Jackpot

We’d hardly been home a minute when I saw three men walking up the gravel drive leading to our house. The number 90 popped into my head. I don’t know where it came from, but something in my mind had weighed the pace of their walk against many years of experience climbing that hill and landed on ninety. I reckoned we had ninety seconds until they’d be here. I started counting out loud: 1… 2… 3… 

Our driveway was long and steep, which meant that during daylight you could see anyone heading this way from the county road below. Mr. Draper, who lived one farm over, had dropped my brother and me off a few minutes before. Most days we walked the four miles home from school but sometimes caught a ride with one of the nearby farmers. On those days we got home early. 10… 11… 12… There was something about the outline of the men and the way they walked side by side that made me think they were coming up here to rob the place. No time to waste, I thought, and turned away without even seeing their faces. 

Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. It had been less than a month since daddy died, and I wished he was here to make them go away or at least tell me what to do. My mind raced as I tiptoed to reach for granddaddy’s 20-gauge on the closet shelf. The gun was heavy and caught the sleeve of one of my granddaddy’s flannel shirts as I brought it down. I rounded the corner at full speed but stopped. Shells, I thought. I’d almost forgotten the shells. 30… 31… 32. 

I yelled at my brother Jimmy to get out here and—because I usually never raised my voice—he came quick. I told him to go to the cellar because that’s where I wanted to go but couldn’t on account of needing to defend the Maclean home and family honor, which I had promised my daddy to uphold. He stood there for a moment and I yelled Right now, you son of a bitch, and don’t come up no matter what until I come get you. My granny was at the church but would be home any minute. I couldn’t decide if I wanted her here or if she was better off where she was. 

I had lost count but figured another thirty seconds was left and hoped they were taking their time. I was the kind of boy who’d lie in bed thinking about what to do if someone came for me in the night, but never like this: late afternoon on a Tuesday in October. I steadied my hands to load the 20-gauge with bird shot. The shells slid right in. 

My granddaddy had last fired the gun to scare crows away the summer he died, which was a year before daddy. I figured I might get a couple of shots off before the men could do anything and that might be enough to send them running. It couldn’t be more than a few seconds now. I heard the low hum of voices drawing closer as I reached the bottom of the stairs. Where to hide? I whispered aloud. 

The lights weren’t on and Granny had the pickup, so they might think the place was empty. What did they want to take? The voices grew louder and I just knew at any moment they’d open the door or bust it down. And so I ran into the closest room, my granddaddy’s study, slid behind the door, and placed the box of shells at my feet. I reached for a few shells and stuffed them in my pocket, in case I had to move quickly. The gun was cold and hard to hold without letting the barrel jut out into the open room. My breath was heavy, and I felt sweat forming between the gun and my fingers. The kitchen door opened at almost the exact same moment as the safety clicked off. I felt my heart speed up at the anticipation of firing a weapon at another human being, which went against everything daddy and granddaddy had taught me about responsible gun use. 

These men weren’t trying to be quiet, and pretty soon they were making a racket, going through the cabinets and knocking over pots and pans. My granny had fed a few men looking for work a couple weeks back, and though they were nice enough and left after the meal, the whole encounter had made me uneasy. I told her as much and said she shouldn’t do that again. She had laughed and said something about entertaining angels unaware. I wondered if they were the same men. 

The intruders were clearly hungry, and one of them talked about eating his first decent meal in months. Another one told the hungry one to quit thinking with his belly and to get to work. That old lady’s gotta have some green around here somewhere, he said. I was pretty sure I knew what he meant, and he was right: I knew where they could find some green in that very room. 

The butt of the gun kept sliding down to sit on top of my boot until I finally let it rest there. Hide and seek, I thought. They’re after money and not me. I’m okay. I’m okay, I whispered out loud. 

Part of me hoped they’d find the money and leave real quick. What could I do? If I confronted them with the 20-gauge and tried to drive them out of the house, something told me that wouldn’t go to plan. I could go in gun blazing and hope for the best, but I doubted I could reload before one of them got to me. Besides, I didn’t want to kill anyone and wasn’t sure I could stomach it. What if they had guns? I wasn’t ready to die, let alone feel the pain of a bullet. And what if Granny came home in the middle of all this? These were the kind of men that might not stop at stealing. Just then one of them came into the hallway and stopped right outside the study. I held my breath. 

