Visions of Evil

by J. E. Neiman

  He leaned out the window. "Shoo. Get out of here."

  The hens ignored him but the rooster stared back.

  "Fine, I'm leaving this shit hole anyway." Jake walked back to the bed, sat and reflected about his grandparent’s farm in Nebraska. His parents had sent him there when he was thirteen for a few weeks one summer, after he'd pushed his sister Mona down a flight of stairs. The twenty stitches in her ugly forehead had sent him packing. Otherwise, his mother would have had another nervous breakdown.

  Jake hated chickens and his grandparents had over a hundred. All they did was shit, squawk and crow. And he detested eggs even more. Jake wouldn't think of eating an embryo that came out of a hen's ass. He had invented a way to get rid of some of his grandparent’s chickens. It was the only fun thing to do at the isolated farm.

  An old wooden bridge was heavily used on the road that went past the small acreage. Jake would catch six stupid birds, throw them into a gunnysack and off he'd go. He'd take each chicken out of the sack, grab his hammer and staple their feet to the wooden planks of the bridge, usually in a bowling pin configuration, then crouch in the willows to wait.

  Soon, the chickens would begin to squawk and flap. Somehow, they could hear or feel the vibration of an approaching vehicle. A car or truck would pop over the hill to cross the bridge a few hundred feet in front of them.

  Most of the drivers would slam on their brakes and honk their horns, but the chickens could not move out of the way. The old birds would screech and flutter.

  Wham! Feathers would fly everywhere. Sometimes Jake would get blood and guts on him, but he didn’t care. It was fantastic. He would laugh so hard he'd cry.

  The unsuspecting drivers never stopped. Jake just knew they thought that any chicken dim-witted enough to stand on a bridge deserved to die. After all, they had honked their horns and the stupid creatures had not moved.

  Jake always pulled the staples out of the bridge, sometimes with a chicken foot or claw attached. After removing most of the mess, he would run to the horse tank beneath the windmill in the farmyard and wash up.

  Once, his grandpa had stopped him at the front door of the farm house. "Jake, do you think the coyotes are killing my chickens?" His bright green eyes didn't blink.

  Jake knew Gramps had figured out what he'd been doing. The old fart died that summer. The driver of the truck that ran over him didn't see the elderly man on the bridge late one night until it was too late to stop.

  * * *

  Outside the motel room in Mexico, the rooster let out another nerve-jangling crow. Jake reached into his duffel bag for his clothes and brushed against the Canadian passport he'd lifted at the Juarez border yesterday. Tonight he could stay in a luxury hotel in Chihuahua.

  He'd read the headlines in the El Paso newspapers before he crossed into Mexico. An APB was out on him for the murder of his wife, Tiffany. He wasn't surprised. One reporter stated that FBI Special Agent Allison Lewis would be working on the case.

  Jake laughed. "I can block you out sweet thing. You won't find me, and if you do," he whispered, "your days are numbered."

  Chapter 19

  Near Red Willow, Nebraska

  A few miles from Red Willow—the dead zone, as Allie called it─ her cell phone came alive. She glanced at her watch and called her mom. "Hey. Need something from town?"

  "You here already? And no, don't need anything." Susan paused. "What time did you leave Denver?"

  "Right after you called to tell me you were safe. 2 am." Allie glanced out the passenger side window. As far as her eyes could see, there was an unbroken stretch of winter wheat. The wind moved the emerald-green, knee-high crop in a wave like motion. It dazzled her senses. She shook her head and focused on the road ahead.

  "Allie, you really didn't need to come."

  "Mom, I want to see for myself that you're okay. I talked to Beckett an hour ago. He said Gilbert's going to be locked up for a long, long time."

  "I hope so." Susan's voice cracked. She changed the subject. "Seven hours has to be a record. It's a wonder you didn't get stopped for speeding.”

  "Hey, I'm psychic." Allie laughed, "I sense radar." She began to slow down as she drove into the outskirts of Red Willow. Allie didn't want Beckett or one of his deputies pulling her over today. "See you in a bit."

