name?” I asked.
She nodded. “They had a fight. Gordon wanted to give us some of the money, but Olley wouldn’t take it. Not if it come from gambling. Said it was the devil’s money.”
“And you?”
She pinned me with those eyes again. “He’s my husband,” she said stiffly.
She gazed out over the vista in front of us. “It’s a hard life out here,” she said. “Gordon just wasn’t much suited to it. Gettin by was enough for him. Just his nature, I guess,” she said with a sentimental shrug. “Got it from his daddy, I suspect.”
“The two guys in the truck . . .” I began.
The very mention of them freshened her anger. “Damn Keeler,” she spat. “Think they own the damn world.”
And then I heard my name being shouted. I swiveled my head around in time to see Keith jumping up and down, waving his arms frantically. He beckoned for me to come and then turned on his heel and sprinted from view.
I’m not much of a sprinter, but I gave it all I had. By the time I arrived at the corner of the house, I was gassed. The old man was laid out on his back in the driveway. Keith was doing chest compressions and counting. “Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight . . .
“He’s not breathing,” Keith said through clenched teeth.
He laced his hands together and started pumping again. “One, two, three . . .”
He was up to twenty again when I heard the old woman’s voice.
“Merciful Jesus,” she panted, and dropped to her knees in the driveway.
And then Olley coughed and flailed his right arm. Keith put his ear up to the old man’s mouth, then looked over at me. “Breathing,” he announced.
“We better get him to a hospital,” I offered.
Keith was feeling along his throat.
“Better hurry . . . he’s barely got a pulse.”
I backed the Blazer right up to where he lay, folded the rear seats down, and helped hoist him into the cargo area. Keith rode back there with Olley. Sarah Jane rode up front with me.
I was still doing fifty when we fishtailed out onto the paved road. The tires screamed in protest, and the rear of the car wiggled like a belly dancer, then righted itself as we went screaming down the two-lane blacktop.
About halfway back to town, the old man’s heart stopped again. Keith started compressing and counting again. He was nearly through with his second set of thirty when Olley resumed breathing. “Come on, mister,” he said. “Hang in there.”
We crested a ridge fast enough to become completely airborne. When my vision stopped bouncing, I could see the Main Street Bridge in the distance.
Above the roar of the engine, I shouted, “I’m gonna need directions.”
Sarah Jane looked around as if I’d spoken to her in some strange language and then pointed out toward the back of the Blazer. I checked the mirror at the same moment when I caught the wail of the siren.
Deputy Rockland Moon was thirty yards back, in his county cruiser, the siren screaming, the light bar ablaze.
I put the pedal to the metal.
“I can’t keep him breathing,” Keith shouted above the din. “Hurry.”
We were screaming downhill at over ninety. The Main Street Bridge was maybe three hundred yards away. “Where we going?” I shouted again at Sarah Jane.
“Over the bridge,” she said. “Go right on Eighth. Hospital’s down the end.”
Keith pulled out his cell phone. Dialed 911. “We’ve got an elderly man in full cardiac arrest,” he shouted into the mouthpiece. “Comin up on the Main Street Bridge.”
He looked up at the old lady. “What’s the name of the hospital?”
Her blue eyes rolled in her head like a spooked horse, “V-V-Valley Medical Center,” she managed to stammer.
“Need a cardiac team ready at Valley Medical Center,” Keith shouted into the phone. “One . . . two . . . three . . .”
“Roger that,” I heard the dispatcher say.
The deputy was right on our ass, whoop-whooping along with every other sound he was making.
I kept the hammer
She nodded. “They had a fight. Gordon wanted to give us some of the money, but Olley wouldn’t take it. Not if it come from gambling. Said it was the devil’s money.”
“And you?”
She pinned me with those eyes again. “He’s my husband,” she said stiffly.
She gazed out over the vista in front of us. “It’s a hard life out here,” she said. “Gordon just wasn’t much suited to it. Gettin by was enough for him. Just his nature, I guess,” she said with a sentimental shrug. “Got it from his daddy, I suspect.”
“The two guys in the truck . . .” I began.
The very mention of them freshened her anger. “Damn Keeler,” she spat. “Think they own the damn world.”
And then I heard my name being shouted. I swiveled my head around in time to see Keith jumping up and down, waving his arms frantically. He beckoned for me to come and then turned on his heel and sprinted from view.
I’m not much of a sprinter, but I gave it all I had. By the time I arrived at the corner of the house, I was gassed. The old man was laid out on his back in the driveway. Keith was doing chest compressions and counting. “Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight . . .
“He’s not breathing,” Keith said through clenched teeth.
He laced his hands together and started pumping again. “One, two, three . . .”
He was up to twenty again when I heard the old woman’s voice.
“Merciful Jesus,” she panted, and dropped to her knees in the driveway.
And then Olley coughed and flailed his right arm. Keith put his ear up to the old man’s mouth, then looked over at me. “Breathing,” he announced.
“We better get him to a hospital,” I offered.
Keith was feeling along his throat.
“Better hurry . . . he’s barely got a pulse.”
I backed the Blazer right up to where he lay, folded the rear seats down, and helped hoist him into the cargo area. Keith rode back there with Olley. Sarah Jane rode up front with me.
I was still doing fifty when we fishtailed out onto the paved road. The tires screamed in protest, and the rear of the car wiggled like a belly dancer, then righted itself as we went screaming down the two-lane blacktop.
About halfway back to town, the old man’s heart stopped again. Keith started compressing and counting again. He was nearly through with his second set of thirty when Olley resumed breathing. “Come on, mister,” he said. “Hang in there.”
We crested a ridge fast enough to become completely airborne. When my vision stopped bouncing, I could see the Main Street Bridge in the distance.
Above the roar of the engine, I shouted, “I’m gonna need directions.”
Sarah Jane looked around as if I’d spoken to her in some strange language and then pointed out toward the back of the Blazer. I checked the mirror at the same moment when I caught the wail of the siren.
Deputy Rockland Moon was thirty yards back, in his county cruiser, the siren screaming, the light bar ablaze.
I put the pedal to the metal.
“I can’t keep him breathing,” Keith shouted above the din. “Hurry.”
We were screaming downhill at over ninety. The Main Street Bridge was maybe three hundred yards away. “Where we going?” I shouted again at Sarah Jane.
“Over the bridge,” she said. “Go right on Eighth. Hospital’s down the end.”
Keith pulled out his cell phone. Dialed 911. “We’ve got an elderly man in full cardiac arrest,” he shouted into the mouthpiece. “Comin up on the Main Street Bridge.”
He looked up at the old lady. “What’s the name of the hospital?”
Her blue eyes rolled in her head like a spooked horse, “V-V-Valley Medical Center,” she managed to stammer.
“Need a cardiac team ready at Valley Medical Center,” Keith shouted into the phone. “One . . . two . . . three . . .”
“Roger that,” I heard the dispatcher say.
The deputy was right on our ass, whoop-whooping along with every other sound he was making.
I kept the hammer
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