by Brom
Makwa kept staring at Jesse, clenching and unclenching his powerful hands. Jesse could see the big Shawnee intended to tear him apart.
“Makwa?”
The Shawnee stiffened.
“It is a command.”
Makwa gave Jesse one last look, one that promised a terrible death, then sprinted away up the road.
Jesse jabbed the gun at Krampus. “Get your stupid sack and get out of my truck. I’m not gonna say it twice.”
The four remaining Belsnickels began to spread out, to encircle Jesse. Jesse raised the gun to his shoulder. “One more step and I will blow his head off. Go on, goddammit. I dare you.”
“Leave him be,” Krampus said calmly, his tone almost bored, even distracted, still looking at the birds. “Back away, that is a command.”
The Belsnickels stopped, took a step back, and just stood there exchanging confused looks.
“Now get out of my truck,” Jesse repeated.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to say it twice?”
“Well, I sure as heck ain’t gonna say it three times,” Jesse growled. “That’s for certain.”
Krampus turned his face to Jesse and smiled. “We need your help.”
“Don’t care.”
“From what I have heard you seem to have a lot of enemies.”
“That don’t concern you.”
“Perhaps you need our help?” Krampus said. “Perhaps there are ways we can help each other.”
“Don’t think so.”
“You have seen my Belsnickels at play. You know what they are capable of. What if they were to be at your command? If there is blood that needs to be spilt, they are very capable.”
Jesse started to shake his head, then stopped, looked at the devil creatures, the Belsnickels, at their deadly fingernails, their terrifying orange eyes, thought about the way they’d attacked his truck, how quick and strong they were, how easily they’d taken out Chet and killed Lynyrd. Stealthy night creatures . . . they could cut the General’s boys down before they even knew they were there. He knew that after the way things went down last night, the General would’ve already served his death warrant. He’d heard Chet screaming that it was a setup, no doubt that’s how they’d all see it, and no amount of explaining on his part would ever change that. He also knew that the General would put a price on his head, offer a reward to anyone who’d report his whereabouts, would enlist every resource to track him down. But most of all, the General had made it clear that if Jesse ever crossed him, he’d hurt Abigail, would put her in a box. Jesse felt sure they’d probably already nabbed her, most likely taken her over to the compound. He couldn’t help thinking about how scared she must be.
“Some bad folks is after my daughter,” Jesse said. “I need to make sure she’s safe.”
Krampus nodded. “I understand.”
“There’s more to it than that. It’s complicated. Need to make sure they won’t ever hurt her again.”
“Dead men cannot hurt anyone.” And Krampus smiled.
Jesse thought about how good his odds would be if he showed up at the General’s compound alone—his old hunting rifle against a dozen or more heavily armed men, men with automatic weapons.
“Punishing the wicked is something I’m very good at. We can cut them down . . . make them disappear.” Krampus pointed into the camper, at the velvet sack.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I am the sack’s master. I can command it to open to any place I wish . . . of this world or of others. We can send your friends to the bottom of the ocean, into the realm of the dead if you so prefer.” Krampus’s smile turned sinister.
Jesse tried to get his mind around this. He’d not considered what would happen if you put something back into the sack, of where it might end up. He found the thought disturbing, but if it were true, if any of what this creature promised were true, it would sure simplify things, might even keep him out of prison. Only how did one go about trusting a devil? He gave Krampus a hard look.
“How can you trust me?”
Jesse was startled by how easily Krampus read him.
“You have already saved my life once. Why would I not help you?”
Jesse realized it all came down to risk. The odds of him successfully saving his daughter on his own against the odds that this creature, this devil, would truly come through for him. Maybe this is an opportunity. Maybe it’s at least worth a shot.
Makwa returned, holding both birds by the neck. He gave Jesse a dark look. One of the ravens still lived and Krampus reached for it. Jesse had known the birds were large, much bigger than any raven he’d ever seen, but seeing it up close he was amazed. They were at least as large as a vulture or eagle. The bird struggled in Krampus’s grasp, cawed, and tried to bite and peck him.
