Seventy-Eight

I awoke to the smell of lighter fluid. Flat on my back. My hands tied over my head. I pulled, but a length of rope ran from them to the leg of Dad’s desk. Walt sat in the Barcalounger, watching me.

“Well, you finally woke up. I thought I was going to have to torch you without saying goodbye.”

“Fuck you,” I said.

“Yeah, I suppose I got that coming. Truth be told, I don’t care about saying goodbye. I need to ask you a question. If you answer it, I’ll shoot you and then burn your body. If you don’t, I’ll just burn you alive.”

My head spun. I tugged at the rope, pushed myself toward the desk with my heels, and tried to lift the desk to slip the rope from under it.

Walt said, “That desk is a heavy fucker with all those notebooks on it. Your dad was almost as bad as your mother when it came to hoarding paper.” Uncle Walt gestured to a pile of engineering notebooks on the desk. The pile stunk of lighter fluid. So did the desk.

Walt continued, “Did Talevi ever get the plans from you? He said that you called him.”

I said nothing.

Walt rose and pulled out the filing cabinet drawers. He dumped all the papers on the floor into a pile.

Walt said, “I guess you figured out by now that I helped Talevi take Lucy. She didn’t even see me shove her into the car.”

He covered the pile of paper with lighter fluid and kept talking.

“I got to tell you, Tucker, there is nothing more exhilarating than the long con. JT was going to pay you a million dollars to break into Patterson’s machine, and I got you to beg me to let you do it.”

I tried again to lift the desk. But flat on my back I couldn’t get leverage.

Walt said, “You didn’t need to get Hugh to give me a beating, though. I was going to give in if you just crawled to me one more time. Then you even offered to pay off my gambling debts. You’re so cute.”

“You’re gonna fry, Walt. You think I didn’t tell people about the notebooks? Bobby’s on his way here now.”

“You know, Tucker, you are a shitty liar. I think you really believed you were going to murder me. You didn’t tell anyone about the notebooks.”

I spit on one hand and rubbed it onto my bound wrist. Tried to fold my hand and fit it through. The skin tore, but the rope held.

Walt said, “So anyway, to my question. Did you give the plans to Talevi? Did he get what he wanted?”

I said nothing. Let Walt find out about Talevi on his own.

“Last chance, Tucker. I’d like to get some money out of Talevi. Did you give him the plans?”

“You know what, Walt?”

“What?”

“You’re not my fucking uncle.”

Walt pursed his lips and sighed. “Ah, well, it figures. It’s easy to see why JT was your father’s favorite.”

“You knew about JT?”

“Of course I knew about JT. I was his godfather, for Christ’s sake. That’s why I gave him a chance at the second deal with Talevi. Figured, like father like son, and I was right.”

“Why not me?”

“You were always your mother’s son, Tucker. A momma’s boy and a straight arrow. JT was your father’s son. Looked just like him; acted just like him. God, your father loved that kid.” Walt moved toward the fluid-drenched pile of paper. “Time for me to torch this place and get rid of the Tuckers. Frankly, you’ve all been nothing but a pain in my ass.”

Even with the blood, I couldn’t slip free of the ropes. I glared at Walt. “Why?”

“Why what? Why am I going to burn all this? Isn’t it obvious? It’s the link from your dad back to me.”

Walt lit a match.

I yelled, “Don’t do this!”

“Bye-bye, Tucker.” Walt threw the match onto the pile and the lighter fluid started to burn. The flames climbed the pile. Smoke wafted against the ceiling. Walt stepped out of the storage bin, turned, and watched.

A column of smoke and flame hid me from Walt. I tugged at the rope, trying to break it with brute force. The flames followed a line of lighter fluid along the floor and up the desk’s other leg. Walt had not put the lighter fluid near me or the rope.

The notebooks on the top of the desk ignited with a whoomp. Smoke boiled toward the ceiling. The flames merged with the flames from the paper pile. Panic set in. I got to my knees, got my feet under me, and lifted the desk, flames dancing in front of my face. It rose an inch, but there was no way to slip the rope off. I coughed, dropped the desk, and fell back as the pile of notebooks slid off the desk and onto the floor.

The notebooks fanned open, burning brightly. I saw my chance. I pushed my wrists over the flame, fighting the reflexes that tried to pull my arms to safety. The rope tethering me to the desk caught fire. I gritted my teeth and kept my wrists in place to make sure the rope was burning, then I kicked back with both legs. The burning rope snapped and I fell toward the burning pile of paper.

I twisted my hips, planted a foot on the floor, and rushed through the flames, holding my seared and bound wrists in front of me. Black smoke enveloped my head as I coughed, ducked, and charged into the night.

Smoke had filled my eyes. Walt was on me before I could clear them. His shoulder rammed my gut and forced me back toward the flames. Panic worked for me now. I fell, caught myself with my bound hands, got to my feet, and bolted away from the heat.

I stopped running and turned, wiping my eyes clear. Walt was fumbling to get my revolver out of his jacket. I launched myself at him. He fired. Pain creased my side, but I had momentum. I plowed into Walt and he fell. I grabbed the gun barrel and its heat burned my scorched skin, but I held on and twisted. Walt grunted as his wrist bent. I took the gun, staggered away, and heaved it into the fire with both hands. I fell to one knee and coughed up black mucus.

Walt kicked me in the side. The pain from my burns screamed through me, blocking out the pain from the kick. I stood. Walt grabbed me and pushed. We both fell toward the flame. The heat tore into my body, making the cut in my side howl.

I couldn’t fight anymore. I dropped, becoming dead weight and grabbing Walt as I fell. He fought to keep from going down. I kicked up, catching him in the midsection and slingshotting him over me into the inferno. He landed on the pile of engineering books. His flannel shirt blazed into flame. He screamed, rolled, stood, and ran blindly into the filing cabinet, ricocheted to the desk, and fell back onto the burning pile of engineering books. Walt scrambled to his feet, staggered toward the door, flames sheeting over his body. His skin blistered as he fell to his knees, pitched forward, and was still.