by P. J. Tracy
He stopped pacing, lowered his head and massaged his throbbing temples. All the parties involved had been completely honest with him all along, even Emil Rice. He just hadn’t put the pieces together until now.
He looked up when he heard a sharp rap on his door. ‘Come.’
Sheriff Rob Clancy strode in. He was a tall, sun-cured man with a slightly bulging mid-section that hinted at desk work and middle age. He offered his hand. ‘Dr Harold.’
‘Thank you for your prompt response, Sheriff.’
Clancy nodded and pulled out a notebook and pen. ‘We’re setting up a staging area outside for the search parties now. Is there anything else we need to know, besides what we talked about on the phone?’
Dr Harold started pacing again. ‘The ETD of our three AWOLs is between twenty-two hundred and oh seven hundred hours. Based on that, I broke the off-duty staff and volunteers into three teams, spread them out on an east-south-east heading, fanning at ten degrees on a course to Las Vegas, but we don’t have enough people out there.’ He glanced nervously at his watch. ‘Those two women are elderly and have a regimented medication schedule. They’ve already missed their morning doses.’
‘We have two choppers en route, and I’ve called in everyone I could to assist in the ground search. But it’s a big desert, Dr Harold. Just out of curiosity, where’d you get the east-south-east heading toward Vegas?’
‘My two patients believe fervently that they are the two of the three wise men. They’ve got to head east. They’re looking for the baby Jesus in the City of David.’
Sheriff Clancy looked up and raised an eyebrow. ‘Vegas? The City of David?’
‘In their minds, yes, that’s an affirmative.’
‘Oh, boy.’ The sheriff shook his head in disbelief and checked his notes. ‘The two women are mentally ill. What if they changed their minds and headed in a different direction?’
‘They won’t. Schizophrenics at their level of impairment won’t break character. Their delusions are so strongly ingrained, they can’t. They’re going to the light, trust me. And the light is Vegas.’
Sheriff Clancy closed his notebook and tucked it into his shirt pocket. ‘What about this Rice character? Any idea where he might be headed?’
Dr Harold nodded. ‘He’s going to Vegas with the women.’
The sheriff snorted. ‘With all due respect, Dr Harold, I pulled the rap sheet on this guy and my printer ran out of paper. There’s no way he’s still with those two women. They’ll slow him down, and if he gets caught this time, he’s looking at federal charges for kidnapping. And, depending on how things go out in the desert, possibly manslaughter. He’ll never see the light of day again.’
Dr Harold shook his head. ‘No. Emil won’t leave Gloria and Edith alone – at least, not until they get to Vegas.’
‘I hope you’re right about that, but I’ve never seen a lifelong criminal turn around in two days.’
Dr Harold looked out of the window at the yard, where volunteers and law enforcement were gathering. It looked like a war zone. ‘Neither have I.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Foster returned his toothbrush to the rack, spit out a mouthful of Crest Tartar Control foam, and gazed up into the bathroom mirror, meeting his own haggard visage head on.
Funny when you didn’t recognize yourself anymore – when the creases and wrinkles and worry lines have finally got to the point where they distort your face into a stranger’s mask; when the receding hairline and the morning stubble of beard were more gray than brown; when that extra-large T-shirt you slept in was suddenly stretched thin around your inflated gut while the rest of your body was deflating into flaps of flesh that had once held a shape.
He turned away from the mirror and slipped on a bathrobe to cover some of the untidy tracks life had left on him, then dragged himself toward the kitchen to make his morning coffee.
On the way from the bathroom to the kitchen, he paused in front of his Christmas tree and glared at it for a moment. The duct tape that was holding the top of the tree together had loosened, and now the broken tip canted drunkenly to one side. ‘You look like crap. Pull yourself together. It’s Christmas Eve, for God’s sake.’ He reached up and tightened the tape, wondering if other people talked to their trees. For some reason, he couldn’t see his neighbor Arnie having a conversation with a conifer.
