Borderland

by S. K. Epperson

  If people like Ed Kisner wanted to cave in and let a bunch of overpaid congressmen decide how their lives were going to be lived, then let them do it. They would all end up living in poverty. But not Jinx. He saw himself as a modern-day Robin Hood, taking from the rich to give to the poor. Right down to grinding up the wealthy bones and healthy flesh of the rich and adding it to a favorite fertilizer recipe.

  Nobody ate the flesh any more. Not openly, anyway. There were times in the past when victims from the hunt had been eaten to ward off starvation, but not since Wilbur and Adelaide Denke perished of kuru had human flesh been eaten with any regularity. Others in town died after Wilbur and Adelaide, naturally, since kuru's incubation period spanned a number of years. People in New Guinea were still being diagnosed as having the fatal disease thirty years after the last report of cannibalism. And since the virus was transmitted by eating flesh, Jinx supposed he himself could someday fall prey to the disease. But he didn't think he would. And if he did, then he had the satisfaction of knowing that many more besides the overtly cannibalistic Gil Schwarz would join him.

  Jinx was adding flesh to their fertilizer, after all, and the people who ate Denke crops were ultimately getting more than just rich wheat, soybean, and corn. They were getting rich pricks that drove Maserati cars. Rich whores with scented panties and diamond studs in their ears. Rich, greedy people who threw their money away on fancy automobiles, expensive jewelry, electronics and tons of weed and white powder that convinced them they felt as rich, smart, and powerful as they looked.

  There was poetic justice in the Denke way, Jinx always felt. And it was nature's way, too. Lions, bears, fish, insects—over a thousand species were known to practice cannibalism routinely. Those that did grew larger and developed more quickly.

  He didn't know what the hell had happened in the giant Gil Schwarz's case. Everything grew but his brain.

  The local story said that Wilbur Denke himself had been a big man, and was nearly seventy years old when he succumbed to kuru. He couldn't have known what the hell kuru was, but Wilbur had somehow realized that his disease was related to his diet, for upon his deathbed he had declared that all flesh-eating should cease unless it was vital to survival. Supposedly the Denke line had originated in Poland and later migrated to Germany. It was there, after a particularly bitter winter, that Wilbur first tasted flesh. Then he married Adelaide and came to the United States, where they found the winters just as bitter, food and money just as scarce. He soon resumed the old ways: preying on the unwary as a means to survive. But surviving in such a manner soon became a way of life. And then an occupation, the Denke way of doing things.

  Jinx had done much research on the Denke name, and to his delight he had found notation of a Carl Denke from Ziebice, Poland, who had practiced cannibalism from 1918 to 1924 in almost the exact method Wilbur himself had used. Carl Denke ran a rooming house and ate nearly thirty people before he was caught. Carl did lack the finesse of old Wilbur— Carl liked to pickle chopped up parts in large vats of brine. And his exit from this world was less than noble: he hanged himself with his suspenders while in jail. But Jinx was sure he had found a relative and proof that the Denke way of doing things was as old as the Denke name. As it turned out, he could prove no relation to Carl Denke, but he remained sure of his initial impression. Carl was family.

  More than once Jinx considered having his own name legally changed to Denke, but his mother and Jack Stade had been against it. Jack Stade, Doc's father, helped raise Jinx after his father's death. Jinx never liked the man, but he respected him. That's what one did: one respected one's elders. One listened and took heed.

  Too damned bad they didn't teach that anymore. It was all he could do Sunday to keep from backhanding that smart-mouthed little Christa in the Lincoln's backseat. Vic would have to do something about her. God knew how Jinx would like to teach her a few lessons, but the opportunity had yet to arise. Wait till she started school and he showed up at the bus stop to give her a ride home some day. He'd give her something to mouth off about then.

