Jack Keller - 01 - The Devil's Right Hand

by J. D. Rhoades

  There was a short pause. “Crystal’s not here. This is a friend of hers.”

  DeWayne took a deep breath. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

  A longer pause. “She’s in the hospital.”

  Keller, DeWayne thought. The son of a bitch got to Crystal. “What happened? Who is this?”

  “I’m Mara,” the voice said. “I’m a friend of hers. We work together at the—we work together.”

  “What are you doing in Crystal’s house?”

  “Hey man,” the voice held an edge of irritation. “Ease up, all right? I came by to get some things for her. Clothes and shit. Don’t be gettin’ all in my—”

  “Is she hurt?” DeWayne asked. “What happened?”

  “Who did you say this was?” the voice demanded suspiciously.

  “It’s DeWayne, her cousin. I need to ask her about our folks. I need to find out what she knows.”

  “Oh. Yeah. She mentioned you.” The voice softened somewhat. “Sorry about your folks.”

  DeWayne resisted the urge to slam the phone against the side of the booth. “What happened to my cousin, damn it?”

  “Look, you don’t have to get all hostile, all right? I mean I know you’re upset and all, but I got feelings, too—”

  DeWayne was trying not to scream. “Look, I’m sorry. I just found out last night about my aunt and uncle. I’m upset. They raised me, y’know?”

  “Yeah, whatever,” the voice still sounded offended. “Anyway, Amber, I mean Crystal, didn’t take the news too well, you might say. She decided to check out for a while.”

  “What are you saying, she tried to kill herself?” DeWayne thought of feisty little Crystal, who would stand toe to toe with either he or Leonard and face them down when they were kids. He had trouble imagining her trying to do herself in.

  “Not, like directly. But she started in on the hard stuff. She always told me she’d never do nothin’ like that. She tol’ me she was afraid of needles. But I guess you know after what happened, she just wanted to get away for a while, y’know what I’m sayin’?”

  DeWayne thought of the rock he had smoked at Debbie’s. He remembered the desperate need he had felt for numbness. “Yeah,” he said. “I know what you’re saying. Where’s she at?”

  “Fayetteville General,” Mara said. “Room 433.”

  “Thanks,” DeWayne said.

  “No problem,” Mara said. “And sorry again, about everything. Hell of a thing to happen.”

  “Yeah,” DeWayne said. “Hell of a thing. Thanks.” He hung up. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders as he walked back to Debbie’s car. She was seated in the driver’s seat, staring blankly out the window.

  “Crystal’s in the hospital,” he said as he slid into the passenger seat.

  “Hmmm,” Debbie said. She sounded utterly disinterested.

  “I gotta go see her,” DeWayne said.

  Debbie turned back to him. “You said we was gonna get some more rocks,” she said.

  The whine in her voice set his teeth on edge. “I got more important things to do right now than get you high, bitch,” he said.

  She looked sulky. “Maybe you can just get out of my damn car, then.”

  DeWayne reached between the seats and pulled out the gun. He jammed it up under her chin. “And maybe you can just shut the fuck up,” he snarled.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m sorry. Just don’t hurt me.” Her eyes were wide with fear, but there was something else there, too, something very much like excitement. He heard her breathing quicken. “I’ll do anything you want.”

  The blood pounded in DeWayne’s temples and the sickness came back in a wave. Suddenly, he wanted another hit of the thick white smoke worse than anything else in the world. “Jesus,” he said. You are one twisted bitch.” He lowered the gun.

  “Just drive,” he said wearily. “We’ll get some more. Then we’ll go find Crystal.”

  She smiled brightly, like a child promised a trip to the candy store. She dropped her hand from the steering wheel to squeeze his thigh. “Now you’re talkin’ baby,” she said. She put the car in Drive and returned her hand to his leg. “Now you’re talkin’”.

  Raymond looked up as the door opened. He saw the heavy silver cart from which the meals for the entire floor were distributed by a cheerful young black guy dressed in the light blue coveralls that were the uniform of the hospital’s service staff. The last time Raymond had seen him, the man pushing the cart had been dressed in a flannel shirt and a baseball cap.

