mr. Bennett tightened his grip on his rifle. “Nope. Not my whiskey, you aren’t.”
Sokowski nodded and looked back to Carl. “All right, then.” Sokowski made for the front door in slow, easy steps. Then he stopped, and his shoulders dropped a little. “Shit.” He spun back around and turned his gun on Mr. Bennett. Whether he was drunk or not, his reflexes were smooth and fast. He squeezed the trigger and fired a shot. Mr. Bennett’s hand jerked as he flew back into the grandfather clock, shattering the glass panel into a hundred jagged bits, his own rifle discharging and sending a bullet up and into the ceiling. A hole the size of a fist was left in his chest from the bullet that tore through him, and blood and tattered pieces of flesh splattered into the fireplace, spitting and sizzling on the embers. The old man’s heart stopped pumping before he even slumped onto the floor like an empty set of clothing.
Mrs. Bennett stared down at her husband for a moment as her brain tried to register what she was seeing. She watched as the blood poured from the gaping wound in his chest, and her mouth fell open, exposing her dentures and pink tongue. She let out a small breath, and her tongue began to undulate like a waking snake. Then she began to scream. Loud and shrill.
The piercing sound went right through Sokowski.
He had crossed the line, and there was no turning back—not now. He swung his rifle in Mrs. Bennett’s direction and hissed at her, “Shut up, you old bitch.” He started to squeeze the trigger when a shot rang out from behind him. Sokowski lurched forward as a bullet chewed through his side, but he still managed to pull the trigger. His aim was deflected, the slug going up and to the left, right through Mrs. Bennett’s shoulder—she flew back and dropped onto the sofa in a heap.
The room filled with the smell of gunpowder, and the shots still rang in Danny’s head. He looked to Carl, who stood by the doorway holding his rifle—a wisp of smoke dancing out of the tip of the barrel. Carl kept the gun directed at Sokowski’s back as the deputy went down on both knees, gripping at a wound that spouted blood from his side.
