Traveling with a body, with a stiff, it continued to say.
He jammed the brakes to the floor. The Nova's tires locked. The car fishtailed.
"Hal?" Apple Valley asked.
Bad decision, the body said, exactly as your brother always said.
"Shut up," Hal yelled, climbing out of the car.
He jammed the keys into the trunk lock and popped the lid. Officer Douglas, his face long since blue with death but his head still covered in the dried blood of violence, stared up at him.
Yes? he seemed to ask. Is there a problem?
"Fuck you," Hal screamed.
He slammed a fist against Officer Douglas's face. The head snapped sideways and froze there.
"You got something to say?"
From some great distance, maybe a universe away, someone put their hands on his shoulder. But he kept up the barrage, punching Officer Douglas' face and laughing as the man's head snapped back and forth. Reminded Hal of how Hanford used to shake his head to show Hal his disapproval.
"You disapprove, you dick?"
Hal reached in and dragged the man's head and chest half way out of the car. "You think I've done the wrong thing? Well, you can suck my ass."
More punches, his knuckles stained with his own blood, his voice shrill in his ears, his anger thick and acidic on his tongue. He spit it out, tried to get rid of the taste. His spit ran down his brother's face, stopped on his lips and nose. Hal punched it off and dragged his brother further out of the trunk.
A truck horn exploded and Hal knew it wasn't Hanford. It was Officer Douglas O. Bessemer. Hal whirled, suddenly terrified of cops and state troopers and detectives. The semi, doing probably better than 70 blasted past them, its horn still blaring.
"Hal," Apple Valley yelled. She jerked him back onto the shoulder.
They fell in a heap, she atop him…almost protecting him. The truck's horn receded into the darkness. Dust and dirt, carried along in the truck's wake, stung him.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry, Hanford. Please forgive me."
She stayed on top of him as his tears came. She held him tightly and breathed quietly into his ear. "Shhhhhhh."
He hugged her back. He knew it wasn't Theresa, didn't pretend it was Theresa's loving arms around him or her heart thudding next to his. He knew it was a woman named Apple Valley; a woman who had come into his life and who just might be able to keep the voices out until he could exorcise them himself.
"Shhhhh," she said again. "There's nobody else here. Nobody can hurt you."
"Ain't nothing left to hurt."
As she gently kissed the side of his head, his cell phone rang. The shrill exploded out of the night just as the truck had. He jerked it from his pocket, dropping the disk to the roadway. He punched the 'talk' button.
"What?"
"Would you like to be a better lover? Well, I can give you the secrets that will make your lady--or man--believe the sun rises and sets between your legs."
Hal frowned. "How'd you get this number?"
"Is that really important, sir? What's more important is that you are able to have the love life you've always wanted."
"If you can't get me Theresa, shut the hell up."
There were no more words from the voice, just a laugh that rumbled Hal's ears and chest as though it came from within his very body.
"Piss off," Hal said. He jammed the phone in his pocket and grabbed the disk off the pavement.
Another car passed and the glow of the headlights illuminated Apple Valley's arms. Crescent moons from his fingernails were large and deep in her skin.
"Shit," he said, dusting the road crap from his clothes. "I do that?"
She smiled and though it was a pleasant smile, it was obvious she was scared. "I like it rough."
"Rough, but not psycho, right?"
A shrug rolled through her shoulders. "Well, there is that."
The body was still half out of the trunk. Gently, he placed it back down and closed the trunk. "Let's get going before somebody calls this in. 'Excuse me, is this the police? Yeah, I saw a crazy man beating a cop except he wasn't a cop and, well, actually, he was dead and the man was screaming his brother's name and then was maybe humping a woman on the road. I think it might be suspicious.'"
Apple Valley laughed. "I hadn't realized it was that funny. I actually thought the whole thing was a little scary."
Hal nodded and climbed behind the wheel. "It was scary, Apple Valley, and I ain't much for being scared. I don't even like scary movies." He twisted the key and the engine roared to life. "All right, Phoenix."
Staring at the map, she shook her head. "Not Phoenix, not yet. We've got one other place first."