  “‘Bout damn time,” Raymond said.

  “Took some time to figure out how to get in here,” Billy Ray said. “We lucked out, though. Fella that works the kitchen’s a customer of ours. He let me, ah—borrow this here cart for a little bit.”

  Raymond smiled. “Never though I’d see you deliverin’ meals to shut-ins, Billy Ray,” he said.

  The man grunted. He reached beneath the cart and pulled out a pair of Tec-9’s, stubby semi-automatics that looked like oversized pistols. Long magazines stuck out from in front of the trigger guards. “50 round mags,” he said, “and these are converted to full auto.” He pulled out a silencer and screwed it onto the perforated barrel. He handed the pistol to Raymond, who took it with his free hand. “What about the cuffs?” Raymond demanded. “A fifty round mag ain’t gonna do me much good if I’m still tied to the bed.”

  Billy Ray reached under the cart and pulled out a pair of long-handled bolt-cutters. “Watch the door,” he said as he began working on the handcuffs with the cutters. Raymond held the Tec-9 awkwardly in his left hand, tilting it slightly sideways facing the door. Billy Ray grunted as he chewed on the handcuff chain with the cutters. Suddenly, with an audible snap, the chain parted, leaving Raymond with a single cuff and chain dangling from his wrist. He transferred the gun to his right hand. “Alright,” he said. “Now where do we go?”

  “Delmer is downstairs in the car,” Billy Ray said. He took a cell phone out of the pocket of the blue coverall. “I better call and make sure he ain’t gone to sleep. There’s some clothes for you in the cart.” Raymond located a pair of blue jeans and a shirt on a shelf inside the cart as Billy Ray dialed. As Billy Ray spoke urgently into the phone, Raymond searched the closets. “Hey,” he complained. “The sonsabitches took my shoes.”

  “It’s a warm night,” Billy Ray said. “An’ we gotta go.”

  At that moment, the door swung open. The blonde nurse Raymond had seen earlier chatting with the cop entered, holding a silver clipboard. Her blue eyes widened in shock as she saw Raymond out of bed and the guns in his hand. She dropped the clipboard which rattled noisily on the floor. Billy Ray strode quickly to the woman and yanked her towards him. He spun her around and wrapped one arm around her from behind. As the cop came into the room, he raised the pistol in his other hand and stuck it against the nurse’s ear. Raymond raised his own gun and pointed it at the cop. “Don’t do nothin’ stupid,” he said, “or he’ll scatter this bitch’s brains all over the room.” The nurse moaned in fear.

  The cop raised his hands, as if placating them. “Easy, there, fellas,” he said softly. “Let’s don’t do something that everybody’s going to regret.”

  “Good idea,” Raymond said. ‘Whyn’t you start by takin’ your gun outta the holster. With your left hand, two fingers. Or I’ll do somethin’ you sure as hell will regret.”

  The cop hesitated a moment, every instinct warning him against giving up his weapon. Billy Ray yanked the nurse against him again, hard. She squeaked in fear, too frightened to scream. The cop shook his head. Slowly, he reached over with his left hand and unbuttoned the holster. He awkwardly removed the pistol, holding it between thumb and forefinger.

  “Now put it on the floor. Slow.” Raymond said. “Then slide it over here with your foot.”

  The cop bent over, his eyes never leaving Raymond’s face. He placed the gun on the worn linoleum. He slowly straightened up. “Okay,” he said. “Now what?”

/>   “For you?” Raymond said. “Nothin’”. He pulled the trigger. The silenced pistol chattered. A line of red holes appeared across the the cop’s chest. This time the nurse did scream.

  “Damn,” Billy Ray grimaced. He shoved the sobbing nurse towards the door, holding onto her collar with one hand and holding the gun into the small of her back with the other.

  “He still had a radio,” Raymond shrugged. “He’d be on it as soon as we got outta the room. An’ I ain’t takin’ no cop along with us.” He followed Billy Ray out the door and into the hallway. A male nurse coming out of the room across the hall gaped at them as they came out. “Get back in there,” Raymond ordered. “And stay there.” The man obeyed, leaving the long hallway empty for the moment. Raymond knew that wouldn’t last; the hospital was a hive of activity at all hours of the day and night.