Hello?! Anybody home?! His voice shook the house and sent a chill through me. Then he laughed, and I could tell he didn’t think there was anyone around. If I shuffled to the left just a little and cocked my head slightly, I would probably see his face, but my body was both frozen in place and drenched in sweat. If I never saw their faces, somehow it might not be real—like a bad dream you could wake up from. I heard the gruff man mounting the stairs as another one took his place in the hallway, but instead of stopping, this one kept right on walking and entered the study. 

I felt my blood pumping and my bladder tightening as he began to go through granddaddy’s desk. The bandit wouldn’t see me unless I gave him a reason to look behind the door, which I had no intention of doing. Now he was emptying drawers and tossing books off of the shelf. His partner upstairs was making a mess, too, causing the floorboards overhead to groan with each step he took. Just then the third man came into the hallway and began to speak to the one in the study. 

We shouldn’t stay much longer. The old lady might be home soon, and you know how Floyd gets around women. Find anything good? There was a long pause. Well, Jonny? 

The man named Jonny stopped what he was doing and cleared his throat. Old ladies keep money under mattresses, in cookie jars— anywhere but banks these days. His voice wasn’t as gruff as the others’. He sounded young but confident. I wanted badly to get a look at his face but knew it wasn’t worth the risk. Go make sure Floyd checked the mattresses. I’ll check the cookie jar. We don’t need to rush and I’m not leaving empty handed. Jonny left the room and I heard the other man mounting the stairs to check on Floyd. I had to pee real bad. 

Jonny was almost right about the money. If he looked hard enough, I was pretty sure he’d find some cash in the breadbox. My Uncle Hank and his boys helped us keep up the farm but money ran low most months. I was also pretty sure Hank gave Granny a little extra to get by. She didn’t know I’d accidentally seen her tucking some bills in an envelope behind the Wonder bread a few weeks back. Jonny would probably find a few dollars in there. 

I don’t know exactly how I heard him say the word, but I was pretty sure I had heard what I heard: the click of the breadbox opening, a pause, then Jackpot. The breadbox made a fierce sound when it popped to a close, but they couldn’t have heard him upstairs with the ruckus they were making. A few moments passed before Jonny returned to the hallway. I wondered what my brother was thinking about all the noise up above. So far, he had done as he was told. 

Hey, boys! Jonny’s voice was excited. He was about to tell them what he’d found. But no: he continued, I ain’t going to prison for robbing a house with nothing in it, so let’s get a move on. Floyd and the other one headed down the stairs. Get anything good? Jonny asked. 

A necklace. It was Floyd’s gruff voice. And—he paused—a gold watch. 

I gasped. Surely they’d heard me. I’m cooked, I thought, and closed my eyes, reaching for the gun and bracing for whatever was coming. But the moment of truth didn’t come. The men kept right on talking as I checked my britches to make sure they were still dry. It had to be my father’s watch, the one my grandfather gave him when he left for the war, and the one my father had given me before he died. 

Let’s get on out of here, said the nameless man. His voice wasn’t quite as gruff as Floyd’s. I kept waiting for Jonny to tell them the good news, but still nothing came. Soon they were on the move and heading for the kitchen. 

The cash was one thing, I thought, but the watch couldn’t be replaced. Before I could think straight, I felt my body following my feet out into the open, as if a force beyond my control had grabbed ahold of me. I had no plan. Maybe I could fire a warning shot to let them know I meant business without doing any harm. It would only give me one shell remaining for three men, but I hoped I’d only need the one. 

I raised the gun and put my finger on the trigger. 5… 4… 3— But before I got to two, I felt my grip slip and the butt of the 20-gauge cracked against the hardwood. I caught the gun by the barrel before it slammed on the floor. Now I was done for. 

I returned to my hiding place and closed my eyes. They were still talking in the kitchen but quieter now. I shuffled to the left and cocked my head slightly. Through the crack in the door I saw one of the men enter the hallway. He wasn’t one of the men who Granny had fed a few weeks back. This one was tall and lanky, much younger than I had imagined—couldn’t have been much older than daddy was when I was born. Still, something told me it was Jonny and that, despite his age and appearance, he was the gang’s leader. He looked up the stairs and then down the hallway toward the front door, his eyes darting, scanning every angle in sight. Jonny paused for a moment, then turned back to head for the kitchen. And as he took one last look at the entrance to the study, he noticed the crack in the door and seemed to lock eyes with me. 