"Where?" He asked it warily. He didn't want another stop, he wanted to keep moving.
"Bagdad." She jerked a thumb toward the trunk. "For him."
With a nod, Hal pulled back on the highway.
"A few miles up," she said. "Take 97 east, then 96 north."
"Right."
He pulled onto the highway, but now he moved faster. The urge to be in Texas was pushing him harder.
1,457 Miles
For a moment, when they pulled into town, there was light; a few streetlights, a shop or two that had left an interior light on. But by the end of the long and winding Main Street, the dark had snatched the light away, the way Hal had seen greedy old winos do for a bottle of cheap wine. The dull green of the dashboard was the only light left and Hal was pretty sure the dark would snatch that, too, if it had the chance.
"Where we going?" he asked.
"Beats me, I've never been here before."
"You brought me here."
"That doesn't mean I know where here is. I just looked for some place remote. The map said this was it."
"Bagdad, Arizona.
She visibly swallowed. "Bagdad, Arizona."
Swallow and swallow and see if the nightmare was still there. And after all the swallowing, yeah, the nightmare wasn't going anywhere. But maybe it was the slightest bit less scary the closer they got to Texas.
Officer Doug thumped in the back of the trunk as they hit a pothole.
Nope, no less scary. Closer to Texas but no less scary.
"I'll stay on this road," he said. "Maybe we'll find someplace to turn off."
She giggled, a mix of humor and dead-cold fear. "Just don't get us lost. Not the place to get lost with a corpse in the trunk."
He kept the car slow and steady as they eventually left the paved road for smooth gravel. The gravel crunched beneath their wheels and when they went from gravel to dirt road, the bumps got worse. Hal knew Officer Doug was bouncing around. It got worse still when they left the dirt road for a back trail.
"Shit," he said. "Ain't nobody been here since Lewis and Clark."
She laughed but the darkness seemed to steal even that gentle sound. "This might be a little further south than they got."
"It might, huh?"
In the rear view mirror, it was though Bagdad had never existed. The dim glow of lights reflecting from the low-hanging clouds was the only reminder there was anyone anywhere near them.
"This is good," she said. "Let's do it and get the hell out of here."
Hal stopped and together they climbed out of the car and went to the trunk.
"Don't have to worry about being seen," she said. "We're a million miles from anywhere and it's 2:30 in the morning."
He couldn't argue with that. Bagdad, and the surrounding country-side, was not Vegas. Chances were damned good everyone was long since in bed. Licking his dry lips, he popped the trunk.
He expected a smell. He expected the stink of piss and shit and maybe congealed blood, the odor of death Hanford always called it. But it wasn't there. There was maybe a bit of tire smell from his spare but nothing else.
"No maggots," he said.
"Because we've been moving. They haven't had a chance to get in yet."
He frowned at her. "If you keep moving, the maggots can't ge
t you?"
She nodded.
"Ain't that something to learn."
Regardless of maggots, Officer Douglas didn't look like Officer Douglas anymore. The blood had drained from his face and pooled in his backside. The backs of his arms and hands, of his neck, the back tips of his ears. All were as black as tattoos. The skin around his face had tightened a little and his mouth pulled back. The barest hint of canine teeth was visible.
"Ugly mug," Apple Valley said.
"Ain't you sensitive? Wanna show some respect?"
She cocked her head. "This from a man who went dancing with the body and who carries around a disk that shows God-knows-what?"
He turned away from her. "Shut up about that. You don't know what the hell you're talking about. You don't understand it."
"I guess not."
He crushed his anger down. She didn't know dick. Jaw clenched, he reached for the body. The man had begun to stiffen, his muscles paralyzed by rigor mortis. Soon enough the rigor would be gone and Officer Douglas would flop like a run-over rag doll. But right now, as Hal tried to swallow the bile in his throat, Officer Douglas was as stiff as a boner.
His hands shaking, Hal gingerly touched the man's shirt. He avoided the fake badge, now bloody, and grabbed the shirt instead. When he pulled, the former cop didn't move at all.