  The dreary little town's business section had lost several buildings. It reminded Allie of a smile with missing teeth. She remembered the tall façade of Schuman's Clothing store, now an empty lot. The Sweet Shop appeared to be a flea market with signs taped in the windows. George's Antiques, Helen's Gifts and Nelda's Quilts. A few faded balloons tied to a utility pole in front of the store bounced in the wind.

  The barbershop's door was propped open and Allie saw two clients waiting in chairs, staring into the street. Twenty years ago, Red Willow bustled with activity with over two thousand people. Now a mere eight hundred old timers called it home. Livestock and grain prices continued to decrease while the cost of living soared, forcing the younger generation to move away in search of decent paying jobs and a better life.

  She pulled in beside three grungy pickup trucks parked in front of the Skillet, the only restaurant in town. A pink, paper poster announced tonight's special: Chicken Fried Steak and Chocolate Pecan Pie. She needed to use the restroom and decided to grab a cup of coffee to go. Caffeine would help keep her alert during the last miles to the ranch.

  Allie nodded at a lean woman, with a weathered face, whose arms were laden with perfectly balanced trays as she distributed six separate meals, dealing out the plates like cards. The occupants at the table, all men wearing ball caps with various farm equipment logos, were the only customers inside. Two of them smoked cigarettes. Spirals of smoke curled into the air mixing with the smell of pancakes and bacon.

  "Sit anywhere, honey," the frail waitress said, as she sucked on something—a cough drop or a piece of candy—holding it in her mouth like a bitter secret.

  Allie forced a smile and strolled towards the back. Red and white checkered plastic tablecloths covered a spattering of tables each adorned with dusty, artificial plants in empty mayonnaise jars. She felt as if she had entered a 1950 time warp. A smoky, grease film covered the walls and doors. No wonder her mom wouldn't eat in this place.

  After the pit stop, Allie placed the scorched coffee in a cup holder and drove out of town. A pack of dogs ran alongside her car, their tongues flapping in the wind.

  As she passed the city park, she shook her head in disbelief at the tumbleweeds and trash blown into the bushes. The small war memorial peaked out around thistles and debris. The town of Red Willow seemed sad. Wrong. Dying would be a better description.

  A burst of light caused Allie to pull off the side of the road. A vision of a blonde woman running in front of a car came into her mind. The name Tiffany shouted out to her. Allie reached into her briefcase, grabbed a notepad and pen. She wrote a brief description of the woman, the vehicle and the name Tiffany. A dust devil spun in the plowed field to her right and enveloped Allie's car for a second. She heard a low snarl. A black pit bull jumped onto her window, teeth gnashing against the glass. She shifted into drive and sped away on the road that lay straight as a razor cut, toward the ranch.

  Chapter 20

  1875-Near Ft. Wicked, Colorado Territory

  I gazed at the vast emptiness around us. A few golden aspen trees now decorated the banks of the South Platte River and the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Crisp autumn leaves made clicking sounds as they rustled in the wind. The immense white-shouldered mountains in the distance loomed over us as if we were a meager line of ants on a trail to nowhere. The peaks seemed to breathe down on us. I shuddered.

  "We headed to Denver?"

  Kate stared at me with eyes filled with despair. "Doesn't matter. It's always the same thing for us."

  "What do you mean?" For the first time I really looked at Kate. She'd pulled her curly-red hair back from her face and secured it with a strip of gray cloth, revealing h
er pale skin and full lips. She didn’t look like anybody I'd ever seen. Her striking beauty held a sense of mystery.

  "It’s just business wherever we go." She gazed at the ground. "Probably another tent city full of dirty men."

  Anna shook her head at Kate. "Mac has them bathe in the river before they touch us. And Lulu says that soon we'll be in a boomtown. We'll be real fancy girls there."

  Kate grabbed a handful of grass and pulled the blades apart. "Sometimes they're old and sometimes they're mean. We used to be in Oklahoma City before Mac got us run out with his gambling. Now it's tent cities."

  "I don't understand," I said.

  Anna sighed. "Men do what they want to us and Mac get's money. You know. They screw us and stuff."

  Even though I'd lived a sheltered life, I knew what these horrific words meant. My face felt hot from embarrassment and revulsion. "You should get away from Mac."

  "Can't," Kate said. "He owns us."

  "That's slavery. It's not legal."

