by Matt Rogers
‘Here,’ he said.
King looked up.
Slater said, ‘Most of the texts are the guy asking other people for times and meeting locations. For his own deals. But this one — contact name “Wyatt” — is the opposite. Wyatt asked for an ETA at ten a.m. this morning, and Fitch told him two in the afternoon. Guess he was optimistic about how quickly he could take us out.’
King stewed on the information. ‘How’d he know we’d walk through the park?’
‘Sometimes even junkies get lucky.’
‘He’s dead,’ King said. ‘Wasn’t overly lucky.’
‘But if he’d stepped out when our backs were turned…’
King nodded. He knew as well as Slater did how unpredictable life-or-death situations could be. All it took was one moment of complacency, one instant of dropping your guard, and a junkie with zero combat or firearms training could have a loaded weapon pointed at the back of your head. Then it’s simple physics. One trigger pull, and you’re gone.
Slater scrolled back through old messages between Fitch and Wyatt, and said, ‘No specific address — Fitch must have already known it. But here, ten weeks ago, he says, “I’ll be at the motel in five.”’
‘Doesn’t help,’ King said. ‘I doubt he’s staying there anymore.’
‘Unless he works there.’
‘Long shot. Besides, how many motels are there in Gillette?’
‘Plenty,’ Slater said. ‘But…’
He opened the maps application on Fitch’s phone. The three most recent addresses entered into the search bar showed in the immediate history. The very first was the address for a budget motel in the south-east of Gillette, almost outside the city limits. It was at the edge of the city closest to the Thunder Basin National Grassland.
Slater said, ‘Got the address.’
King shrugged and said, ‘Still…’
Slater looked up. ‘This Wyatt guy probably owns the place. You don’t want to know why he’s receiving regular Bodhi drops from a junkie?’
King said, ‘Use your head. We go there, we speak to him, maybe pretend we’re new delivery guys, and he gives that information straight to Maeve. It’s the most basic security check he could do. Then there’s no way we can go into the commune. We’ll blow our cover.’
Slater said, ‘What if he knows everything about how the cult operates? That’s information too valuable to pass up. And like I said, Violetta and Alexis already have a way in…’
King said, ‘So you want to interrogate Wyatt, ruining our hopes of infiltrating Mother Libertas, and abandon the girls once they’re deep inside. We have no idea what protocol is out there. Is there even cell service? If they’re in danger, and we’re stuck here in Gillette, will they even be able to contact us?’
Slater said, ‘Or Wyatt spills his guts and gives us information that incriminates everyone at the top of the cult’s food chain. Then we can dispense with the bullshit cover, take that Mossberg, storm the commune, and put one in the heads of everyone out there.’
‘That’s assuming this Wyatt knows anything.’
‘Only one way to find out,’ Slater said. ‘And I doubt Maeve’s reckless with the Bodhi she disperses. So he’s important.’
King mulled on it for a long time. The silence was thick in the room, and Slater cleared his head and went through a thirty-minute yoga routine to give King time to think. His mind was already made up, his logic falling to the eternal Patton quote: A good plan violently executed now is better than a perfect plan executed next week.
He’d found that applied to almost every aspect of life.
When he finished, coated in a thin sheen of sweat, he looked back at King.
Who said, ‘Okay. You’re right. All four of us don’t need to be there in disguise. If it ends up that way, great, but it’s not a given.’
A pause.
Slater said, ‘So?’
King said, ‘Let’s go talk to Wyatt.’
29
They went on foot to a car rental shop, hired an old sedan with their false IDs, and drove it south-east, straight to the motel.
They parked across the road, got out, and made for the reception office like they had a thousand things to do that day and no time to waste.
Wyatt sat behind the desk as they stepped into the small space, their presence made known by a small bell jangling above the doorway.
He was a great slab of a man with broken capillaries in his cheeks and tufts of reddish-brown hair that had receded a couple of decades ago. He wore an enormous polo shirt that looked like a bedsheet on his body, with a name badge reading: WYATT NELSON.