"Fucking dead weight," Hal said.
"Well, yeah," Apple Valley answered. "Where do you think the term came from?"
Hal released the shirt. No way in hell he wanted to grab the man's head or neck and just lean him forward. On the other hand, he sure as hell didn't want to stand here all damned night.
"Hal?" she asked. "You okay?"
"Not by a long shot."
She put her hands on his back and gave him a quick squeeze across the shoulders. "Just take your time. Relax a little. Take a deep breath."
"Yeah."
After a deep breath that was loud enough for cops even back up the road to hear, Hal reached back into the trunk and slid his right hand beneath Officer Douglas' neck to his right shoulder. Hal's left hand went to the dead man's left shoulder. Another deep breath and Hal lifted. Gently--Slowly--
And banged Officer Douglas' head against the inside of the lip of the trunk.
"Shit," Hal said. "We're gonna get a curse for that."
Apple Valley chuckled.
Hal moved the man around, twisting him back and forth, trying to get his head past the metal lip. "Little help?"
Apple Valley grabbed the dead man's feet and shoved them further into the trunk. It allowed Hal to push the body slightly sideways and get the head free. But as he pulled the body out, Officer Douglas' head banged against the side of the trunk again.
"Are you trying to kill a dead man, Hal?"
"Maybe saving one," he said under his breath.
She frowned. "What?"
"Nothing.
Hal backed up slowly, allowing Apple Valley to move Officer Douglas' feet and legs back and forth.
"Almost there," she said. "Hang on. I need to--His shoe laces are caught on something."
She wrestled with the man's feet, but Hal backed up another step and stuck his foot in a hole. His ankle buckled and pain rocketed up through him. He yelped and fell backward. Officer Douglas fell with him, almost exactly with him, his back pressed to Hal's chest.
"Shit shit shit!"
They landed in a heap.
"Fuck." In a panic, Hal shoved the corpse off and scrambled away. His hands beat at the air behind him, certain the man was following. He spun and kicked at the air.
"Hal, what's wrong?"
"Alive." He hated the scared schoolgirl in his voice.
"What?" Her eyes went wide.
Of course he was dead. And even as he stood partially behind Apple Valley, Hal knew Officer Douglas was dead. He had been dead since Vegas and, like so many people walking around, maybe since a helluva long time before that.
Pretty much like you, eh, Hal ol' boy? Just like you all lifelong. Lost and dazed. How you go from Mama's little boy to standing in the middle of nowhere with a dead man--no, a dead cop--I just don't understand. And traveling with a woman who obviously had something going on with other cops?
A coyote howled somewhere and Hal almost laughed. Too perfect. It's darkest before dawn and that's when the coyotes howl…at least in this bad movie script.
But bad script or not, Hanford felt much further away than 1,500 miles. For six months, Hal thought he was getting closer. Every day was a word or a phone number or a name or something that got him a little closer. Not just closer to Hanford and Theresa, though that was the largest part of it, but to himself; to a freedom within himself that would make up for all the bullshit. He was trying to clear the decks, empty the road, get the obstacles out of his way and as rough as the search for the disk had been, he'd always felt as though he was boogie'ing down the road.
Really, though, feeling some forward motion was an illusion. He was still lost, still the black sheep boy. He was literally lost this time, and there didn't seem to be much he could do. Even when he thought he'd made good decisions, ones that would fix everything up, they ended up screwing him. Go get the disk? Yeah, he'd gotten it and now he stood in the desert in the dark.
"Pathetic."
Hal blinked. "What? What're you talking about?"
She pointed to Officer Douglas. "Him. That's what you were staring at. You had this sad kind of look on your face. I thought you were thinking what a loser he was."
"Ain't gotta think about that part. It's obvious." He pointed to the badge. "I seen lots of badges, up close and way more personal than I wanted. That's not even remotely real."
"You know badges pretty well, do you?"
"Did she tell you how long he'd been off the force?" Hal asked.
"A year? Little more."
"Sadist," Hal said. "He got off on people thinking he was the man."
