The ’67 Cadillac shot down a desolate prairie road and skidded into the parking lot of a diner, kicking up a wall of dust. Zeke threw the car in park, left it running, and ran inside. Whitney was placing a chicken fried steak in front of a lone customer from across the counter.
Zeke grabbed her wrist below the scars that ran up her forearm and said, “They figured out where Bo’s hidin’. You gotta come along. He’s in a dead zone in that canyon. No phone service, no nothin’. Hell, he don’t even have electricity up there. If we don’t get to him first, he’s done.”
Whitney brushed back the shock of long blonde hair covering her eyes and said, “Zeke, he don’t care. He don’t care about nothin’ anymore. That’s why he’s up there, ain’t it? Besides, I don’t want to get mixed up with him again. I ain’t gonna lose what little I got left.”
The man at the counter glared at Zeke and started rising from his seat. Zeke shoved him back in his chair and pulled out a pistol. “You sit your ass back down, mister, and keep your mouth shut. This don’t concern you.” He turned back to Whitney and said, “Who are you kidding? You got nothin’ to lose. Look at this place. Now let’s get the hell outta here.”
She knew he was right. She tore off her apron, threw it on the counter, and shouted, “Jerry, I gotta go! Can’t explain right now. I’ll call you tomorrow!” By the time Jerry came out of the kitchen and reached the front door, they were already gone.
Within a few hours, they were weaving through an endless series of winding mountain roads. They crested a 12,000-foot peak and took a side road that led them into a remote, thickly wooded valley. They finally reached a tiny log cabin sitting alone in a clearing. Bo sat in a chair on the front porch with a shotgun across his lap.
Zeke and Whitney walked slowly toward the porch.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Bo said. “You two need to get back in that car and beat it. Especially you, Whitney. What the hell are you doing here anyway? Damn, Zeke. You figured Goldilocks here is the only one who can talk some sense into me? Dumbass.”
“You killed the Granville kid, Zeke. You’re the dumbass,” Whitney said.
“Fuck that Granville kid,” Bo said. “He had it comin’. I’d drop him ten times over if I could. He walked out of that courtroom with a smile on his face. The Granvilles bought his freedom. They bought him a fancy coffin, too.”
Zeke was losing his patience. He hadn’t driven all that distance to listen to this. But before he could say anything, Whitney murmured, “Just hold steady, Zeke.” She walked up to Bo and hissed, “Don’t you talk to me about who had it comin’. That Granville boy’s life wasn’t the only one you had a hand in taking.”
Bo stood up and pointed toward the ridge. “Look at that. They’re finally on their way. It’s about time. Probably the Jacobsen brothers.”
Zeke and Whitney turned around and saw a cloud of dust rising from the ridgeline several miles away.
Bo chambered a few more shells in his shotgun and said, “Zeke, stay here with Whitney. After you hear my shotgun fire, wait a few minutes. If you hear any other gunshots, you two get in your Caddy and take the gravel road around the cabin and out of this valley. Just go in the opposite direction from where you came in. They don’t have no reason to follow you anyway. If you don’t hear nothin’ for a while, then just wait for me. I’ll be back in a little bit.”
Bo jogged up the road toward the approaching dust cloud and crested a hill around a quarter of a mile from the cabin. He found a good hide position on a ridge by the side of the road. Here, he could look down from an angle at where the road bottomed out just thirty feet away.
Soon, a Honda Accord came rolling over the hill very slowly. As Bo suspected, the Jacobsen brothers were the only two people in the car. He waited until the Accord reached the bottom of the hill. Then he shot out the right front tire.
The Honda veered into a ditch on the side of the road and stalled. Bo sprinted down the hill and smashed out the driver’s side window. He pointed his shotgun at the older brother in the driver’s seat and shouted, “Hands on your head! Now!” The brothers put their hands on their heads, and Bo made them slowly give him their weapons.
He told the older brother, “You. Open your mouth or I’ll bash your Chiclets right down your throat.” Bo shoved the barrel of the shotgun in the older brother’s mouth and said, “Now listen real careful, boys. We’re done with each other the minute I walk away. You two idiots are gonna go back to the Granvilles and tell ’em I was long gone by the time you got here. If you tell ’em anything else, you’ll wind up like the dead Granville kid. That’s a promise. Got it?”
They nodded. He pulled the shotgun out of the older brother’s mouth and said, “Some assassins you are. Now get lost.”
The sun had set by the time Bo got back to the cabin. He didn’t look the least bit tired.
“What are you gonna do now?” Zeke asked.
“Go to California, with all the other criminals,” Bo said.
“I’m not going with you,” Whitney said.
“Nobody asked you to,” Bo said.
“I mean it,” she said. “I’ve had enough of you. Your life is just one big criminal strategy.”
“Good for you. You want a prize or something for figurin’ all that out?” he said.
Zeke shook his head and laughed softly. “Never seen such a perfect couple,” he said. Then he climbed into his Cadillac, waved goodbye, and drove off down the gravel road to the west.
Whitney and Bo stared silently at each other for a while. Finally, they got into Bo’s car and headed west. After driving for an hour, they parked on the side of the road and spent the rest of the night talking, just catching up, looking at the stars, trying to enjoy whatever they had left. As morning broke, Whitney stared into the rising sun and said, “This still counts for somethin’, Bo. I don’t know why, but it still counts for somethin’.”