“Huginn,” Krampus cooed softly to the bird. “Huginn, be brave.” Krampus leaned his head and whispered softly, soothingly into its ear. The bird began to calm. Krampus cradled it, gently stroking its black feathers. The bird’s breathing slowed and its eyes fell shut. Krampus kissed the top of its head. “It grieves me so to see you thus. You and your brother have both served Odin well.”
He stroked the raven’s beak, its head. It fluffed its feathers and leaned against his chest, and then Krampus slipped his fingers around its neck and gave a quick, hard twist. Jesse heard a snap and the bird fell still. Krampus hugged the bird and Jesse could see the heartbreak upon his face.
“So few of the ancient ones still live,” Krampus said, almost to himself. “And now we have two less.” His lips began to tremble. “This deed shall rest on your hands, Santa Claus. One more murder to add to your list, one more death to be avenged.” Krampus kissed the top of the raven’s head once more, then bit into the bird’s skull.
“Oh, Jesus,” Jesse said and took a step back.
Krampus chewed loudly, grinding the bones between his teeth. He swallowed and looked skyward. “Thank you, Odin. Thank you for this great gift . . . for this bounty of your blood in my time of need.” He wiped his lips and took another bite, then another and another, as the raven’s blood spilled down his chin and chest.
Jesse glanced about to see if the Belsnickels were as appalled as he was, but they acted as though nothing unusual was going on. Krampus ate not just the meat and guts of the bird, but also the beak, bones, and talons. He slipped off the tailgate, dropped to the ground, and picked up the other bird, sitting upon his haunches, gnawing and chewing until he’d consumed every feather.
The first rays of morning sun broke over the mountain, glistening off the snow. Krampus set back his head and basked in the sunlight. He let out a long, deep groan and Jesse noticed the change—the creature’s skin gaining pigment right before his eyes, darkening from an almost lucent gray toward black. His flesh and bones appeared to be gaining substance.
Krampus grabbed hold of the bumper and pulled himself up onto unsteady feet, bracing himself against the truck. It was apparent that he was still far from health, but he was a much more formidable beast than the creature that’d been huddled in the blanket. He looked at Jesse, at the gun as though for the first time. “What were we discussing?”
“How you could help me get rid of some trash.”
Krampus smiled, wiped his hand down his face, through his chin hairs, looked at the blood smeared across his fingers, offered the hand to Jesse. “There is no stronger pact than one sealed with blood.”
Jesse stared at the blood. “What do you need me to do?”
“I need a place to hide away. A place where I can heal, can prepare. A face that is not pitch, eyes that do not glow to fetch us a few needed items. That is all.”
“And for that you’ll help me get my daughter? Will kill them men that took her?”
Krampus’s eyes gleamed. “It has been long since I was terrible. I miss it dearly. It will be a great treat to see the fear in their eyes, to hear them beg for their lives, to feast on their blood and death cries.”
“
Feast on their death cries,” Jesse said as though tasting the word. “I like the sound of that.” He leaned the rifle against the truck, walked over, and took Krampus’s extended hand.
Jesse was making a pact with the devil and he didn’t mind one bit.
DILLARD’S CELL PHONE buzzed across the dashboard of his Suburban. He shoved his coffee into the cup holder, snatched up the phone, looked at the name of the incoming call, and contemplated not answering. It was the General, again, third time in the past hour. It buzzed again, again, then again. Dillard grimaced and flipped his phone open.
“What’s the word?” the General asked, his voice raw and scratchy like he’d been doing a lot of yelling.
Dillard switched the phone to his left hand and turned off onto Coal River Road. “The word?”
“Yeah, what’s the fucking word?”