  He looked at the ceiling. A row of widely spaced sprinklers ran down the center of the hallway, interspersed with heat and smoke sensors. “You got a lighter?” Raymond said. Billy Ray released the nurse long enough to fish a cigarette lighter out of the breast pocket of the coverall. Raymond flicked it on and held it up, directly under one of the sensors. After a few seconds, a loud klaxon horn blared, its ear-splitting honking repeating over and over. The sprinklers began spewing a soaking mist of water into the hallway. The nurse screamed again as the drenching downpour immediately soaked them to the skin, plastering their clothing to them. People began spilling into the hallway, nurses pushing patients in hospital beds and wheelchairs.

  “No more water,” Raymond whispered, “but the fire next time.”

  “Let her go,” Raymond said, motioning to the nurse. “She’ll only slow us down.” Billy Ray obeyed, shoving her into the crowd.

  “He’s got a gun!” she screamed, and the crowd became a mob, pushing and shoving to get away from the water and the armed men. It was a scene of utter chaos, with people stumbling into one another and gurneys and wheelchairs colliding.

  “Where’s the stairway?” Raymond shouted.

  “Back this way,” Billy Ray said, backing up. He fired a quick burst into the ceiling above the crowd, increasing their panic before the two men turned and bolted around the corner. They located the stairway marked “authorized personnel only” and plunged down it, four steps at a time, past three floors and the lobby floor to the basement level. They burst out into a dimly lit hallway.

  “Which way?” Raymond panted. The sutures across his side blazed like flames.

  “I dunno,” Billy Ray said. “This wasn’t how I planned to get out.”

  “Fuck,” Raymond said. He jogged down the hallway past a line of battered vending machines. He had to stop and catch his breath. It was then that he noticed the sticky wetness along his side. He looked down to see a slow seepage of blood coming through his shirt. Billy Ray pulled up alongside of him. He noticed the blood and grimaced.

  “Man,” he said, “We get out of here, we better find you a doctor. I know a guy…”

  “Later,” Raymond grunted. He saw a heavy pair of metal doors at the end of the hallway. He walked over and pushed them open. The doors led to a small grass courtyard with a rusty metal picnic table. The lights of the parking lots glimmered beyond. “C’mon,” Raymond said. “We gotta get out of here.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Keller sat on the couch, drinking a beer as Marie cleaned up in the kitchen. She had asked him to stay for dinner. The meal had been a hectic affair, with Marie spending half her time trying to talk to Keller and the other half trying to ensure that more food got into her son than ended up on him. Now, with dinner over, Marie had banished them both to the living room. Keller took a sip of his beer and stared at a baseball game on TV without actually watching it as he listened to Marie clattering around in the kitchen. Ben seemed absorbed with a set of brightly colored wooden blocks a few feet away on the living room floor. It was such a normal scene that Keller felt out of place, like a visitor from another planet.

  Keller looked up to see the boy standing in front of him, a thin book in his chubby hands. “Read,” the boy said simply. Feeling a little foolish, Keller took the book. It was a dog-eared and jelly-stained retelling of the story of the Little Engine That Could. The boy clambered up on the couch beside him and pointed to the book. “Read,” he said again, a little impatiently. Keller sighed, opened the book and began to read. He had gotten to the point where the Little Engine was puffing up the hill and was reading the Engine’s mantra of “I think I can, I think I can,” trying to pitch his voice with a suitably strained inflection, when he looked up and saw Marie. She was standing in the kitchen door. She had covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her laughter but her eyes were dancing.

  “You’re enjoying this,” he said.

  “You better believe it,” she said. “Tough guy.”

  “READ,” the boy ordered, then added, “tough guy.”

  Keller sighed and went on. When the book was finished, Marie applauded. “C’mon, little man,” she said, sweeping Ben off the couch. She gave Keller a quick peck on the cheek. “It’s time for a bath and then to bed.”

  “I wannanother book,” the boy complained, but allowed himself to be led towards the bathroom. Keller got up and stretched. “Stick around,” Marie said, waving him back towards the couch. “After that, you probably could use a little grownup conversation.”