He looked up with tired eyes and said, ‘Can I help you boys? Need a room?’
‘We can help you,’ Slater said. ‘We’re Fitch’s replacement.’
Wyatt didn’t get up, or even react. His face just creased with wrinkles of confusion.
‘Huh?’ he said.
Slater didn’t know whether he was playing dumb or honestly didn’t know his dealer’s last name.
King said, ‘We’ve got what you need.’
Wyatt stewed restlessly, small beads of sweat moistening his upper lip. Then the confusion dissipated and he said, ‘Oh, Jimmy?’
‘Jimmy, James, Fitch, whatever,’ Slater said. ‘You understand why we’re here?’
Wyatt nodded, but he was still apprehensive. ‘They ain’t mention a replacement. Y’all cops?’
Slater rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, we’re cops. You’re not dumb, Wyatt. Would cops have this?’
He took out all four vials of Bodhi — the two they’d smuggled into Wyoming, and the two they’d taken off Fitch’s body. He laid them on the countertop, letting the amber liquid shine under the overhead light.
Wyatt couldn’t help himself. He was deep in the grasp of the substance’s power. Desire rippled behind his eyes. He said, ‘Four?’
Slater said, ‘Four.’
‘Jimmy was bringing me the usual top-up. Why you giving me extra? I ain’t got the money for it, if that’s what you want. I dunno what y’all know about the arrangement, but I don’t pay for this shit. I do certain favours for—’
King held up a hand like he was scolding a child. ‘Yes, Wyatt. We’re all very grateful for what you do. Others might find it dirty, but we see the world differently, don’t we?’
Slater tapped a finger beside the vials, highlighting their presence.
Wyatt gulped. ‘Okay, well, thank ya very much. Anything you want from me?’
‘Nothing yet,’ Slater said. ‘We figured we’d make this an introductory session. Anything you want to know about us?’
Wyatt shook his head. The beads of sweat were fatter now, more obvious, and Slater couldn’t tell whether they were due to nerves or withdrawal symptoms. He wondered how long it had been since Wyatt’s last dose.
Wyatt looked all around, like there was the slightest possibility of eavesdroppers, then leant his considerable weight forward onto his elbows. He looked up at Slater. ‘Y’all want the body? Maeve said she’d send people. That you?’
King didn’t miss a beat. ‘That’s us.’
Wyatt nodded. ‘Got her out back. She put up a damn good fight.’
Slater said, ‘Don’t they always?’
Inwardly, he burned.
Wyatt levered his fat frame out of the chair. It groaned underneath him, protesting the load it was forced to bear every day. He waddled round from behind the desk and jerked a thumb at the lone door up the back of the office. ‘This way.’
Slater couldn’t respond at risk of letting his anger blow his cover, so he nodded, his mouth a hard line.
Wyatt stared at him. ‘Somethin’ wrong?’
Slater said, ‘Why would something be wrong?’
‘You look funny. You boys new to this sort of work?’
King said, ‘We’ve done tours. We’re fine with a little blood.’
Wyatt smiled, his teeth so yellow they were almost brown. ‘That’s good. That’s real good.’
/>
He swaggered to the back door, opened it, and stepped down to a stretch of bare land behind the main building. None of the rooms faced out back — all windows faced the street. It was a dead zone for witnesses. But there was nothing incriminating, just dead grass and patches of dirt.
Wyatt led them to a corrugated shed that looked like a garage.
‘My tool shed,’ he explained. ‘A little bigger than most, but I do all the repairs here myself.’
Slater couldn’t fathom the disconnect — how lackadaisically the man discussed regular maintenance as he took them to a body.
Slater said, ‘Where is she?’
Wyatt cocked his head. He didn’t turn around, kept walking toward the side of the shed, but his tone changed. ‘You’re a grumpy one, ain’t ya?’
King said, ‘First job jitters. He’ll be fine.’