He opened the fridge to pull out a jug of orange juice and a bag of coffee and came face to face with the ten-pound ham, just sitting there, all pink and sassy in its plastic sheath. What the hell was he going to do with a ten-pound ham now? He didn’t even like ham. The only reason he’d gotten it was because it was supposedly idiot-proof.
While he waited for the coffee to brew, he clicked on the television and flipped through a never-ending stream of church services, choir concerts, Christmas specials, and weather geeks standing outside, freezing their onions off while they droned on about the biggest blizzard the eastern seaboard had seen in twenty years. Maybe there were worse jobs than his.
He thought about Annie stuck in that blizzard with the grandchild and son-in-law he’d never met because he hadn’t been invited to the wedding. It pained him mightily to admit it, but if he had to go head-to-head with Emil Rice on screw-ups, Emil would probably come out on top. And he still had a full life ahead of him, if he finally figured out a way to play his cards right. Foster had only impending retirement and a crappy one-bedroom apartment in a dumpy walk-up where he’d eventually die alone with empty beer cans on the coffee-table and a hockey game on TV. The only hope he had was to reconnect with Annie. It seemed like a big mountain to climb, but she’d reached out and he wasn’t going to let that slip away, not this time.
His phone chirped on the end table beside him, and he frowned down at the local area code showing on his caller ID. ‘Yeah?’ he answered.
Foster listened for a minute, then felt a smile curl his mouth into a wicked bow. ‘No kidding? That little shit.’ He listened for a few more seconds, and the smile got bigger. ‘No, I don’t want to come help with the search. You signed for him, Harold. He’s your problem now.’
He snapped his cell shut. ‘Dammit, Emil, you idiot.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Emil nervously manned his lookout post near the entrance to the shallow cave under the rocks, sipping a can of Ensure, which was just about the most god-awful thing that had ever passed his lips. Even jail food was more palatable than this crap. Still, it was better than nothing. He was starving and parched, and the desert sun was heating things up to the point where he could feel trickles of sweat running down the hollow of his spine and beading on his forehead. And if he was feeling this roughed-up, it was probably a thousand times worse for the sisters, who had about fifty years on him.
There is going to be a special place in Hell for you, Emil Rice.
He glanced back at Edith and Gloria. They were still sound asleep, lying side by side on their backs with their hands folded on their stomachs. They looked like a couple of magi corpses, which churned up Emil’s panic all over again. He was running out of time and choices.
He had to get them out of here. He had to get to Vegas, call Nurse Griffin, then get a ride out of town. Happy endings all around.
‘Yeah, right,’ he muttered to himself, stepping out into the sunlight. He could see the buildings better in full daylight and they seemed closer than they had at dawn. He risked a few more steps outside their shelter, then heard a faint thumping – the rotor noise of an approaching helicopter. He froze for a moment, then spun around in a plume of sand and scuttled back under the overhang into the shadows. ‘Oh, they’ll be coming now. Emil, you are a dead man.’
He moved further back into the cave, where Gloria was still enjoying a solid slumber, but as the rotor noise got louder, Edith started to twitch and mutter.
***
It had been a long time since Edith had had this particular dream – or any dream, for that matter – but in the early days it had made every
night a torment. The funny thing was that, even in her sleep, she was conscious of what was coming, but powerless to stop it.
She was in a movie theater, strapped into a seat, her wrists bound to the arms of the chair. The horsehair fabric irritated her hands and forearms.
On the big screen before her, she watched her dream play out, like a movie, unreeling slowly at first, but then gradually speeding up with her heartbeat until it was real time with real sound and the muscles in her neck didn’t work because she couldn’t turn away, couldn’t even close her eyes. And the worst part of the whole dream was that she and Gloria and their little sister Emily were all stars of the horrible show.
Edith, Gloria and Emily huddled excitedly backstage at the Christmas pageant, waiting to make their entrance. It was so very dark at the back of the church, and their faces looked delightfully spooky in the glow of the lanterns they were carrying.
