Soon the Rest Will Fall Read Online Free Page B

the trail to the mount’s bald crest. Off to the west Fort Funston’s ramparts and the streets of suburban Daly City were coated in mist. The ocean surf boomed under the bluffs for miles. At the top of the hill he shut off the ignition and let the sedan coast to a stop in a fallow cow pasture.
    It occurred to Harriet that he was up to no good. “What are you doing? I thought you were taking us somewhere pleasant.”
    Robert sat motionless behind the driver’s wheel. The salty air made him giddy, mad with glee. Prison hadn’t smelled this good. For a long time nothing had. Not even Slatts. He intoned, “There’s deer out here, babe. Millions of them.”
    His wife wasn’t getting it. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œYou heard me. Deer.”
    â€œDeer?”
    â€œThat’s right. They’re going to come out and nibble on the straw in this field. When they do, I’m going to get me one and shoot its ass.”
    Harriet was skeptical. “The deer in these parts are dead. This is San Francisco.”
    He rebuked her. “You forget you’re talking to a professional.” Her husband’s coarse skin was oily and prison pale; his brown eyes were electric in their sockets. “I can conjure up a deer. Just watch me.”

    Taking a final swig of beer, Robert reached over the seat and scooped up his Winchester bolt-action rifle. A tingle ran through his fingers as he caressed its polished maple stock. He pushed open the driver’s door; the reek of alluvial soil and rotting ferns gusted in. Winchester in hand, he gamboled out of the sedan. A coyote was caterwauling on the hill. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said. “You and the girl chill out.”
    â€œI don’t like this, Robert. It ain’t smart.”
    â€œSweetie, don’t worry about a thing. Trust daddy, okay? Is he ever wrong?”
    Harriet watched him move into the fog and then lit a Parliament cigarette. Well, she rued. Things were back to normal. Before Robert went to prison, he always dragged her to places like this. Forests. Gullies. Hilltops. Ravines. Swamps. Thickets. It was his notion of romance. Having a chick in the car and a gun in his arms. Robert was a hunter who saw everything that moved as potential food and cash. Hunting boar in upstate New York or alligators in the swamps of Florida—for every season, there was a different geographic destination and new game to slaughter. Fuck him, she thought.
    Â 
    Robert knew his deer. How their minds worked. What they wanted. What they hated. Getting adjusted to the gloom, he glanced around. It was too hazy to do any shooting. Couldn’t see for shit in the fog. And something was off. The vibe wasn’t right. The hair on his neck bristled. Before he could fathom what it meant, flashlights cut across the field and touched on his sallow face.
    He lifted the Winchester to his shoulder. Figures were running across the hillside toward him. It was an ambush.
He was in hot water. It was just his luck. Lowering the weapon, he sputtered, “Goddamn, they got me again.”
    A brassy voice rang out: “This is the police! Put that gun down, asshole! We’ve been waiting for you, fucking poacher!”
    A dozen cops burst from the shadows and surrounded Robert. His reputation had preceded him. His movements were well known to the local lawmen. A flashlight was aimed in his face, illuminating his acne scars and underscoring every sleepless night he’d had in the pen. Knowing it was all over, he surrendered with a listless shrug and raised his hands. A foolish grin crept across his supple mouth.
    â€œHey, guys,” he joked. “What’s the problem? I ain’t doing shit.”
    â€œShut up, you fuck.”
    The rifle was wrenched from his grip, and he was handcuffed. Dancing inside a circle of flashlight beams, Robert told the cops the gun wasn’t his. It belonged to his wife. A