  Keller got another beer and sat down. He tried to sort out what he was feeling. What was going on between him and Marie seemed like a betrayal of Angela. But he knew there was no commitment with Angela, no relationship to betray. He thought again of Angela’s word that he was always looking for a damsel in distress. If so, he seemed to have no luck whatsoever in finding them.

  After the boy was bathed and safely tucked in bed, Marie came back in and sat on the couch. Keller put his arm around her and she snuggled into the hollow of his shoulder. “It was sweet of you to read to Ben,” she whispered, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

  “He didn’t give me much choice,” Keller said.

  She laughed. “He’s not shy about letting you know what he wants,” she said. “Just like…” she trailed off.

  “Like his father?” Keller said.

  She bit her lower lip, then shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about him,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  Something in his tone made her look at him. She put a hand on his chest. “Jack,” she said. “I’m not trying to shut you out. Really. It’s just that—hell, I don’t know.” She paused for a long moment. “Talking about him makes me feel bad,” she said, “and I want to feel good right now, okay? I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”

  “Thanks,” Keller said.

  She laughed and kissed him again, harder. “You’re welcome,” she said. “Besides, I want to find out more about you.”

  Keller willed himself not to tense up. “What do you want to know?”

  “Oh, hell, I don’t know,” she said lightly. “Where’re you from? What’re your folks like? Stuff like that.”

  Keller took a deep breath. “I’m from Charleston. My grandmother raised me. Next question.” He cursed himself inwardly for the anger he couldn’t keep out of his voice.

  She was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she said. “If it’s something that makes you feel bad, it’s not fair to ask you to talk about it. I guess.”

  Keller shook his head. “No,” he said, “don’t be sorry. You didn’t know. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

  “No,” she agreed. “But it’s okay.” she moved closer to him and began rubbing his neck. Keller closed his eyes, letting her strong fingers relax the tension in him. Finally, he opened his eyes.

  “I never met my father,” he said. “Mom said he was a sailor from the naval base. She said he was killed in Vietnam. I don’t know if that was true. Truth was—kind of a flexible thing with my Mom.”

  “She left you?” Marie whispered. Keller nodded, unable to speak further. She
pulled him close and kissed him deeply. His hand came up to caress her hair and she moaned softly.

  “You can’t stay the night,” she whispered as they broke the kiss, “it wouldn’t be right for Ben to see you—well, you know.” She kissed him again. “But you can stay awhile longer.”

  “What about—” he gestured towards the boy’s bedroom.

  “Already asleep,” she said. “And when he’s down, you could stampede a herd of buffalo through his room and he wouldn’t wake up. But we’ll lock the door,” she said, “just in case.” She stood up and took his hand, leading him to the bedroom.

  They began more gently this time, the need for quiet holding them to soft caresses and whispers at first. But as they moved together, they gained urgency until she stuffed the corner of a pillow into her mouth and bit down hard to stifle her cries. He buried his face in her shoulder to muffle his own sounds of pleasure as he joined her in climax. Afterwards, they lay entwined as their breathing returned to normal. After a few moments, she raised her head and kissed him on the ear. He rolled over on his back and drew her to him. In moments they were both asleep.

  He awoke a few hours later. Marie was in his arms, her head cradled against his chest. He watched her sleep for a few moments, marveling out how good it felt to simply hold her. She stirred slightly, then opened her eyes and looked at him.

  Her eyes had no iris or pupil, just dark red embers that quickly brightened to bright yellow, then white-hot flames. Her skin began charring and peeling away from the bone beneath, revealing a core of raging fire where her face had been. The blackened remnants of a skull grinned sardonically up at him, framed by cooked gobbets of flesh still clinging to the bone. Keller screamed and shoved the apparition away from him. She fell to the floor, then, impossibly, stood up, reaching out to him with fingers burned down to the bone. Her mouth opened and a long hissing shriek came out like steam escaping from a locomotive. A reeking cloud of smoke blew into his face, the stinking breath of a crematorium. He screamed again and struck out blindly at her.