Chapter Three #2
Floyd hovered at my shoulder, close enough I could feel the heat of his body. He murmured, “Just you and me,” and let me go first.
The floor creaked, and Gator spun, eyes wild. “Stay back!” His voice cracked, the gun waggling between us like a compass gone crazy.
I raised my hands, palms out. “Easy, Gator. Nobody’s here to hurt you. It’s just me. Ransom.”
He blinked, eyes not tracking. “You—nah. You’re with them.”
I kept my steps slow, knees bent, every muscle tight. “Not with anyone, man. Just here to talk.”
From the corner, one of the bartenders peeked over the edge of the counter. Gator whipped the gun around, almost dropped it, then managed to bring it back my way. “I said—back off!”
I stopped. “You want me to leave, I’ll leave. But I gotta tell you—this is not how you win her back.”
He laughed, high and brittle. “Win her back? She won’t even pick up the phone.”
I nodded. “Yeah. She won’t. Not after this, either.”
He stuttered a step, like the words hit harder than they should have. “What do you know about it?”
“Enough,” I said, voice flat. “Enough to know that waving a gun around is just going to get you on the wrong side of every badge in the county. And enough to know Mary never liked guns.”
Gator’s lip curled. “She hates ’em. Always did. Said I should get rid of Dad’s old piece after the wedding.”
I took another slow step. “So why now? Why this?”
He looked down at the gun, like he’d never seen it before. “Because I got nothing left, man. Nothing. She lost the baby and then she lost me. Or maybe I lost her. I don’t even know.”
I let that sit. The old pain in his voice was a familiar tune—different words, same song. “You think scaring the shit out of everyone is gonna fill the hole?”
He sneered. “What would you know about holes, McKenzie?”
I smiled. “More than you think.”
We were close now—ten feet, maybe less. I saw the hand that held the gun was shaking, and not just a little. He was right on the edge, and I didn’t know which way he’d tip.
“I think about that night sometimes,” I said. “The night Mary called me, crying. I told her she should leave. Told her you’d get better, but maybe it was a lie.”
That got to him. His eyes filled up, and his jaw worked like he wanted to bite through something. “She—she said you listened. That you were the only one who ever listened.”
“I didn’t listen hard enough.” I took another step. I was close enough to see the fingerprint smudges on the barrel. “You want to talk? Let’s talk. But you gotta put that thing down first.”
He stared at the gun. I could see the war inside him—part of him wanted to hand it over, part wanted to make a statement. In the end, he just let his arm drop, the gun hanging from his fingers.
I closed the last few feet and took it, slow, careful. His hands were ice cold, but he didn’t fight me. “You don’t have to do this, man,” I said, lowering my voice. “You don’t have to be a cliché.”
Gator let out a sound that was halfway between a sob and a laugh. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, then slumped to the floor, knees splayed, head bowed.
Floyd moved in fast, but not aggressive—just a hand on Gator’s shoulder, guiding him up, walking him out. The bartender popped up, eyes round and wet, and I gave her a nod: “All clear.”
The world rushed back in, loud and bright.
Outside, the squad cars made a neat perimeter of flashing lights, and every rubbernecker in a three-block radius was crowding behind the yellow tape.
Floyd kept a steady hold on Gator, murmuring to him the whole time.
I held the gun in both hands, the weight of it heavier than it should have been.
I waited until the paramedics took Gator, then met Floyd’s eyes. He just nodded, like we’d done what we had to do.
“Nice work,” he said.
“Don’t thank me,” I said. “He’s still a mess.”
Floyd shrugged. “Sometimes ‘not dead’ is enough.”
He held out his hand for the gun, and I passed it over, our fingers brushing for a moment longer than necessary. We stood there in the siren-soaked dusk, just breathing, neither of us in a hurry to let go of the moment.
Then the world started moving again, and I had to.