  Kate raised an eyebrow at me. "Murder isn't either."

  A rush of images went through my mind─ my brothers, my mama and my grandma. I stopped walking.

  Anna grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. "I ain't got no place to go anyways." She stared at me with her bottle-green eyes. "You don't either, Pearl."

  Joey’s knife rubbed against my thigh where I'd tied it with a rag. It reminded me of the courage my two brothers had exhibited while I had hid like a coward. Someday soon, I thought, I'll find Jake and his partners. I'll deal with them for savagely killing my family.

  And if Mac tries to make me one of his fancy girls, I'll shove Joey's knife deep into his heart and watch him die. No one will ever own me.

  Chapter 21

  Lucero-Ciudad Juarez, Mexico

  The headlights of the car illuminated Tiffany's face. Her once angelic features now resembled a gruesome mask.

  Jake backed the white BMW away from the road embankment. After putting the vehicle into drive, he stomped the accelerator and aimed the pile of metal again. His wife dragged her right leg behind her as she tried to escape. The Mercedes hit the rag-doll figure and crunched it against the five-foot wall of sandstone. Jake heard Tiffany's final scream above the roar of the engine.

  A cloud of dust engulfed him as he opened the car door. Jake peered up and down the long curve of Torrey Pines Road. No vehicles were in sight. He stepped out of Tiffany's car and rubbed his bruised sternum with his gloved hands. The impact with the pile of dirt had slammed his chest against the steering wheel. He breathed slowly as an ocean wave crashed against the shore forty-feet behind him.

  Jake glanced around. This section of the scenic road had the Pacific on one side and a vast lagoon on the other. A thin mist was coming off the sea, not genuine fog yet, but a sort of damp breath that hung in the air. Townhouse lights flickered in the east a mile away. He heard the distant wail of the Amtrak train from the south.

  On Jake and Tiffany's third date, they'd screwed in the back seat of the same car that had just killed her. They were parked then, not far from where he stood.

  "Hey, Tiff," he laughed. "Is this what you meant about things going full circle?"

  He went back to the vehicle and stepped from one clump of grass to another as he moved to the front of the car. Jake didn't want to leave a shoe print in the sand, but he needed to make sure that Tiffany was dead. The smell of rotting kelp on the shoreline and the dead fish in the lagoon, mixed with the copper odor of blood sickened him. It made him feel dirty. He fought the urge to puke.

  A hazy crescent moon peeked through the fog bank. Jake crouched to get a better view. Tiffany's ass was shoved into the mound of dirt and her bare feet dangled under the car. She'd turned to face him immediately before the vehicle crashed into her. Her ghoulish face oozed onto the car hood. One of her slender arms seemed to reach toward him. A brief surge of regret ricocheted through his body.

  "Damn it, Tiffany. You asked for it. You wouldn't keep your freaking mouth shut."

  Jake spotted a faint set of headlights cresting the top of the hill. He turned, and jogged to his BMW parked twenty-feet away.

  As he drove north on Torrey Pines Road to Del Mar, he felt something cold touch the back of his neck. Jake slammed on the brakes and spun around. Tiffany stared at him with her hideous torn face. One mangled arm reached out to him. He screamed.

  Jake sat up on his bed gasping, wet with sweat, recognizing the nightmare. He had fallen asleep on his bed in the Mexico motel after the rooster had rudely awakened him at dawn.

  "Damn it, Tiffany. Is this your fricking revenge? Leave me the hell alone."

  He grabbed his clothes and stood. The phone conversation he had a few days ago with Karl, his partner, played in his mind. Detective Garrison couldn't prove he'd been near Tiffany when she died. Or could he?

  Jake again heard the asinine rooster crowing outside his room. He ambled over to the small window and pulled up the crackled tan shade. He glared at the strutting bird. "Get out of here," he yelled.

  He glanced around the tiny space. An old oak bureau with a cloudy mirror sat against the wall across from him. Cockroaches crawled on the shit-brown linoleum, and the pea-green painted walls depressed him.

  Tomorrow night Jake would travel farther down into Mexico, far away from this dump. He would get a couple of Chiquita’s to entertain himself. No way in hell, he thought, that San Diego's Detective Garrison, could find him now.