He stopped dead in his tracks and stared for what felt like a minute, but it couldn’t have been more than a second or two. His eyes were a shade of brown somewhere between gentle and fierce. I wanted to close my own eyes and wake up, but the real moment of truth was here. He started to move. I lifted the gun, placed an unsteady finger on the trigger, and pointed it away from my body. The sound of his footsteps grew louder, then faded. I kept waiting for him to pounce around the corner of the door, but all I could hear was the men talking. I turned back and looked through the crack: he wasn’t there. Maybe Jonny had gone to get his buddies and would be back any second. But they kept on talking and laughing and until a dish smashed against the floor. Then they laughed even harder. 

Why had Jonny let me be? I wondered. But there wasn’t time to consider why he’d done what he’d done, why he had kept his mouth shut. I was distracted by the faint but familiar sound of an somebody mounting the cellar stairs. I had almost forgotten that Jimmy was down there, and now he was on the move. 

Son of a bitch, I whispered to myself. It was impossible not to hear him, but the men were still talking loudly in the kitchen and I prayed they would drown out the noise he was making. I hoped he would hear them opening the icebox, hollering back and forth, and decide to stay put. Then the bandits would leave with my father’s watch, my grandmother’s necklace and the remnants of Sunday’s venison stew, and—at least one of them—with some green. And it would all be over. 

Perhaps my brother’s movement had prevented me from doing something foolish. It was just a watch. The stairs were quiet again, which meant Jimmy was standing still on the steps. I wondered if he was afraid like me. 

Now, of all the sounds that could draw the attention of unwanted visitors, the worst was the angry squawk of the cellar door. It could wake a bear from hibernation. When I heard that sound, I knew I had to make a move and quick. As I stepped out from behind the door and turned the corner to the hallway, my brother’s face greeted me. It was a face that almost always looked like he was confused, now turned a shade of beet red and poking out from behind the cellar door. I waved at him to be quiet and wanted to shout every curse word I knew, but it was too late. 

All three of the men were heading this way, boots clicking across the hardwood. One by one they made their entrance. Only minutes had passed since I looked out the window and saw them walking up the driveway, but somehow it felt like I knew them well. The first one was dirty and bearded and wore a permanent frown. Floyd, I guessed. The second one was skinny and walked with a sort of half-limp. He must be the nameless man. The last one through was the one I had seen before, who had seen me and let it go. I was sure he was Jonny. 

I could see in Jonny’s eyes that he was annoyed—was shaking his head and wearing a look on his face that said he had been going to let us live but now he couldn’t. We had given ourselves away, and he could no longer ignore us. Jonny sized up the scene, eyed my brother frozen in the corner, and then settled on me. 

Well, hello, boys, Jonny said, and winked at me. Tell me, son, don’t you think you should be pointing that gun at me? 

I had forgotten that the 20-gauge was aimed at the floor. It had somehow turned weightless in my arms. The others chuckled, and the nameless man revealed a high-pitched laugh that sounded like a crow. I raised the gun quickly and almost pulled the trigger by accident, then settled the butt in my armpit and aimed the barrel at Jonny. 

Whoa, easy. Jonny flinched for a moment. Now that’s more like it. Tell me, do you need me to come over and show you how to turn off the safety? 

He smiled as the nameless man chuckled again, but Floyd’s face had turned real sour. I thought you said there wasn’t gonna be nobody here, Jonny. 

A scowl formed on Jonny’s face as he turned to answer Floyd. Now’s not the time, Floyd. Now’s not the time. 

But — Jonny took a quick step towards Floyd and, though Floyd was older and about as big, he backed away. Okay, okay. He didn’t look satisfied but let it go. Then they turned back to me. I could tell by the looks on their faces that they were waiting for me to speak. 

I hadn’t rehearsed what I would say in the moment of truth but decided I’d better open my mouth and see what came out. Mr. Jonny, m–my name is Thomas Jefferson Maclean, and the safety is off. I don’t intend to use this gun s–s–so long as you and your friends return what you have stolen and leave the p–property. There was a long pause. I was a little surprised at how nicely the words came out. 