There wasn’t any word. Jesse and that piece-of-shit truck of his had disappeared. There were several hundred coal roads crisscrossing the mountains around Goodhope and almost as many old mining roads, most of which weren’t on any maps. Even with all the General’s crew out driving around they didn’t have the manpower to search half of them. Shit, Dillard thought, even if I had the entire state’s police force it’d still take over a week. Problem was, the General didn’t want to hear that. “Noel’s north, combing the hills around Elk Run right now. I put the word out county-wide to the folks I know I can count on. Let them know it’s a personal matter between me and Jesse. They promised to keep an eye out.”
“What about the troopers?”
“Have to be careful about them. Hard to get too many police outside the regulars involved without answering a bunch of questions. Things could get sticky if Jesse gets picked up by the sheriff. Just no telling what he might say, and the last thing we need is Sheriff Wright nosing around.”
“As long as we got his little girl, he’s gonna keep his mouth shut tight.”
“Well, yeah, maybe. That being the case and all, it’s hard for me to understand why he was in on that shit last night. Makes me believe someone put him up to it. I got a nagging suspicion this is about them Charleston boys we took care of. That they’re playing Jesse to get back at us.”
“There’s a lot here I don’t like,” the General spat. “Don’t like one bit. But one thing you can count on, I’m sure as hell gonna get to the bottom of it.”
That makes two of us, Dillard thought. He was still trying to sort out just what had gone down last night. One second he’d been fiddling with the radio, the next there were gunshots and Chet running toward him screaming his head off. Those men, whoever they were, had killed Lynyrd . . . and with a fucking spear no less, stole the goods, and got clean away. They’d killed a Boggs. And the worst of it was it had happened right from under his damn nose. Now, on top of everything else, he had a murder to cover up. But the thing that bothered Dillard the most was that strange man, the one dressed up like Santa Claus. He’d hit him, slammed into him straight on. The car’s crumpled front end proved it. Dillard couldn’t remember exactly what happened after that. He rubbed the raw lump on his forehead; that damn airbag had just about knocked him out. Still, he’d never found a trace of the man. It was as though he’d imagined it. But he was real. I know what I saw.
“And about Lynyrd?” the General asked.
“Up to you.”
The General didn’t answer.
“Best not to take any chances,” Dillard suggested. “Should get rid of all the evidence.”
“Just can’t stand the thought of dumping his body like that. Known that boy since he was a baby.”
“Best to take him where I took the others.”
“Yeah, I know it. Just really bothers me, that’s all.”
“You want to try and find a secluded spot somewhere up on your land?”
“No, don’t bother me that much. Too risky.”
“How about his sister? Think she’ll raise a stink?”
“Naw,” the General said. “Lynyrd’s gone more than he’s not. Gonna take a long time for anyone to notice.”
They both fell silent. The snow began to pick up and Dillard clicked his wipers up. “Where’s Jesse’s little girl at?” the General asked. “She still over your place?”
“She’s at her grandmother’s.”
“You think that’s smart?”
“I plan on picking her up sometime this morning. Keeping her close.”
“I’d like you to bring her on over here when you get the chance.”
Dillard’s grip tightened on the wheel. “Don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Relax, I ain’t gonna do nothing to her. What kind of a man do you think I am? Just want to make sure Jesse can’t nab her.”
“So your plan is to keep Abigail at the compound? Really? You’re kidding me, right? Why, her mother would bring the devil down on both of us.”
“Who am I talking to? Since when does Dillard Deaton let a woman, any woman, tell him how to run his business? I think Linda’s pretty eyes are getting the better of you.”
“Things are gonna be different with Linda.”
The General snorted and Dillard prickled. “You’re fooling yourself,” the General said. “You mark my word, first time she gives you lip, you’ll straighten her out, just like Ellen. See if you don’t.”
No, Dillard thought. He pulled off the highway onto the side of the road, sat there with the engine idling. Not this time. I’m done hurting the folks I love. Devil’s not getting the best of me, not ever again. Things is gonna work out with Linda. Gonna see to it.
“Dillard, hello? Fuck, you still there?”
“Do you want to catch Jesse or babysit?”
“What?”
“Jesse might be up in the hills, might be in Charleston, hell, might be in goddamn Mexico for all we know. But one thing I’m sure of is at some point he’s gonna come back around looking to get his daughter. Might be today, tomorrow, might be two weeks or even two months from now. You plan on keeping Abigail locked up in your office for two months?”
The General didn’t answer.
“Abigail’s the best chance we got of catching Jesse. If she’s at the compound, he ain’t gonna go for it. That boy might be stupid, but he ain’t that stupid. But if she’s here, at my place, he just might try something. And when he does, I’ll get him. He won’t make it out of Goodhope. I can tell you that.”
“Yeah, well, what about them boys he’s working with? What if they show up with him?”
“We’re talking about Jesse here. He ain’t calling the shots. Why would them Charleston boys risk their necks for his daughter? They got what they want. I wouldn’t be the least surprised if they hadn’t already poked Jesse full of holes and left him in a ditch somewhere.”
“I hope to hell not!” the General shouted. “I want that boy alive. Gonna feed him his own pecker. Gonna douse his head in motor oil and set it on fire. Sure as shit I am! He’s gonna talk, goddammit! Gonna tell me who these coons are he’s been running with.” The General’s voice kept rising. “Gonna fucking cook them fucks alive! All of them! Let me tell you—”
Dillard pulled the phone away from his ear, sat it on the dashboard, and took another sip of coffee. The General sounded like an angry hornet trapped in a jar.
Here we go again, Dillard thought and wondered how jacked up the man was. He knew the General had a taste for amphetamines, but he was beginning to suspect that taste might be turning into a habit. Seems his behavior was becoming more and more erratic of late, paranoid, losing control of his temper at the drop of a hat, but worst of all he was getting sloppy.
Dillard rubbed the spot where the airbag had hit him, felt a headache coming on. Erratic and sloppy didn’t sit well with him. He preferred things to be nice and tidy, like his Tupperware, all the bowls on one shelf, all the lids in the drawer below, each lid corresponding to the color of the matching bowl. But now, thanks to Jesse, nothing was nice and tidy, not anymore. The General was talking crazy and Dill
ard felt he was watching the man go down and didn’t care much for the notion of going down with him. More and more, he found himself wishing he could wash his hands of all of it, just walk away. Only thing was, you didn’t just walk away from the General, not unless you intended to walk all the way to Mexico. Even then there were no guarantees, not with Sampson Boggs, because no one carried a grudge like that man. Of course, there was another way. It would sure be a shame if the General were to disappear.
When the volume dropped a notch, Dillard placed the phone back to his ear.
“—You know what I’m fucking saying?” the General said. “Do you?”
“We’ll get him. Just let me do my job.”
“I’m not fucking around, Dillard. No one steals from me. No one kills a Boggs and lives to tell about it. I’m gonna see that boy dead. I don’t care if it takes me the rest of my life to do it.”
The connection ended and Dillard closed his phone. He pulled out, turned around, heading back up Route 3 toward Linda’s mother’s house. He didn’t much like the way the General was acting, thought it might be prudent to go ahead and get Abigail now and bring her back to his place.
He let out a long sigh. Well, one way or another Jesse’s gonna be out of the picture. That should sure sweeten things up with Linda.
LINDA HEARD THE front door open, sat down her coffee, and peered out from the kitchen. Dillard came in carrying Abigail in one arm. She was wrapped in her blanket, still in her pajamas, fast asleep against his chest.
Linda started to ask what on earth he was doing with Abigail at this hour in the morning, when another question hit her: had something happened to her mother?
Dillard put a finger to his lips, handed Abigail off to Linda. Abigail mumbled irritably, clutched her doll, and fell back asleep.
“Dillard,” Linda whispered. “What?”
“Put her to bed. I’ll explain.”
Linda didn’t care at all for the look on Dillard’s face. She took Abigail to her room, tucked her in, and returned quickly. She found Dillard sitting at the table, warming his hands around a steaming cup of coffee.