Edith felt the gentle hand of the minister on her shoulder, which was her cue, so she took a deep breath and began to speak. ‘And as the shepherds fell to their knees in worship, there came three wise men from the east …’
Emily looked back at her and grinned, then began to lead them onstage. But after a few steps, she stumbled, then fell, and her lantern broke, spilling oil over the skirt of her magi costume, which ignited with a loud whooshing sound.
‘EMILY!’ Edith screamed, falling on the flames, oblivious to the fact that the sleeves of her own costume were now engulfed in fire, burning her arms and hands. ‘GLORIA, HELP ME!’
Suddenly the shadows of adults appeared, throwing down blankets to extinguish the flames that were getting louder and louder and louder …
Edith and Gloria suddenly bolted awake at the same time, screaming like banshees, and Emil jumped up, terrified. He dropped his can of Ensure and rushed over to them. ‘IT’S OKAY, IT’S OKAY! WHAT’S WRONG? JESUS, WHAT’S WRONG?’
The women stopped screaming immediately and focused on him. In the sudden silence, the noise of the helicopter’s rotor blades diminished.
‘Don’t worry, don’t worry – don’t freak out, okay?’ Emil’s voice was shaking so badly he could barely speak. ‘Is that what set you off? The chopper? Because they can’t see us as long as we stay under here. We’re perfectly safe, got it? No need to panic now. They’re leaving, listen. The chopper’s going away. Everything’s all right, yes indeedy – we’re all good here and we’re all calm. You’re calm, right?’
Edith smiled at him. ‘Of course we are, dear. Did we nap long?’
Emil let out a stuttering breath. ‘Not long enough.’
Gloria frowned down into her lap, then lifted her head with a revelatory smile. ‘Of course we didn’t sleep long enough. We haven’t had our pills yet today and they help us rest.’
Emil swallowed hard and refrained from smacking his forehead. Of course the sisters were medicated – probably heavily medicated. Everybody at Clark County was: he’d seen plenty of those paper pill cups getting gurneyed around all day and night in his short time there. And Edith and Gloria’s freak-out was probably just the beginning of the fallout and – Oh, sweet Jesus, what was going to happen next? It could only get worse from here. ‘Pills?’ he asked meekly.
‘Yes. I get a green and a yellow one, and Edith gets two pink ones.’
Edith nodded. ‘Twice a day. Could we have our pills now, Emil?’
Emil just stood there, speechless.
Edith frowned. ‘You did bring our pills, didn’t you?’
Oh, man, this had the potential to go really bad really fast. He cleared his throat, then started digging through the backpack with the lotion and soap, vamping for time. ‘Sure I brought your pills. They’re right here. Sorry I didn’t think of it earlier.’
Emil was extremely skeptical that diversionary tactics and placebos would work on anybody who relied on chemical adjustments for sanity, but he had no choice at this point: he had to go with theater versus pharmaceuticals, and hope to God it worked, even if just a little bit.
There were five cans of Ensure left, so he opened two, then turned his back and made a great show of pretending to doctor them. ‘I hate taking pills, don’t you? They scratch my throat.’
‘That’s so true,’ Gloria chirped.
‘Well, I’ve got a treat for you. I just whipped those nasty pills into a real delight. It’s a special technique I have.’ He spun around and offered his false promises. ‘All the medication you need is right in those cans. You’ll never even know you’re taking a pill.’
Edith took a healthy swig, then smiled. ‘Oh, my. This is so much easier than swallowing pills. Gloria, you must try it.’
Emil closed his eyes in relief and hoped for the best.
***
Edith and Gloria slept straight through the afternoon in the relative safety of the hollow in the cave. Maybe because they actually believed they’d swallowed the non-existent pills in the Ensure, or maybe because they were just plain exhausted.
Emil had dozed off a couple of times, only to jerk awake to confront the pervasive fear of what they would be like when they woke up again. How long did medication for schizophrenics last? Did it linger in their systems? Could you miss one dose, but not two? What if they woke up barking crazy and tried to eat their feet or something?
The helicopters had made a few more passes over their patch of desert, but further away each time. There had been vehicle traffic too, but nowhere near their little hideout, just dots on the horizon so distant he could barely hear the engines. They obviously had some kind of search pattern going, and the wise course of action would be to beat feet before they headed back this way.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and nearly jumped out of his skin.