  He chuckled and forced himself to concentrate on the tasks at hand. The clothes in the bag, the fertilizer plant, and a quick dash home to visit the unconscious Carrie. Her flesh wasn't young and pink, her limbs weren't small and delicate the way he liked, but she had all the necessary parts for the job. Maybe he'd sprinkle some powder or something on her to give her that sweet little girl smell. Then he had to pack and make some hasty arrangements with a few of the boys. It was going to be a long trip tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 25

  Vic checked his supply of pills for the third time and hesitated only a second before slipping one into his mouth. He had taken one an hour ago but it wasn't working. His fingers shook so badly he could hardly fasten the latches on his suitcase. He was having second thoughts about this cocaine business. He was thinking it was stupid to risk everything he had gained for some stupid goddamned seed money. But… it wasn't only seed money, was it? No. It was much more. It was the money promised for the hay in his barn. The money to pay his weekly salary. The money to replace a milk cow. Town money.

  Dirty money.

  But hey, fuck it. Right? All money was dirty when it came right down to it. And the higher the amount, the dirtier it got.

  So stop being such a goddamned coward, he told himself.

  You've done this before, remember. Only this time you're helping someone besides yourself. You're helping an entire town. If that's wrong, then the system is fucked. It's already fucked. When they take a good cop, a decent family man down on his luck, and toss his ass into the street for trying to stay alive, then something is wrong.

  Convinced, Vic hefted up his suitcase. He was met at the bedroom door by a very pissed Nolan. Nolan glanced at the suitcase and swore under his breath.

  "Why am I the last one to hear about this, Vic? Where the hell are you going?"

  Vic put down his suitcase. "New Mexico. I'll be back late Sunday night. I thought Myra would tell you."

  "She did tell me," Nolan said. "About five minutes ago. What's going on?"

  "Nothing. I'm just taking a little trip with Jinx. Four days, Wulf. Nothing to get excited about."

  Nolan's mouth tightened. "Well, fuck me for being mildly curious. You beg me to stay and then you ride off on a strange horse. What's in New Mexico? What are you planning to do down there?"

  "Town business," said Vic. "Jinx Lahr asked me along and I'm going, all right?"

  "No, it's not all right. I'm not a goddamned babysitter, you know."

  "I never said you were. Myra will be watching the girls." Vic took a deep breath then. "Feel free to leave any time you like. I was pretty screwed up when I asked you to stay. I'm all right now."

  Nolan was staring at him. "I'm not so sure about that."

  "Hey, fuck you," Vic said, suddenly angry. Nolan had no right to look at him like that. Like he was a patient about to escape a mental ward. "You wanna go, then go."

  "Sure," Nolan said. "And leave Myra here alone with the kids. What happens if Grandma's boys show up while you're gone?"

  "They won't."

  "How do you know?"

  Vic picked up his suitcase. "Because I haven't seen the slimy bastards for days now. You haven't either."

  "That's true," Nolan said. "But I've seen their car. It's in Al's yard, beat to metal hell. And there's blood on the floorboard."

  Vic paused. "You saw it?"

  "Yeah. But that's not the best part. Our huge horny friend, Gil Schwarz, was the man who delivered it to Al."

  "Schwarz?" Vic frowned. "Al knows him?"

  "Nope. He described the man to me. It was Schwarz."

  Vic relaxed. "You don't know that. Not for certain. Why haven't you said anything before now?"

  "I wanted to test a theory of Al's," Nolan explained. "He thought it might be a trick to get us to lay back. Now I'm not sure. It doesn't—"

  "Look," Vic interrupted. "We'll talk about this when I come back if you're still here. I
f you're not, fine." He turned his back on the other man. "I need to go. I'm running late."

  “Got your phone with you?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  "Because I'm going to take a picture of Gil Schwarz for Al to identify. Maybe then you'll realize I'm not just whistling out my ass here. Something is rotten in Denke, pal. I don't know what it is yet, but I'll figure it out. When I do, just make sure your shit isn't adding to the stink."

  Vic's pulse quickened. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Who asked you to get involved?"

  "My conscience," Nolan said. He moved aside to let Vic past. "Have a good trip…buddy."

  "I will." Vic started down the hall then he paused and turned around. "You just love a good crusade, don't you, Nolan? If you can't find one, you make one up. It must be a bitch being a lifeguard without a beach. But at least it keeps your mind off your own shitty existence. Right?"

  Nolan merely looked at him, his face expressionless. Vic shook his head and continued down the hall. The nosy bastard. The dumb shit never learned. Always sticking his nose where it didn't belong. Always casting doubts on everything. Couldn't he see how good Vic had it here?