Wyatt approached the door and took a small ring of keys out of one of his pockets. He fiddled with the old lock. ‘Well, ain’t you two lucky, then. Maeve gets people like you to do this sort of business ninety-five percent of the time. But there’s the odd set of circumstances that sometimes means I’ve gotta get my hands dirty. This broad ended up renting a room by coincidence, and the Riordans had no one in the area. Picked up the phone and asked me to choke her out. Isn’t that funny? That sort of thing being discussed over the phone … I don’t know, maybe I’m old-fashioned…’
He got the door open, pushed it in, and stepped into the musty shed.
Slater didn’t budge.
He didn’t know how to control himself and maintain their cover.
King walked past, clapped a hand on Slater’s shoulder, and said, ‘Shame we didn’t get to gut the pig ourselves, hey, partner?’
It worked.
The disgusting remark helped dissipate some of the anger, spread it away so it wasn’t solely concentrated on Wyatt. Slater knew King didn’t mean it, and it was strange enough to shock him out of his rage.
He erected a mental wall, took a deep breath, and followed them into the shed.
30
King went in first, behind Wyatt, so he saw her first.
A thin middle-aged woman, naked, her face mutilated, her corpse dangling from a crude meat hook fixed to the roof.
Around her were shelves of tools and a couple of disassembled shells that were previously old cars. King didn’t notice any of it. All he saw was the woman, and Wyatt staring up at her with a smile on his face.
King said, ‘Well, that’s something. Who is she?’
Wyatt turned, surprised. ‘Maeve ain’t told ya?’
King shook his head. ‘It’s the first we’re hearing and seeing of this. But Maeve’d send us back for the body eventually, so we might as well take it off your hands now. So, who is she?’
‘Journalist,’ Wyatt said, returning his gaze to the corpse. ‘One of those independent ones, I dunno the term. She was sniffing around in places she didn’t belong. I can seem harmless enough when I’m just the simple fat man behind the desk, ya know? People tell me things. I struck up a conversation with her when she checked in. She said she was looking into a number of … uh … “unexplained disappearances.” I think that was it. But y’all must know how many of those “disappearances” take place at this here motel, so I ain’t like it when I heard that. I told Maeve, and she gave me the order. So there we go.’
King said, ‘You said she put up a fight?’
‘I asked for her help out back here,’ Wyatt said. ‘She didn’t like it. Came into the shed, but then she musta sensed something was off ’cause she tried to run.’
Silence.
Wyatt smirked. ‘I know what you’re thinking. I’m fast over short distances. Pinned her to the wall and beat her stupid head in. Not sure what exactly killed her, but … doesn’t matter, does it?’
King said, ‘Maeve gets you to do that often?’
Wyatt shrugged. ‘Usually Dane gives the orders. This time it was Maeve. I’ve had to do it … I dunno … half a dozen times? They kinda blur together.’
‘Who’s Dane?’
Wyatt took a long time to answer. ‘You sure you work for them?’
‘Who’s Dane?’
’They ain’t introduced ya, yet?’
‘No.’
‘Well, you didn’t hear it from me,’ Wyatt said. ‘He’s her husband. Them two run the whole setup.’ He paused, ruminating. ‘Hey, you tried some of that Bodhi yet?’
‘No,’ King said.
Wyatt’s face lit up. ‘It sure is something. Don’t be afraid to, either. Them Riordans have convinced all their “disciples” that it’s the key to spiritual enlightenment or some shit, but it’s just damn good. You don’t get sucked into their fancy words and just take the Bodhi and you’ll have yourself a grand old time. I guarantee that.’
King nodded. ‘Who else runs the cult?’
Wyatt grimaced. ‘I wouldn’t call it that in front of them. They’re sensitive, you know. But who you met so far?’
‘Just Maeve.’
‘That’s it,’ Wyatt said. ‘Maeve’s the big show and Dane’s like the … secret police. Does all the security and shit. But they don’t let anyone else up top. Maybe you two will be the first to get promoted, who knows.’
‘Thanks,’ King said. ‘We have all we need.’