The nameless man let out another bird-like cackle, but Jonny waved him off and smiled again. Okay, okay. I get it. You the man of the house? 

I nodded. 

You’re takin’ care of your brother and your granny. I respect that. He cleared his throat and ran his hand over the back of his neck. Clearly they’d cased the joint and thought we’d be gone with Granny. You know, you may not believe it, but I don’t like stealing. It’s not the way my own granny raised me. But, son, we’re out of work and out of food, and, well—this is the hand we’ve been dealt. He shook his head and revealed a look of genuine sadness. Which means it’s the hand you’ve been dealt. I’m sorry we’re taking your property, but you gotta understand that it’s just the way it’s gotta be for me now. Jonny threw up his hands and shrugged, as if to say that he was also a victim of circumstance. 

In that moment I felt a strange combination of fear and admiration. The way he spoke made me feel like things might be all right and that he could make them so. 

My brother broke the silence with a sneeze. I took my eye off Jonny for a second, and by the time I looked back down the barrel, he was gone. A blur moved across the room and was closing fast on my brother. 

Stop! Stop or I’ll shoot! I cried. 

Jonny stopped dead in his tracks. Okay, okay. I’m not going to harm your brother or you. You’re in charge, son. Slim, Floyd, are we going to hurt these boys? 

So the nameless man was Slim. Floyd and Slim shot each other puzzled looks and then shook their heads in an unconvincing way. 

You see, son, we mean you no harm. But we gotta be going with what we got. You can tell your granny and the sheriff that you defended the home and family name with honor. He paused. Your old man’s dead, ain’t he? I nodded again. Well, you done him proud. So why don’t you put down the gun and we’ll be going? You can even tell the sheriff that Jonny and Slim and Floyd robbed you and we’ll see if he can catch us. How’s that sound, Thomas Jefferson Maclean? 

For a moment, I believed Jonny. It was all going to be okay if I let them go. I weighed what he’d said and looked at Slim and Floyd. If it was just Jonny, I probably would have let him walk out the door after making him empty his pockets. But it was the look in Floyd’s eyes and the sound of Slim’s laughter that made me uneasy. I decided that if I put down the gun, worse things might happen, and that I couldn’t risk those things. 

Mr. J–J–Jonny, I can’t do it. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you leave with my daddy’s watch. And I can’t put down the gun. Even if I c–could, I don’t trust that you and your friends mean us no harm. 

The room was quiet. Then a few more seconds passed and I started to feel uneasy, because they were smiling like nothing was wrong. They were smiling like they believed I didn’t I have the guts to go through with it—and for all I knew, they were right. So, I figured I might as well try negotiating. Well, I’ll allow you to leave with the necklace and some food. Then you can be on your way and I won’t need to use this gun. 

Jonny’s face settled into a frown and I could tell that he was growing impatient. But it was Floyd who moved in my direction as he spoke. Hell, enough of this. He won’t do it. I’ll make him use it or beat some sense into him. 

I pressed my finger to the trigger and prepared to shut my eyes and pull, but Jonny cut him off before my eyes were closed. Now hold on, nobody needs to shoot or beat anybody. The kid’s reasonable. Son, you know we need the watch. That’s the value here. His tone had turned to pleading. What do you say? 

I thought for a moment. Jonny would have left us alone if not for Jimmy coming out into the open. But he was also the one who made a move for my brother and Lord knows what he would have done if he’d grabbed hold of him. And something else didn’t sit right: Jonny hadn’t told Floyd and Slim about the money, and he thought this little secret was all his own. If I was them, I would have hightailed it out of here the second I saw the gun, but they had stayed put. It probably wasn’t the first time someone had pointed a gun at them. Still, I decided there was one card left to play. 

Mr. Jonny, I can’t let you have that watch. That’s my daddy’s watch. It’s the necklace and the food. There’s lots of food in there. There’s pot roast and canned beans and bread. Did you check the breadbox, Mr. Jonny? There’s bread and biscuits in there. Jonny, you must like bread and biscuits? 