‘I’m sorry, Emil.’ Edith took a quick step backward. ‘I forgot you didn’t like to be touched. I was just smoothing your robe. It’s a bit wrinkled and so full of sand.’
Emil waited a second until his heart slowed down. ‘It’s okay. I just didn’t hear you coming, that’s all. You shouldn’t creep up on people like that.’
‘I wasn’t creeping, dear. I just didn’t want to wake Gloria.’
‘Too late,’ a perky voice chirped, and then Gloria was next to him too, closing in on one side, Edith on the other. He was sandwiched between a couple of slices of fruitcake.
‘I haven’t heard a chopper in over an hour. I think it’s safe for us to start moving.’
Edith pursed her lips into pleats. ‘I thought you said we had to wait until it was dark.’
‘Yeah, well, things change, and we gotta adapt to this new situation. The sooner we get to Vegas, the better.’
Worry lines creased Gloria’s brow. ‘Edith and I have never been very good at adapting to new situations.’
‘You could have fooled me,’ Emil said nervously. ‘You’re doing a great job. You’ve been real troopers, marching through the desert and all.’
‘Why, thank you, Emil.’
‘Uh … how are you two feeling?’
Edith looked at Gloria. ‘I’m feeling quite refreshed. How about you?’
‘Much better, thank you.’
Emil let out a sigh of relief that almost emptied his lungs. ‘Great. That’s great.’
‘But I am a bit thirsty.’
‘Oh, yeah, of course – you’ve been sleeping all afternoon.’ He grabbed two of the three remaining cans of Ensure and gave them to the sisters. ‘Drink this all down and then we roll.’
‘How much further to the city, Emil?’
‘A mile, maybe two. But when we get there, I’m gone, you understand? I have to disappear.’
‘After we visit the child,’ Edith said firmly.
‘Listen, try to understand this. If I get caught, I go back to jail for two more years. Maybe worse. Probably worse. You’ll never see me again. Nobody will.’
Gloria flapped her hand. ‘Oh, Emil, stop worrying. God won’t let that happen.’
‘You want to tell me why God let it happen the last twenty-thr
ee times I was busted? Listen to me. This is the deal. I get you to Vegas, make a call, then we split up.’
‘Fine. After the child.’
Emil dragged his hands down his face and felt the grit of sand scratching his skin. ‘Come on, let’s get back on the road. We’ve got to move as fast as we can, you got it? This is important.’
Edith smiled serenely. ‘Of course it is. It’s Christmas Eve and the Christ child is waiting for us.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
On any given night the Las Vegas Strip was a nightmare to negotiate in any vehicle, even a squad car. But tonight’s traffic was the worst Sanchez had ever seen, and he’d been cruising these streets for a long time. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, watching the light a block ahead change from green to red for the fifth time. They’d barely moved an inch.
He looked over at Myers in the passenger seat, his face reflecting the rainbow colors of all the pulsing casino lights that defined Vegas and drove Sanchez crazy. The tourists loved them, but they didn’t have to look at them day in and day out. ‘Crowd control on Christmas Eve. Do you believe it? I never should have answered the phone.’
Myers sighed. ‘Yeah, I know.’ He reached toward the console, flicked off the chattering police radio, and cranked up Burl Ives singing ‘Holly Jolly Christmas’ for the billionth time that season.
‘Give me a break, Myers.’
‘What? We have one very specific assignment tonight, we don’t need to listen to Dispatch rolling out a whole list of sorrows.’
‘I’m going to give you thirty seconds to shut that off, or I’m going to shoot you in the head.’
‘Come on, Sanchez. It’s Christmas Eve.’
‘Yeah, and my kids are home opening presents without me.’ He eased the squad up another car length. ‘Speaking of presents, did you ever find that Barbie thing you were looking for?’
‘The Fashionista doll? You bet I found it. Two hundred and fifty bucks from some fat sow in the parking lot at Toy City. I should have arrested her for racketeering.’