Wyatt looked up at the body, grinned, and turned back. ‘You want to know—?’
King pulled his Glock and trained it on Wyatt’s face.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t.’
31
Wyatt didn’t seem to compute.
His lips flapped as he stared down the barrel.
He said, ‘I’m sorry if I said something that offended you, sir.’
King said, ‘Really?’
Behind them, the body dangled limply on the meat hook.
Wyatt said, ‘Killin’ me would be a bad idea.’
‘Would it?’
‘Maeve’ll find out. I’m one of her best resources. Y’all ain’t want to get on her bad side.’
King said, ‘That’s where you’re wrong. We most definitely want to get on her bad side. And I’m not going to do anything to you. I’m just holding you in place.’
‘For what?’
Slater pushed past King, grabbed a handful of Wyatt’s hair, and kicked his legs out from underneath him. The big man offered feeble resistance. His knees were weak and rubbery. His face was already bright red.
Slater held him down on his knees, all three hundred pounds of flesh and bones quivering. ‘Where’s all that strength you used to kill her?’
Wyatt mumbled, ‘Get off me.’
‘Come on, big guy,’ Slater said. ‘Where’s your heart? Where’s your courage?’
Wyatt’s face turned purple as he tried to burst back to his feet. Slater slapped him hard in the face, spun him round, and locked a forearm under his chin, constricting his airways. He cinched the choke tight and tilted Wyatt’s face up to look at the corpse.
Slater said, ‘You’re going to die. Adrenaline’s pumping through you right now but I need you to understand that before I do it. This is it for you. You’re done.’
Wyatt struggled, but all his weight was futile against Slater, who might as well have been made out of steel.
Slater said, ‘Come on, buddy. You’re almost there. When’s it going to sink in?’
Wyatt tried to look away from the corpse.
Slater didn’t let him.
The big man started crying, great sobs wracking his body. He was terrified beyond description. Slater had forced him into an existential crisis.
‘There we go,’ Slater said. ‘Now say goodnight.’
He squeezed with the grip of a boa constrictor. Wyatt’s face went a deeper shade of purple, his cheeks close to exploding, spit flying out of his mouth.
Wyatt let out a final pathetic cry.
Slater locked the choke even tighter, crushing his windpipe, cutting the blood flow to the brain.
Wyatt was still crying as he
went out, one of the most pathetic deaths imaginable.
Which was Slater’s intention all along.
Slater held the choke at full strength for another thirty seconds, counting them under his breath. When he was sure the man was dead, he let go and pushed him to the floor.
Slater spat on his body.
King said, ‘I figured you’d do something like that.’
‘It wasn’t enough,’ Slater said. ‘Nothing would have been enough.’
‘Would you have done it slower?’ King said. ‘If we had time?’
He needed to know.
Slater shook his head. ‘That’s not who I am. I cave to those instincts and I’m no better than a sadist. But he deserved that. You can’t tell me he didn’t.’
King sighed. ‘Guess our cover’s out of the picture now. We’ll have to take the commune by force.’
‘You don’t like that?’
‘I hate it,’ King said. ‘For all we know, Maeve has a suicide pact with her followers. What did Wyatt call them — disciples? She gets suspicious, she takes dozens if not hundreds of people with her. It’s the ultimate psychopath move. Make your enemies pay by making their efforts futile.’
Slater said, ‘Then we get her and her scumbag husband before they can do that.’
‘Won’t be so easy,’ King said, surveying the shed, lost in thought. ‘Unless…’
Slater understood immediately. He saw a red pickup truck up the back of the shed, burrowed behind the disassembled cars. It was shiny, kept in good condition. Wyatt’s car.
King said, ‘You know what I’m thinking, right?’
Slater smiled. ‘Of course. She’ll buy it. Hook, line and sinker.’
‘We won’t know until we try.’
Slater grabbed Wyatt’s body by the collar and started dragging it across the shed.
32
The next day, they came at eight on the dot to collect Alexis and Violetta.