.././.\\.\//.///\...//>>>>>>

"I had a feeling you'd be back," Glenn says, stepping out onto the trail behind them. He's armed to the teeth, as usual, and holding his pistol-gripped shotgun at the ready. More importantly, though, the camo on his chest is wet in several spots.

Well, fuck. He's already been in the water.

Zandra instinctively reaches for the lawnmower knife up her sleeve, but she stops. Fortunately, Bexley's prepared with the pistol this time. Unfortunately, the pistol is still pointed at the ground when Glenn gets the drop on them. Meanwhile, Chad is, as usual, relatively worthless, although he does belch out of surprise.

Close to shore, a fish strikes with a splash at something on the surface of the river.

"No card games this time?" Zandra says more to Glenn's shotgun than to Glenn himself.

"No games this time, Zandra. I told you not to come back here," Glenn says. The scars on his face try not to burst under the pressure of the knots twisting in his expression.

"We're just out for a hike. That's all. Beautiful day out," Zandra says.

The fish in the river strikes again. Mist rolls off the top of the water.

Glenn snorts and says, "The police are gone from the wreck site. Everyone's gone. No reason I can't shoot you three fucks right now."

Bexley droops her head. Chad belches again.

"You got a stomach problem or something?" Glenn says to Chad with a wrinkled nose.

Chad shrugs.

"We can help you, child," Zandra says. "There's a lot to do, and we've got a boat and all the gear."

Glenn snorts again. "No."

"No?"

"You don't have a boat. You had a boat," Glenn says.

The fish churns the water once more in a small swirl.

"You're mistaken, child," Zandra says.

"You're right. I'm so stupid," Glenn says with a heaping dose of sarcasm. He motions with the shotgun to where the fish keeps disturbing the surface of the river. "See those splashes and bubbles? That's the air escaping your stuff. Your boat is right there, about six feet down."

Zandra can't hide the feeling of defeat. It weighs down her shoulders. She braces herself with a hand on one of her knees.

This can't be. I came so close.

"You lose, Zandra. I got you. I finally got you. Oh, this is pure fuckin' gold. I wish everyone you fucked over could see your face right now," Glenn says with delight. "You want to know what else?"

"What?" Zandra says, suddenly out of breath.

"I already got the score out of the Curd Queen. It's all over," Glenn says and laughs. "Try talking your way out of this one. You've got no more cards to play."

Another twig snaps from somewhere in the woods. This time, it's the wind knocking down a loose branch.

"So this was all for nothing?" Bexley says. She raises both her head and the pistol. Glenn doesn't react, because the pistol is pointed at Zandra. "How could you let this happen?"

I'm sorry, when did I suddenly become in charge of Glenn?

"But you know what's the funniest thing of all? You idiots thought this would all go down in the morning. You come out here like you're showing up for a shift at McD's. Who pulls a job like that in the daylight? I got it done overnight," Glenn says. He pauses. "I think I'm going to kill you now."

Thanks for the advance warning.

"No," Bexley says. "Let me do it."

"None of you are walking out of here, but if you want to draw first blood, be my guest," Glenn says. "This scattergun can rip your face off before you can pull that pea shooter, so don't try nothin'."

Bexley keeps the gun on Zandra. "I want to see her dead. That's all I care about."

Well, fuck you, too.

Wait.

Relaxed jaw. No trembling in the hands. No visible perspiration around the lips or forehead. Flat voice. This is an act.

Bexley continues talking about all the ways Zandra disappointed her. The list of complaints could take all day.

And that's the point. Bexley's buying me time to think.

Glenn watches on with glee. Every word out of Bexley's mouth adds another inch to the depths of his delight.

Zandra stops Bexley around complaint number 27.

"Haven't you had enough, child? Wouldn't you rather get on with it?" Zandra says. It's code.

Bexley's heard me use "child" at certain times enough that she'll get the hint. "Get on with it" is another signal that I'm ready to do whatever it is I thought of doing to get us out of this mess.

"Yes. Let's get on with it, child," Bexley says.

I better be right about your intentions here, Bexley, or I am going to haunt the fuck out of you for the three seconds between you shooting me and Glenn shooting you.