  Yeah. Okay. That was it. He did see, and he was jealous. Jealous because Vic was in law enforcement again and making other friends. Good friends. Friends who cared about something besides Coors, cooze, and cars. Nolan couldn't stand it that Vic was getting on his feet again without the wonderful Mr. Wulf's brand of Good Samaritan succor. He had always been jealous, jealous of Vic's good marriage, his rapid promotions on the force and . . .

  That car. How the hell had it wound up in Al's yard? And if Gil Schwarz had in fact delivered it, what the hell was he doing with it?

  Maybe he shouldn't have told Jinx about the men after Cal. He thought Jinx had a right to know, since the car was causing so much gossip and speculation in town. But had Jinx told anyone else? Say, Gil Schwarz, who was known to be something of a hothead? He would have to ask.

  And he would have to hurry if he wanted to make it into town by nine. Jinx frowned on tardiness.

  He said a rushed goodbye to Myra, Cal, and the girls and ran out to the Lincoln. He would leave it in town until his return. He didn't want Nolan giving Cal any driving lessons in his car. And Nolan would, Vic thought. He'd do something like that just to piss me off.

  When he reached town he saw Jinx's blue Fleetwood Cadillac parked in front of the diner. He parked beside it and hefted his suitcase out of the backseat. He left the case on the ground beside the Caddy and rushed inside the diner. Tom Hamm stood at the counter. Jinx was locking up the door to the back room. Vic greeted both men and glanced at his watch. He was four minutes late.

  "Change of plans," Jinx said abruptly. "Tom's wife decided she could tear herself away from the television long enough to visit her son, so she's goin' along with him in his car. You and me are goin' in my car, Vic. And since we can't explain our business to Mrs. Hamm we'll be goin' to Albuquerque instead of Santa Fe. It's a big city and it'll serve our purpose just fine…if you know what I mean. You ready?"

  Vic nodded. "I'm ready."

  "Good," Jinx said. He walked over to pat Tom Hamm on the arm. "You have a good trip now and don't worry about us. We'll do just fine without you."

  Tom smiled. "I know you will."

  "Let's go, Vic." Jinx ushered them out and locked the front door of the diner. "Can't be too careful with Ed Kisner on the watch," he said with a chuckle.

  Vic walked to the trunk of the Caddy and picked up his suitcase. Jinx came and took it from him. His thin arms strained as he opened the back door of the Caddy and shoved it into the backseat beside his own suitcase. "Regular grease pit in the trunk, Vic. Wouldn't put my worst pair of mud waders back there."

  "Where's the coke?" Vic asked.

  "Huh?"

  "The cocaine, Jinx. Where is it?"

  "Oh." The old man grinned. "It's in my bag back there. Don't you worry, Vic. I may be old, but I ain't senile. Not by a long shot. I wouldn't run off and forget the reason for this little excursion."

  "Glad to hear it," Vic said.

  Jinx got behind the wheel and unlocked the passenger door. When Vic had settled himself in and fastened his belt, he found the old man looking at him.

  "Somethin' botherin' you, Vic? You're lookin' awful troubled."

  "A few things," Vic said. He was actually thinking of Nolan, but the mere mention of his name would send Jinx into a tirade against the "freeloader." Out of pride, Vic had neglected to tell Jinx that it was actually the other way around. Now it didn't seem important. The old man's opinion of Nolan counted for shit as far as Vic was concerned. Nolan would be gone soon.

  "What things?" Jinx inquired.

  "Just minor," Vic said. "Starting with the fact that what we're setting out to do is dangerous and illegal. I wouldn't mind having a gun along. I'm still not used to being without one."

  "A coward needs a gun," Jinx said. "Are you a coward Vic Kimmler?"

  Vic's lip instinctively curled. "Coming from a man who's never lived in a big city, I'd say that's a pretty ignorant statement. The cities are full of cowards, Jinx, and the man who goes unarmed against them is something worse than a coward—he's dead."

  "Spoken like a true cop," Jinx said, grinning again. He started the engine and put the car in gear. "Better get out. If you ain't found your balls by now, you ain't goin' to. I said I'd do it myself and I meant it."