Slim and Floyd shot each other another confused look. There was a long, uneasy silence. Jonny was studying the floor. Then he let out a chuckle and began to shake his head. When his eyes met mine, a slight smile curled up his lips. Boys, I reckon this young man won’t give in. We best take his deal and be moving on. 

But before the words were out of his mouth, a flash of metal caught my eye: Slim was making a move for my brother with a knife in his hand. I swept the gun in his direction and pulled the trigger without thinking or aiming, and he yelped like a dog I’d once seen bitten by a copperhead. Slim fell to the ground and grabbed his hand, writhing in pain, screaming and cursing, saying awful things I’d never heard before. You shot me! The little son of bitch shot me in the hand! 

He was half right: I had missed him completely but the birdshot had smashed a vase on the table. Somehow a jagged piece of the vase had miraculously pierced Slim’s hand all the way through to his palm. It was a gruesome sight. 

Jonny and Floyd were staring at Slim with their mouths opened wide and feet stuck to the ground. My brother had curled up in the corner and put his hands over his eyes. 

Mr. Slim, I’m sorry I–I–I shot you. I didn’t mean to shoot you. I really— My hands were shaking. But— I paused. 

But it’s just the way it’s gotta be for you now, Jonny said. He grimaced in a sad sort of way. I nodded. Then he stood there and stared at the 20-gauge for what felt like a whole minute while Slim kept on wailing. Floyd, put the watch and necklace on the stairs. Floyd was still dazed. Do it, Floyd. Soon Floyd was fumbling through his pockets and placed the watch and necklace on the steps. Son, is it okay if I check on Slim? 

I nodded again. Jonny helped Slim to his feet, the hurt man still whimpering like a maimed dog. 

I had shot a man. Or at least, at him. Fragments of vase were scattered all over the room, dabbed here and there with drops of Slim’s blood. My hands were still shaking. 

He’s halfway to crucified, Floyd said. 

Let’s go, boys, Jonny said with an unsteady voice. They filed out of the hallway and into the kitchen without another word. 

I took one step forward, then another, approaching the kitchen doorway cautiously and half expecting one of them to come for me at any second. One shot left, I thought. 

I could see the door open and Slim stumbling out first, followed by Floyd. Jonny stayed, though, and few seconds passed before I heard the breadbox click open. A moment later he walked out the door. I thought he might look back, but never did. I went to the window and watched them walk single file down the driveway, hanging their heads. 

Two minutes, I thought. It would take them at least two minutes to reach the road, and I would watch them all the way there and then some. 

Jimmy appeared in the corner of my eye. I searched for something to say but nothing felt right. 

You okay? I asked. He nodded and kept looking straight ahead. I could see where he had wiped tears from his face. Then my brother bent over to pick up a large piece of vase that had landed on the kitchen floor. I opened the gun breech and replaced the empty shell. 

Jimmy studied the jagged blue-and-white fragment in his hand for a moment, then looked up at me. You reckon we better call the sheriff and do like he said? Tell ’em Jonny and Floyd and Slim tried to rob the place and they’re heading for Avery Gap Road and Mr. Jonny said to tell the sheriff that he could try and catch ’em? My brother paused to catch his breath. 

I chuckled. Reckon we better. I closed the loaded 20-gauge. I’ll keep an eye on them till they get out of sight. Can you see to it? He thought for a second, then nodded and headed for the phone in the hall. 

I turned back to watch as they hurried down the drive. What would my granny say about all this? Would they ever come back to seek revenge? The men reached the road and paused to study both directions, then headed west without looking back. I took a seat and let out a half-sigh, half-whimper, letting the shotgun rest across my legs. For the first time, I felt blisters forming where I’d held the gun so tight, and my bladder stung something awful from holding it too long. 

Jimmy was in the hallway telling the whole tale to someone on the phone without so much as taking a breath. I figured they’d probably send a young deputy out to ask a few questions and survey the scene. Probably wouldn’t believe half of it. I looked out the window and realized the sun was getting low and that the days would get colder and shorter soon.  

It was a long time before I slept without the 20-gauge in my bed. 

ISAAC RANKIN

Isaac Rankin lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, where he works as a financial adviser. His poems, creative nonfiction, and short stories have appeared in the Indianapolis Review, Potomac Review, William & Mary Review, and other places. His first collection of poetry, Wonderings, was recently published by Main Street Rag Publishing Company.