  Chapter 22

  1875-Ft. Wicked, Colorado Territory

  I daydreamed as I walked next to Lulu who drove the wagon. In my reverie, I ran up a grassy knoll and into our stately home in Oshkosh, where my parents and siblings awaited. In a tearful reunion, we hugged and laughed. I smiled to myself.

  A cloud of dust engulfed me now. The wagon had pulled to a stop. I covered my face with my hands and waited for the air to clear, wondering why no one had ever told me that sad things stay sad, and horrifying events change things forever.

  "Whoa, Silver. Whoa, Betsy." Lula wiped her eyes then tied the reins to the bench. She pointed to a group of buildings about a quarter-mile away. "Mac and Sonny rode to Fort Wicked to get water and supplies."

  I stared across the South Platte River at a group of bleak adobe buildings surrounded by a stone-post fence. A corral beside the barn held a dozen or so horses. A herd of black cattle grazed near the water's edge. A thin spiral of smoke rose from a chimney in the center of the largest structure.

  "Where's the fort?" I asked.

  "Not a real fort," Lulu answered as she climbed down from the wagon. "Settler named Godfrey, built that place. Indians couldn't burn him out as they did most. He, his wife and others fought and killed lots of 'um. Redskins named his place Wicked. Fort Wicked."

  My stomach tightened not from fear but fury. My family's killers could be there. Red's words echoed in my mind. "Let's hightail it to Wicked." A perfect name for the likes of them.

  "Why didn't we go too?"

  "You ask too many questions, Pearl." She lifted her skirts and squatted. Anna and Kate joined her in emptying their bladders beside the wagon. It embarrassed me to see such uncivilized behavior. I couldn't believe they didn't go behind a secluded bush or a tree. Steam lifted off the dusty trail from their rancid streams of urine. I turned my head and moved a few paces away.

  Lulu read my mind. "Pearl, you's attitude got to change. You's the same as us. Just squat and pee."

  My face felt hot. I crouched near a wagon wheel and relieved myself. The wind began to blow. Thunder roared in the distance and lightning prowled the western sky.

  Lulu talked louder. "Overland Stage Company's at Fort Wicked. People stop there for supplies. Mac didn't want any problems. Men get crazy when they see ladies."

  "But it's supposed to be a safe haven," I said.

  "No such thing out here." Lulu wiped herself with her petticoat and struggled up. She grunted as she climbed back onto the wagon bench. "In a few days we'll be at Empire, a tent city nort
h of Denver. A night or two of business, then Mac says we's going to Georgetown. A boomtown."

  Anna hopped up and down. "Then we can wear fancy clothes and jewels." She danced around and curtsied to each one of us.

  "Don't know Anna," Lulu said, with a slight grin on her face. "You's best save your energy. Got a long way to go today." She whipped the reins against the wagon to awaken the two weary horses. "Move it, Betsy. Silver, quit you're lagging."

  I stared back at Wicked, thinking I could cross the river and catch my family's murderers off guard. But I was smart enough to know that I was nothing but a city girl in the midst of barbarians and killers. Though I hated Mac and his sinister plans to make me a whore, I believed that the only way I'd get to Denver would be to stick with him and the others. If I could find Aunt Bea, I'd rest there. Later I'd find Jake and his buddies, then kill them.

  The thought of my aunt brought a vision of an empty cottage. I saw the front door ajar and the screen door hung by one hinge, screeching in the wind. I knew then that Aunt Bea was dead too.

  Chapter 23

  Near Red Willow, Nebraska

  Allie turned west at the five mile marker onto Scholl Road. Her mind still held the vision of the blonde woman running in front of a large dark car. She had heard the name Tiffany. And a smell? At first, Allie couldn't define the unusual odor but a bump in the gravel road seemed to tap it into her mind. Rotting fish and seaweed. That was it. Tiffany had been running for her life near an ocean. Allie made a mental note.

  When Allie reached the ranch's private road, she stopped her car, stepped out and gazed at the fifteen-foot tall, silver metal archway that straddled the entrance. Grandpa Lewis had built the structure years ago. The sun reflected off the center plate of polished steel displaying an enlarged replica of the Lazy L's livestock brand.