Apple Valley nodded. "No doubt. He took $100 every week. Payment for security services, I guess. Snagged it out of the register, big as day."
Hal had seen the need for that cash. It had been in the man's shoes and in the T-shirt he wore beneath the cheap uniform. His shoes were battered. The black polish hardly covered the worn areas and the backs of the heels were worn, as though he'd spent quite a bit of time sitting with his legs splayed out in front of him. Hal was certain that if he looked, the t-shirt would be sweat-stained, touched with small holes. But what he saw when the man had walked in had been the T-shirt's neck. It stuck out from behind the unbuttoned dress shirt and had been frayed enough that it had split. Hal had those same frays on some of his shirts.
"He lived at the casino." She said it quietly, flatly, and he understood that. It needed no special inflection to make it more sad.
"Wasn't a casino. Was a pisshole."
She shrugged. "Any place you are is home, I guess."
"Not even close. Only one place is home."
She stared hard at him. "And where is that for you?"
"None of your business."
"You and him are a lot alike."
Hal startled. "What?"
"I think he just wanted somebody to talk to. I think you want the same thing."
Hal sighed. "That's what he wanted, why'd Jolene whack him?"
Apple Valley's brows arched up as she shrugged. "Didn't want to talk."
Silence descended and Hal realized it was like a memorial. Here they were over his body, talking about what had driven him in life as they set about burying him. Pity wormed through him. It was something he didn't want to have. He didn't want to think maybe the guy had been okay. He didn't want to think maybe the guy should still be alive. Actually, he didn't want to think about the guy at all but if he had to, he wanted to remember the asshole had busted him in the chops and had been perfectly willing to turn them over to Captain Brooks.
Best get moving, boy. No more time for any damn memorial. Wasting time, wasting time.
And it was Apple Valley, nice lady o
r not, beautiful woman or not, costing him time. She had stopped in Vegas and everything from there to Bagdad had cost him time. He should be three hours further down the road.
"Whatever," he said. "Let's do it."
"How's the ankle?"
"I don't care if it's broken, I'm getting this guy planted and getting outta here." He looked around the endless sky, dotted with millions of stars. "This place creeps me out."
Apple Valley grabbed the body's feet. He grabbed the man's torso and head and together they walked toward the front of the car. Though they went off the barely visible roadway, they stayed within the glow of the headlights. After twenty yards, they stopped and set Officer Douglas on the ground. Then Apple Valley stared at him expectantly. He stared back.
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
Her hip was cocked slightly, her white shirt dirty from carrying the dead.
"Are you kidding me with this?" he said.
Officer Douglas lay at their feet expectantly. The coyote was quiet. A shooting star burned itself out over their heads.
"Is there one in the car?"
"There's a tire and a jack and his dried blood."
"Calm down, Hal."
He crushed his finger into tight fists. "Fuck it. I ain't wasting no more time, I'm going home." He turned and took a few steps before turning back to her. "I didn't do it." He pointed at the dead cop. "None of this is my fault. None of it."
As silently as a summer day, a man slipped out of the darkness. His jeans were dirty, his T-shirt covered with sweat stains. Beneath the sweat were letters fashioned from the American flag. 'Live Free or Kill Them All.' His mostly bald head shined in the moonlight. And though he moved uncertainly, a man scared of the surrounding night, he held the shotgun extremely well, his finger already inside the trigger guard.
"Son of a bitch," Hal said. He glanced toward the car, where the Glock lay beneath the seat.
The man stared at Officer Douglas. "I guess you gonna need this," he said through a mouth filled less with teeth than naked gums.
He held up a shovel.
1,457 Miles (Still)
No one moved.
Hal's eyes never left the man, though the man's eyes danced between Hal and Apple Valley for a few seconds. Eventually, they lingered on Apple Valley, on her breasts and legs, but Hal didn't get a rape vibe from the guy. Mr. Kill-Em-All didn't have the whiff of a rapist or the stink of a random violence kind of guy. Which is not to say there wasn't the odor of possible violence, just that he came across as a guy who was deliberate in those he killed.
2,000 Miles to Open Road (Barefield) Page 7