Flashback

Just shoot him. Just walk up to the car and shoot him. And fuck the money.

He realized that the whole thing about becoming a free trucker was bullshit. He didn’t even know how to drive a car. He’d never learn how to drive a truck with all its gears—just backing one of those rigs up with the trailer attached was a nightmare. And he’d never get $300,000 in new bucks to pay for that fake NICC. It was all bullshit.

Just shoot him. He murdered Mom. Walk up to the car when he comes back around and shoot him.

The old G.M. gelding rattled around the parkway loop north of the lake again and headed south toward Val and the homeless tent village.

Val pulled the Beretta from his belt, worked the slide to chamber a round, and held the weapon behind his back. He took five steps out of the pine trees to stand next to the road.

He could see the Old Man’s face this time and saw the jerk of his head as his father saw him. The car brake-screeched to a stop.

Val realized that he was on the wrong side of the road. To get a clean shot, he should have been on the east side, the driver’s side. The Old Man would know something was weird if Val walked around the front or back of the car to get closer to the driver’s-side window.

As if understanding Val’s problem, the Old Man touched a button and the passenger-side window clunked down.

Val walked right up to the car and—holding the suddenly heavy Beretta in both hands—aimed the muzzle at the Old Man’s blandly staring face. Stiff-armed, not shaking, Val extended the pistol inside the window until it was less than three feet from its target.

Doitnow doitnow doitnow don’twait doitnow…

Nick Bottom didn’t seem to be surprised. He said softly, “I’m wearing Kevlar-three under my shirt, Val. You’ll have to aim for my head… the face.”

Val blinked. The Old Man was trying to mess with his head.

Squeeze the trigger!! Doitnow… doitnow… don’twait… doitnow…

Val’s finger was off the trigger guard and on the trigger, exerting pressure.

“The safety’s still on, kid,” said the Old Man in the same tone he’d used to help Val learn how to balance his bicycle.

Val didn’t believe his father but looked anyway. It was true. The safety lever was down, the red dot covered. Fuck!! Fumbling with both hands, he got the safety lever up until the red dot was visible.

The Old Man could have floored the gelding and gotten away in those seconds, but he hadn’t done a thing. His left arm over the steering wheel, his right hand empty and visible on the beat-up old console between the seats, the Old Man just looked at Val.

He knows he deserves to die for killing Mom, thought Val. He came here knowing what I had to do. He’s guilty as hell.

Val’s finger was on the trigger again when he saw movement in the backseat. His arms still extended stiffly, the pistol aimed at the middle of the Old Man’s forehead, Val flicked a glance left.

Leonard was lying across the backseat nestled in a clumsy nest of pillows. The old man’s mouth was open and his eyes were closed. A bottle with some sort of clear liquid in it had been wired to the hook above the left-side car door where dry cleaning was usually hung and an IV line ran to Leonard’s bare and bruised left arm.

“What the fuck?” said Val.

The Old Man turned his head to look back at Leonard. “He’s all right. Or rather, he’s a mess from that attack I told you about. It’s called aortic stenosis and means that one of the valves of his heart is pretty messed up. Unless he gets a surgical valve replacement, your grandfather’s future looks pretty dim. But he’s okay right now. Dr. Tak gave him a sedative so he’d sleep awhile.”

Val didn’t ask who Dr. Tak was. He shook his head, although he wasn’t sure what he was denying. The Old Man’s attempt to distract him, maybe. Val peered down the iron sights at his father’s face.

Now!

Val knew he could do it. He remembered the muffled blast and kick of the Beretta as he’d fired it through the ski mask in his hand. He remembered Coyne saying “Ugh!” and dropping the flashlight. He remembered the round hole in the T-shirt just above Vladimir Putin’s pale face blobbing out into a red butterfly and continuing to grow and Coyne smirking at Val and saying “You shot me.”

Val remembered shooting the other boy in the throat and remembered the sound of Billy’s teeth snapping off as Coyne’s open mouth hit the cement floor of the tunnel. He remembered killing the animated T-shirt Putin AI by putting a third bullet between the Russian’s two beady little eyes.

That’s what he had to do now.

Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull!