Seriously?

by Duane Lindsay

  It’s two in the afternoon. By the time they figured out Monk’s message, went home and packed clothes and food and Lou’s snub-nosed .38, (“What? Now you’re bringing a gun?”) drove the fifty plus miles back to Mokena and found a place to get the map they’re studying, most of the day is gone.

  Lou hands over a thermos filled with coffee and sugar and cream, a concoction Cassidy likes and he tolerates because Cassidy likes it and she fills the lid/cup and sips.

  “So, he can’t be seen in the uniform and he damn well doesn’t want to be caught buck naked...”

  Cassidy giggles and Lou says, “What?”

  “I’m just picturing it. The master race running around the woods bare-assed naked. Lou, I swear; I would pay money to see that.”

  “I’ll try to arrange it. Anyway, he doesn’t want to strip and it’s going to get light soon so he ducks into the forest.”

  “And he comes out...” she traces a line across the wooded section, “Here.”

  She’s pointing at the nearest farm and they notice how close it is to a couple of buildings. “So maybe he sneaks in and overpowers the farmer?”

  “He’d kill the poor son of a bitch, I think.”

  Cassidy looks troubled but agrees. “Yeah, he probably would.”

  “He’s got no car, no way to contact his people, he needs clothes. So, he kills the farmer, maybe the guy’s wife, and he takes over the farm. Wait; I just remembered. I saw a bunch of farmer’s clothes in the trash when I searched his place.”

  “So, he got clothes,” agrees Cassidy. She points to one of the buildings and traces the fences. “It’s got a barn. So, it’s a perfect place to put prisoners.”

  “Like Monk and Bonnie.”

  “Right. And look here.” She traces lines to the other farms. “All of these have long open areas between the forest and the buildings. He doesn’t want to be seen so he heads for the nearest place.”

  “Ok; I agree. So, what do we do about it?” Lou studies the map a bit longer. “Let’s take a hike.”

  Soon, standing in the shade of an enormous cottonwood, they’re watching a white red-roofed ranch house. There’s a battered green Ford pickup outside and the place couldn’t look less like a nest of vipers than Disneyland could.

  You think?” says Cassidy, squinting at the place through the falling sun. “Could it be this place?”

  “No way of knowing until we see more. But, yeah; it could be.”

  Cassidy’s waving her arms to swat away flying insects. “Lots of bugs.”

  “Yep.”

  “We’re going to stay here and watch, aren’t we?”

  “I am. You can go back to the car, maybe go into town and get us some food.”

  “And bug spray. Good idea. But let’s say this is the place. What are we going to do?”

  “We’ll wait until it’s nearly dawn and go rescue them.”

  “Oh good. So, we have a plan.”

  Monk, fed, licks his fingers and spits out bits of lint. His hunger’s been replaced by an aching thirst and his depression with hope. “Are you awake,” he says softly.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you’d betrayed us.” His voice is thick and dry, soft in the dark

  “I wouldn’t do that... Monk.”

  “Call me Dion. I’m not feeling all that Monk-like right now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’m sorry I got you into this mess. I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m just...”

  “If you say ‘sorry’ again, I swear, I’ll use this knife on you myself. You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. I’m the one who should apologize.”

  “You?” Monk’s surprised. “Why?”

  “I didn’t understand what you were doing, waiting for your friend to suddenly show up and save the day.”

  “I could have explained better.”

  There’s a small laugh in the dark. “Listen to us! A couple of sorry people chained up in the dark whining about our feelings. Monk, how are we going to get out of this?”

  “I’ve been considering exactly that. Aldo comes here at dawn to bring us in for the day’s torture session. I think this time we should fight back.”

  “With a knife? Monk, he’s got a gun.”

  “Sure, but we’ve got surprise. Lou always says to do the unexpected in a fight. That’s what we’re going to do.”

  “You have a lot of faith in your friend, don’t you?”

  Monk considers the idea. “Yeah, I do. I know I’d feel a lot better if he was here.”

  Another small laugh. “You mean, instead of a girl?”

  “The girl who got us a knife? No, I mean because he’d beat the hell out of these jerks.”

  “So, what are we going to do?”

  “Well, we wait until it’s nearly dawn and escape.”

  “Oh good. So, we have a plan.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Lost in the Dark

  ––––––––

  Erich had been a prison guard in a Nazi concentration camp, a job that inspired sadism. Aldo Zeist was worse. Where Erich learned to be cruel, Aldo started that way. If the war hadn’t come up and given him an excuse, Aldo would have been a serial killer, torturing whatever poor soul crossed his path.

  Which, at this point in his life, happens to be Dion Monkton and Bonnie Lieberman.

  It’s three AM as he leaves the farmhouse, edgy and mean as a junkyard dog on a short-spiked leash. He’s been chaffing under Erich’s orders not to hurt the prisoners, angry about being shouted down when he objected, and aching to do everything he’s been imaging since he first tied the girl to the barn rails.

  The man he doesn’t care about, except as a helpless witness, somebody to watch as he violates the girl, forcing him to watch.

  Did the captive care about the girl? Aldo hoped so; it would make what he was about to do so much better.

  Aldo closes the farmhouse door softly to not wake up Erich or the others. It’s dark outside and eerily still, with a pale half-moon casting a ghostly light on the white fences, the dark shape of the old truck and the tall trees that surround the farm. Somewhere in the field a cow murmurs and a small breeze rustles his hair and makes the tall weeds along the fence shift and sway. Ahead is the hulking shape of the battered old barn where the captives are no doubt trying in vain to rest.

  Aldo deliberately tied them so they could neither sit comfortably or lay down and he knew from his own previous experience that they’d be wracked with pain from stiff muscles and bent backs. The man hasn’t eaten in days, the girl since last night when Erich did his stupid attempt to get information.

  He wanted to know where the fat little assistant was? Aldo, striding silently toward the barn, could get the information in a matter of minutes. Would get it, though that wasn’t the point of this early hours visit.

  This visit was for enjoyment—his; certainly not theirs. But he’d make Mr. Fleener tell him so that Erich would get on with the plan.

  Aldo opens the barn door, hearing it creak like the cries of the many, many people he’s tormented over the years. The sound pleases him and he pulls the door gently back and forth to hear the rusted hinges sing. He knows that Monk and the girl will hear it and the idea makes him hard with anticipation. He can feel the pressure in the tightness of his pants.

  He enters the barn, not bothering with silence anymore, and goes to the Coleman lantern he left on a hook. Striking a match, he can see them huddled against the rails where he left them, no doubt confused and terrified at his unexpected visit.

  The lantern flares and he adjusts the knob until it’s a steady glow and he holds it high like Diogenes seeking fresh meat instead of honesty.

  The man turns to him, squinting in the sudden brightness, his arms still dangling from the ropes Aldo tied. He looks both confused and afraid and Aldo pauses to enjoy what he hopes will be hours of suffering. In the stall behind the man Aldo can see the bundle that’s the girl. She hasn’t moved yet and Aldo smiles wi
th anticipation.

  She will. Oh, she certainly will.

  Monk watches the stocky shape of the Nazi through slitted eyes, and against the glare of the lantern. He’s assumed this would happen and that it would be this man who came, ending the charade of civilization Erich had been trying to maintain. Monk doesn’t really know why Erich tried gentle means to get him to talk rather than just unleashing this brute coming toward him but he knew it was inevitable.

  Aldo is ten feet away when Monk starts to tug at the ropes, frantically, like a rat in a cage when they toss in the cat. He lets a small moan out, not too loud, and pulls himself into a ball against the rails, making his body shrink away from what’s coming.

  “No,” he says softly, his voice a dry rasp. “Please, don’t. Please...”

  Aldo comes closer, smiling. He looks like the demon in those Vincent price movies, Lou insists on watching, in 3D some of them, so the knives and spears seem to shoot out at the audience, everybody wearing plastic glasses with green and red cellophane lenses. Lou dragged him to a double feature at the Biograph theater, House of Wax, Monk thinks it was called, followed by The Mad Magician.

  Monk enjoyed the special effects and the cloying smell of Red Vine licorice mixed with buttered popcorn. Lou seemed to enjoy the movie and Cassidy, whispering harshly in the dark theater, announced Lou was, “... out of your damn mind, you think I’m watching this crap!” She stormed out, took a cab home and Lou slept on the couch for two nights before the storm abated.

  Aldo holds the lantern high over his head and the shadows whirl and twist from the light. He has a wide smile and his eyes are glowing like he’s having a religious moment or an orgasm. He fumbles at his pocket with his left hand and pulls out a switchblade knife that he flicks open, swaying the blade in the light to make it flash.

  Monk stares at the blade, his eyes following its movement and he gives out another moan.

  Aldo laughs and steps forward. He saws at Monk’s ropes with one hand while watching him cringe away. The ropes binding Monk’s hands fall away and his arms sag lifelessly. Aldo twists his fingers around them and pulls, forcing Monk to his feet, bent at the waist from the long hours of confinement.

  Aldo tugs at the rope and Monk is dragged stumbling to the next stall where Bonnie still hasn’t moved. Her body is draped in a faded green army tarp and Aldo kicks at the shape. He’s still holding Monk’s tether in one hand and the lantern in the other and he kicks again, cursing the girl to get up.

  The tarp slips down and slides to the floor, revealing a hay bale leaning against the rail.

  Aldo manages a confused, “What?” as a hand comes out of the shadows and yanks the knife from his fingers. Monk’s rope falls away and Aldo tries to look in two directions at once.

  His head swivels one way—to the dim light outside the lantern glow—then the other, to Monk, standing tall and grinning. Grinning?

  Monk leans in and thrusts against him and Aldo feels the sharp agony of a blade slicing into his stomach. He only has a moment to look in Monk’s eyes before he feels another blade go into his back. His spine arches and Monk stabs his stomach again and Bonnie, coming out of the shadows, pounds Aldo’s own blade into his shoulders again and again.

  Aldo sags to the floor like a scarecrow with the straw removed and Bonnie sinks to her knees near him, half in and half out of the circle of light. Monk hangs the lantern on a nail and kneels by her, wrapping his arms around her as she begins to sob.

  “I killed him,” Bonnie’s voice is rising into hysteria as she rocks in Monk’s arms, repeating, “I killed him... I killed him.”

  “We killed him,” Monk says.

  “What?”

  “We killed him. We planned it, we did it. Not you. Us. Both of us. Bonnie, look at me.”

  She leans back to get distance but doesn’t pull away from his hug.

  “He was going to kill us. He was going to rape you in front of me, probably torture you. He’s a really bad person and you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

  “What?” She pulls farther away. “I don’t blame myself. It’s just the shock, is all. We’ve been waiting all night for this and I was almost asleep and he showed up and you’re right; he was going to do all the things you said and I stabbed him.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not what I planned, Sorry. I meant to be the one to kill him.”

  “But he had a knife, Monk. Maybe you would have killed him first, maybe he would have been able to fight back. When I saw he had it I just...” she shrugs. “I just took it away.”

  “That’s what saved us both, Bonnie. You grabbing his knife surprised him so much he wasn’t expecting me to be strong enough to fight him.”

  “So, it’s like the first thing we’ve done together.”

  “I guess.”

  Bonnie begins to laugh. “Hell, of a first date, Mr. Monkton. Hell, of a date.”

  Monk pulls her back into a hug. “You should have been there for Lou and Cassie’s first date.”

  “Worse than this?”

  “No, but close. He got grabbed by half a dozen guys, wanted to take him to a crime boss named Duke...”

  “Monk?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Not the best time.”

  “Oh. Right, we should probably get out of here.”

  “You think?”

  “Yes,” Monk says seriously, completely missing the mocking tone. “There are others and they might be coming soon...”

  “I’m kidding, Monk. Joking.”

  Monk takes a moment to consider this. “Oh, I get it. Like a joke, to relieve the tension.”

  “Yes, just like that.”

  Monk lets go and she’s slipping out of his embrace when Aldo groans a deep melancholy note and lifts his head. Bonnie and Monk both swing their knives in swift arcs into his back. Aldo sags back to the dirt floor, dead again.

  Bonnie gets up quickly, Monk far more slowly, rising to his knees, which creak, then bent over, slowly letting his muscles stretch, finally leaning back with his fists in the small of his back, which makes a sudden snapping sound.

  “Ow,” he says softly.

  She touches his arm in sympathy. “That hurt?”

  “No; of course not. I’m fine. Really. Fine.” He unhooks the lantern and they go to the door. Monk turns it off and they open the door slightly, watching the shadows in the farmyard, waiting for any sound.

  The wind dances, making small noises.

  “We’ll head for the bar, like we talked about. Maybe we can catch a ride from somebody.”

  “That’s where they’ll be looking for us?” Bonnie’s raised this point repeatedly during their late-night planning. After she cut him loose and they agreed that somebody—probably Aldo —would be coming early.

  “But what else can we—?”

  And the door is pulled from his fingers.

  A voice says, “Hey!”

  Bonnie shrieks and Monk attacks with the knife.

  After Cassidy left for bug spray and food, Lou stayed in the lee of a huge old Cottonwood, left arm leaning against the rough bark, watching the farm house. Was this the right place? No way of knowing for sure, but it made sense. Cassidy pointed out the straight line from the burned-out bar and the logic of Erich in his Nazi uniform desperate to escape the police and firemen, running through the woods; wouldn’t he come out here?

  And what would he do when he did? Well, Lou’s running things through his head, wishing he could smoke, idly scratching the many insect bites, mosquitos mostly, that are feasting on his body. He’s picturing Erich, head probably spinning from Lou’s last kick, comes out of the forest and sees this place. It’s got be going on dawn and he can’t be caught so...

  Yeah; this could be the place.

  And if it’s not? Lou doesn’t go in much for second guessing—leaves that chore to Monk who seems to enjoy it—but he knows there are two other farms close enough that Erich could have gone to instead. He swats at the bugs and watches the house and lets the thought g
o. If this isn’t the place, things will go bad quickly. If it is...

  “Lou?” A voice behind him; Cassidy, back from shopping.

  “Here,” he says softly and hears twigs snap in the dark way over there so he says it again, “Here.”

  “Where?” Her annoyed tone. Lou smiles. Cassidy cannot abide being lost. She also doesn’t like dark forests or insects, preferring room service and a soaking tub to nights in the wilderness.

  “Here,” he says again and she drifts over. She’s got a brown paper bag in one hand and a paper cup wafting steam—coffee? Lou’s mouth waters hopefully—as she kneels beside him and rifles through the bag.

  “I got,” she says, “Bug spray, for the bugs,”

  “Sure,” agrees Lou.

  She smiles at his tone. “Don’t crack wise, Fleener. I could have stayed in the car.” More rifling. “And I got potato chips and dried meat in plastic and a couple of Three Musketeers candy bars.” One of which she hands him.

  The cup—it is coffee! —is hot and Lou gently sets it on a root. He accepts the candy bar, skips the Slim-Jim jerky stick and leans in for a kiss. “Where’d you get all this stuff?”

  “There’s a Standard station five, six miles down the road. The one that hustled Monk for gas cans.” Her voice takes on a brittle tone used exclusively for men she doesn’t like. “Same kid working there. You just know he quit the local high school for the exciting life of a gas station jerk. He probably stripped me a dozen times while I was getting this stuff.”

  The idea, as always when she told him about guys staring, irked Lou and he felt a momentary desire to leave her and teach the kid some manners. But he knows Cassidy can take care of things herself so instead he squeezes her hand.

  “Welcome back,” he says.

  “Great to be here.” She looks out through the high weeds. “Anything happen while I was gone?”

  Besides being the main course at an insect food feast? He takes an aerosol can from her bag and sprays his arms. The acrid aroma of DDT and other deadly chemicals mix with the coffee and chocolate and Lou sighs with relief.