Sunlight hit me like a slap, a rude wake-up after the cave-dark of the bar. Out here, everything looked too sharp—the squad cars, the yellow tape, the way the deputies milled like extras who’d missed their cue. I blinked against the glare and tried to shake off the way my hands were still buzzing.
Gator sat on the back bumper of an ambulance, a foil blanket draped around his shoulders like he was waiting for someone to tell him he’d done good. His head hung low, but his eyes tracked me when I came near.
“Sorry,” he said. The word came out in a gravelly croak. “Didn’t mean to scare no one.”
I shrugged. “Could have fooled me. That gun was pointed everywhere, but the moon.”
He huffed a laugh, then coughed. “Mary’s never going to forgive me.”
I sat next to him, letting the silence do most of the talking. “You let yourself stay this way, and she definitely won’t.” I nudged his shoulder. “Sober up, face her. That’s how you start.”
He looked at me, then past me, to where Floyd was giving orders to the cluster of deputies. For once, nobody was side-eyeing me—maybe I’d graduated from town menace to local oddity. Or maybe nobody wanted to admit I’d been useful.
Floyd broke away from the group and walked over, a manila folder in one hand, the gun in a plastic bag in the other. He stopped a few feet away, like he knew better than to crowd us.
“You okay?” he asked Gator.
Gator mumbled something. Floyd didn’t press, just set the evidence bag on the hood of his truck and turned to me.
“You did good in there,” he said, voice low enough that I knew it was meant for me alone.
I rolled my eyes, but my skin prickled. “Don’t get used to it. I still hate authority.”
“Authority’s a tool, not a personality trait.”
I snorted. “If you say so, Sheriff.”
He smiled—an actual, no-bullshit smile—and I wasn’t ready for how much it changed his face. Like, if he’d gone around looking that approachable, maybe half the town wouldn’t treat him like a scarecrow.
We stood there for a minute, everything unsaid vibrating between us. The heat of the afternoon, the burnt-rubber stink of the parking lot, the clatter of a paramedic slamming the ambulance doors. All of it amplified the quiet, the weird peace that followed.
Floyd held out the evidence bag with the gun. “You want to do the honors? Walk it inside?”
I hesitated, then took it. The plastic crinkled under my fingers, the weight oddly satisfying. “I’ll bring it in. You should probably start the paperwork.”
He nodded, and for a moment I thought he might say something else. Instead, he just watched as I led Gator toward the station, a hand steady on his shoulder.
We walked slow, like neither of us was in a hurry to face what came next. On the steps, Gator paused. “You think she’ll even talk to me?”
“If you don’t show, you’ll never find out.” I squeezed his arm. “One foot in front of the other. That’s all there is.”
He nodded, and I felt a flicker of pride, or maybe relief.
Inside, the station was less chaotic. The front desk deputy didn’t even bother with a snarky comment, just pointed me to the evidence drop.
I filled out the forms, handed off the gun, and waited for Gator to finish his statement.
He was shaky, but lucid. I stuck around until a social worker showed up, then left before anyone decided I should stick around for a pat on the back.
Outside, the world had gone gold. Late sun turning everything syrupy and slow. I lit a cigarette and sat on my bike, letting the nicotine buzz kill the rest of the nerves.
I was halfway through when I saw Floyd leaning against the front door, arms crossed, watching me. He didn’t say anything, just tipped his chin up in a silent hello.
I flicked the butt into the gutter and headed over, feeling the static pull between us. He looked at me like he saw something new, something he hadn’t counted on.
“You really hate authority?” he asked, not quite smiling.
“Only when it gets in the way of the important shit.”
He nodded, like that answered something he’d wondered for a long time. “See you around, McKenzie,” he said.
“Count on it,” I said, and I meant it.
He turned to go inside, but not before looking back, just for a second. Our eyes met. Nothing was said, but everything was understood. And for the first time in my life, I couldn’t wait to see what kind of trouble we’d make together next.
I grinned at the thought, kicked my bike to life, and let the engine drown out everything else.