Purgatory Ridge

The moment the floorboards ceased to call out Hanover’s progress, Cork made his move and rushed through the doorway. Before Hanover could react to the sound of footsteps, Cork swung Annie’s Louisville Slugger and connected with Hell’s left forearm. Hanover cried out in pain; his handgun clattered to the floor. Cork used the tip of the bat as a baton and lunged, catching Hanover square in the stomach. Hell went down to his knees, gasping for air. Cork kicked the handgun clear of the bald man’s reach.

“You know,” Cork said, standing over him, breathing pretty hard himself, “for a guy who wants to lead an armed revolution, you’re a piss-poor strategist.”

“I’ll have you… arrested,” Hell threatened between gasps.

“And rely on the system you want to destroy? I don’t think so, Hell. Besides, you’d lose. You trespassed and pulled a gun. I’d take that to a jury any day.”

Hanover had wrapped his good arm around his stomach and was struggling to look up at Cork. “What’s this all about?”

With the toe of his shoe, Cork tapped the handgun that lay fallen on the floor. “A little thirty-two, Hell? A whole military arsenal to choose from and you pick a prissy weapon to carry.”

“It’s licensed.”

“Playing it safe, I see. Worried you might go to jail?”

“What do you want, O’Connor?”

“An exchange.”

Hell slowly got to his feet. He stopped nursing his stomach and gingerly felt the forearm that had taken the full force of the Louisville Slugger. “Jesus, I think you broke it.”

“It’s only the beginning of what I’ll break unless we strike a deal.”

“You said exchange. What are you talking about?”

“Jo, Stevie, Grace Fitzgerald, and her boy. In exchange for your stockpile of illegal arms.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Wrong answer.” Cork swung the bat again and connected with Hanover’s good leg just below the knee. Hell went down again, screaming.

“You’re crazy, O’Connor.”

“Absolutely. Crazy enough to kill you right now, Hell. I want my family back.”

“I don’t know anything about your family, God damn it. I didn’t have anything to do with this abduction thing.”

“You tried to use that photograph to force me to back off investigating Eco-Warrior. Why?”

Hanover tried to stand again, but his leg gave out and he ended up back on his knees. “Because it was a situation that could explode in the face of government at every level. Jesus, it was a dream and I wanted it to happen.” He felt his leg and grimaced. “Oh, shit.”

“Two million dollars, Hell. That’s how much the ransom demand is. Two million could buy you a hell of an armory for that little militia of yours.”

“I don’t have a little militia. You saw to that, remember?” He gave Cork a look more sour than painful. “Are you going to kill me, O’Connor? Then why don’t you just do it? Bash my brains out or whatever it is you have in mind.”

Cork put the bat against Hanover’s head. “I haven’t slept in two days, Hell. My wife and my boy are in the hands of some madman. If you think for a minute that I wouldn’t kill you, think again.”

“Look, what do you want from me? I didn’t take your family. Your wife and boy were abducted Saturday night, right? Saturday night I was covering the volunteer firefighters’ picnic over in Tower. A hundred people saw me there.”

“Some of your militia, then.”

“If I had a militia, O’Connor, consider the ranks. You think there’s anybody brilliant enough to carry off this kind of thing? Jesus, you beat the fuck out of me for nothing.”

Cork stepped back, but he didn’t put the slugger down. “Not for nothing. We still have to deal with that photograph.”

Hanover looked at the photo hanging above his head. “You’d kill me over that? I don’t think so.” He grinned, as if he had Cork beaten.

“Blackmail for blackmail,” Cork said. “Little Sun Lake.”

At those last words, Hanover’s face changed. The grin died, and his eyes took on a hunted look.

“That’s right,” Cork said. “I found your cache of arms out at Little Sun Lake. And I moved it. Every crate of AK-47’s, every Skorpion submachine gun, every CS grenade, every round of ammunition, all of it. Now it’s my cache. But unless I’m sorely mistaken, your fingerprints are all over everything, and probably the prints from a lot of the rest of the Minnesota Civilian Brigade. ATF would have a field day with that. You’d go to prison for a very long time.”

Hanover’s only reply was an unflinching glare.

“And don’t think that taking me out sometime will solve your problems, Hell. I had a lot of help moving those weapons. If I’m ever harmed, the ATF will have the location of the cache within half an hour. You’re a free man only so long as no one else ever sees that photograph or any copies of it or any similar evidence of indiscretion you might have stashed somewhere. Understand?”

Hanover took a few ragged breaths before he was able to reply. “Yeah, I understand.”

“Good. Now get out.”

Cork moved back, but Hanover didn’t rise. “I’m not sure I can walk.”