  "Just drive the fucking car," Vic said, angry again.

  Jinx's eyes narrowed. "Maybe you'd better calm down a bit first."

  Vic settled back, his teeth still clenched. The anger came all too quickly lately. And when he wasn't angry, he was nervous and tense. High-strung, his dead mother would say. High, low, or gut level, the sonofabitching wire was taut to the point of snapping. If Jinx would kindly stop tightening the struts, they could go and get this bullshit over with. He would be able to sleep comfortably again once the coke business had been settled. The last few nights had been hell, even with his pills.

  "Drive," he repeated.

  Jinx took his foot off the brake and coasted back in reverse. When a horn blared, he swerved to the right. Vic heard a loud bumping sound from the direction of the trunk. He looked back and saw Gil Schwarz shaking a fat finger at Jinx's guilty grin. Schwarz sat in his pickup, a good three yards away from the Caddy. They hadn't been hit.

  "What bumped?" Vic asked Jinx.

  "Huh?"

  "I heard a bump in the back right after you swerved."

  "Oh. Must be those five-gallon pails I got back there," Jinx told him. "That lard I was tellin' you about. We're okay. Gil didn't cream us this time."

  That reminded Vic. He told Jinx about the car that had turned up in Al Dunwoodie's salvage yard. Jinx's entire face creased with his frown as he drove.

  "You say your friend knows this fella pretty good?"

  "Nolan likes him," Vic answered. "Al's been to the house for dinner."

  "Awful big of you, ain't it?" Jinx said. "Feedin' all Wulf's friends when you ain't got a pot to piss in."

  Vic ignored that. "Don't try to change the subject. Did you tell anyone else what I told you? About the trouble Myra and Cal have been having with the in-laws?"

  "You mean did I tell Gil Schwarz," Jinx said.

  "Yes," Vic said. "That's what I mean."

  Jinx's mouth became pinched. "Appears to me it don't matter either way. If them men was causin' as much trouble as you claimed then you oughta be glad they had themselves a car accident and had to leave."

  Vic stared at the old man. "Is that what happened? Did they leave?"

  "I ain't seen 'em," Jinx said, already smiling again. "Have you? If Gil took it into his head to hurry 'em along, I'm sure he thought he was doin' Myra and the boy a big favor. Just protectin' Denke's own, Vic. You wanna take it up with him, that's fine by me. You're the law now, and you gotta do what you think is best."

  Vic was still staring. "Did you see him do anything to them?"

>   Jinx laughed. "Me? I ain't seen a thing. And I'm doin' a lot of supposin' here, Vic. I don't know nothin' for sure. I'm just sayin' that Gil gets some strange ideas on occasion. Most of 'em are harmless, but when he takes somethin' into his head he's like a blind dog with a big meaty bone—he won't give it up till he sees the light."

  Vic guessed that to mean never. And he also guessed that Gil Schwarz's loyalty was somewhat doglike. He was sweet on Myra, wasn't he? Maybe the big, grabby fool had thought to win his way into her graces by taking care of her most pressing problem. But how? Had he caused the wreck himself? And how had the men left—on foot? How badly had they been injured?

  He rubbed his face with his hands and looked away from the older man. Maybe Nolan was right. Maybe there was something rotten here in Denke. But did he want to uncover it?

  Fuck it. No sense worrying about it. Couldn't have happened to a nicer pair of guys. Like Jinx said, he should be glad the problem was solved. Right now he had other things to think about. Like the going price for a gram in Albuquerque.

  In the back of the car there was another bumping sound. Vic closed his eyes and ignored it. Who but the owner of a greasy diner would carry five-gallon pails of lard in the trunk? He laid his head back against the seat and wished for a glass of water. He wanted to take another pill.

  CHAPTER 26

  Ed Kisner knew the score. He was not a stupid man. Slowly but surely, under Jinx Lahr's direction, he knew he was being marked an outcast. Certain members of the council had been less than warm to him lately, and other people in town were lately watching him, their eyes curious but wary. Jinx was up to his old tricks, Ed knew. The schoolyard bully had reached his second childhood and was meaner than ever.