"Then there's only one thing left to say," Zandra says.

Glenn huffs. "No, no, no. Shoot her. Don't let her talk."

Oh, but I will, Glenn.

"That's not our boat," Zandra says.

"What?" Glenn says.

"What?" Bexley says.

Chad belches. It sounds forced.

"Those bubbles and splashes in the river, that's air escaping from a submerged boat, but it's not our boat," Zandra says.

Glenn huffs again. "Bullshit."

"Yes, that's exactly what it is. Bullshit," Zandra says, feeling more confident to move her hands. She rubs her palms together. "Let's start with night diving in a river. Even I know that's a stupid idea."

"Nothing's too stupid for that amount of money," Glenn says.

Zandra feels the heat in her palms. "OK, let's pretend you really did do a night dive, and by some miracle of supernatural intervention, you got everything to the surface. Why would you even bother with us? Just leave."

Glenn shrugs. "Maybe I knew you were going to come back, and maybe I wanted to teach you a lesson."

"But you just said there's no amount of stupid that isn't worth the score on the Curd Queen. Sounds like you'd prioritize the haul over anything else," Zandra says, almost sounding more like a lawyer than a psychic. "You need a role model or something, child. Just leave. Go make your money. We're not in your way."

Glenn doesn't come out of his shrug, his shoulders still risen.

Bexley lowers her pistol to point at the dirt. She's careful not to move any other part of her body.

"What does any of this have to do with that not being your boat?" Glenn says.

Oh, Glenn, you twice-baked potato in a half-priced militia.

"Because, child, you shot a hole in your own boat. Your stupid ass sunk it," Zandra says.

"Stop making shit up," Glenn says.

"I'm not. Let's examine why," Zandra says. "Number one, you're standing next to this supposed sunken boat. How? Three possibilities. You saw it sink, you're extremely lucky to happen to be next to it just now, or you shot it. The first two might be possible, but we heard thunder on a clear day when we walked into these woods. I'm guessing that was you, accidentally using that shotgun like an iceberg.

"The timing works perfectly. That there are still air bubbles surfacing from the boat tells me the sinking happened recently. I'd bet my good ankle that recency started with that thunder.

"Now, before you think you've got an answer for all of that, I'd like to know why only your chest is damp and not your pants. Could it be because the shot sent water up and onto your chest? I think so. The only move you had left to make was to hide when you heard us coming, and then paste us so you could come back later when you had your shit together again.

"So, no, Glenn, you didn't pull anything out of the Curd Queen. It's all still down there in Devil's Hole. Kindly shut the fuck up about it."

I should take a bow after that.

Chad claps.

Glenn's shoulders finally lower. He jerks his head like his collar is too tight, clears his throat, and says, "You seriously got all that from just standing here?"

Zandra smiles.

They don't call me the best for nothing.

"That was fucking incredible," Bexley says.

Thank you.

"On to the matter of whether you should kill me or all three of us, I think I've got a solution that could benefit everyone. We all walk out of these woods happy," Zandra says. She lights a cigarette. "For once, Glenn, you could be on the winning side for a change."

Glenn cradles the shotgun so the barrel points at the river. "What did you have in mind?"

Zandra waits for Bexley and Chad to light up. They offer Glenn a cigarette, too. He refuses the cigarette but takes the lighter. After slinging the shotgun over his shoulder, he fishes a cigar from one of the 50 pockets on his person. The resulting cigar smoke blends in neatly with the aroma of the woods and river.

Smells wonderful and awful at the same time. I'll stick to cigarettes, thank you very much. There's no telling what they use to fill out those cigars to make them that big.

"Can you still get the gear out of the boat? It's only six feet deep," Zandra asks Glenn.

Glenn puffs on the cigar. "It's a lot more than six feet. There's a drop off near shore. It'd be doable if I had my lights and shit, but that was all on the boat."

"Then why'd you say six feet?"

"I liked the way it sounded when I said it."

Fair.

Zandra smokes for a bit in thought. She listens to the breeze come off the river. Finally, she says, "Then there's only one thing left to do."