Cal leaned forward. "Let me ask you something. Do your parents figure into this?"
"My parents?" Nolan lifted his brows.
"The way you talk about your folks made me start to wonder. You could do all these things really well, but you were a bum because you didn't do the things they thought you should. A deal like that could screw up anyone—emotionally, that is."
Nolan was staring at him. "And you think I'm screwed up—emotionally?"
Cal looked away. "Maybe when it comes to loving someone, you are."
"Oh, it's maybe now," Nolan said acidly. "A minute ago it was a book you'd written. For all you know, Cal, I could've been in a homosexual panic these last ten years. Maybe I dumped all those women because it was really a man I wanted. Or maybe, just maybe, I honestly didn't love them and didn't want to waste any more of their time. Have you thought of that possibility? Have you considered that I may just possibly be a gentleman rather than a jerk? Half of those women found someone else a month after I left, and half of that number are married now. They didn't love me as much as they thought they did, now did they?"
When the boy didn't answer, Nolan stood up and wiped his hands on his own dirty white T-shirt. What he felt in the next few seconds he wouldn't be able to explain at that moment or any other. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, his scalp tingled. His gaze went to the house.
There. Something was happening. Something was going on in there.
His hand reached automatically for the pistol in his waistband. He swiftly turned to the startled Cal. "Find the girls and hide in the barn. Keep them there. Don't come out until I tell you to."
Before Cal could speak, Nolan raced away toward the house, still not questioning the impetus behind his actions. Once there he eased in the front door and heard nothing but the sound of his own sweat falling in drops to the floor. The air in the house was stifling. He paused, suddenly uncertain, and then he heard a sound from upstairs. A whimper.
He rushed the steps and came to a sandal-shrieking halt just outside Myra's bedroom door. There were choking sounds coming from inside now.
And a low grunt.
Nolan twisted the knob. Locked. He backed up, kicked the door open, and found himself looking at the large naked buttocks of Gil Schwarz. Myra lay spread-eagled on the bed, her face scarlet, her body stripped nude and bound with her clothes. The gag on her mouth was stained red with blood from her nose. Schwarz had one hand on himself in preparation to enter her when he whirled to meet Nolan. The big man's lips spread in a brilliant smile.
"Jinx asked me to check up on his mares while he was gone. I'm just about to see to this one. You can have her when I'm done."
Nolan's eyes misted with rage. His pistol hand began to tremble. The old hatred rushed through him, causing his entire body to quiver with fury.
"Human beings, Chief? I don't think so. They kill, maim, and rape without blinking a fucking eye! They don't care. There's nothing in them. They're empty inside! How can you call them human beings?"
"Back off, Wulf. When did the universe step down and ask you to take over, huh? Did I miss that in the morning news? Hand over the badge and get yourself some help. Seriously."
Only a small firing of synapses in the memory sector of his brain, the long hours with the police psychologist, kept him from emptying the clip into the man in front of him.
I got help, he thought as he ground his teeth together and waited for his vision to clear. I want to kill him for you, Myra. I do. I want to spray his brains all over the fucking wall. But I can't, because I did get help and because ex-cops ask for trouble when they blow unarmed people away. Especially ex-cops with records like mine.
He took a deep breath and willed his hand to stop shaking. He glanced at Myra then quickly forced his gaze away. Looking at her would screw him up all over again.
In a tight, controlled voice, he told Schwarz to back away from the bed.
Schwarz held on to himself. His silvery eyes narrowed. "What are you, a queerboy? You got somethin' against a normal man havin' his fun?"
Nolan thought: Fuck it. I'm not above a little maiming.
He squeezed the trigger and made a hole in Schwarz's meaty right arm. Blood spurted.
"That was fun for me, Schwarz. How about you?"
The big man stared, seemingly transfixed by the blood flowing down his arm. He dipped a finger and brought it to his lips. His white smile turned bloody. He dipped more and rubbed his mouth until his lips were bright red. Then he glared at Myra. "You don't ever tell me no. Not ever. I can have anyone I want without havin' to ask."
Nolan bared his teeth and aimed for the man's left kneecap. Schwarz crumpled and went to his good knee. He looked at Nolan in amazement. "What'd you do that for?"
"The choice is yours," Nolan replied, still in the same tight voice. "Either drag your ass away from her or find out what pissing in a bag is like."
Schwarz laughed and began to pull himself away. He pulled himself right into a white-faced Cal, who charged past Nolan to send a foot into those grinning red and white teeth. Schwarz's head snapped back into a maple dresser, teeth flew, and the big man slumped into unconsciousness. Cal howled with rage and kicked him twice more before turning to the bed and his mother. Nolan saw Myra's horrified expression and sternly ordered the boy downstairs to call the sheriff. Mouth still quivering, Cal hesitated only a moment before turning away.
Nolan covered Myra with the sheet and had untied her when Cal returned to inform him that the landline was dead. The three of them looked at each other. To her credit, Myra was not hysterical. Nolan gripped her hand and studied her face. A little dazed maybe, but not hysterical. "I'll take Schwarz into town and call from there," he told her. "Will you be all right?"
"She didn't help me," Myra said in a hoarse, cracking voice. "I thought she would help me."
Nolan and Cal exchanged a look.
Myra saw it. Her voice hardened. "I'll be okay. Just get him out of here."
"All right," Nolan said. "Cal, go down to the barn and get me some baling wire. I'm not taking any chances with this crazy bastard." He frowned then. "Where are the girls?"
"Still hiding," Cal said. "I'll tell them it's okay to come out now. Mom, are you really all right?"
Myra nodded. "Go, Cal."
When he was gone, Nolan squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, Myra. I didn't see him. He must've left his truck on the road and come up to the place on foot."
"I woke up and. . ." Her voice faltered and she paused to regain control. "He was licking my skin and talking about how I was going to taste…” She squeezed her eyes shut. "We have to talk, Nolan. Cal and I are going to leave here. I can't stay another day, not for anything. But we have to talk first. There are some things you need to tell Vic. He's—"
Nolan took her by the chin and forced her to look at him. "Tell me when I come back, okay? I'll be here as quick as I can. Don't run off on me, Myra. I mean it."
Myra gripped his fingers and took a deep breath. "Be careful. I…don't want anything to happen to you."
He smiled. "That makes two of us."
In less than half an hour he was driving toward town with the top up. Schwarz filled up the backseat. He squirmed and wriggled and grunted under his gag, making Nolan glad he had wrapped a tarpaulin around the man to catch the blood. He thought of covering Schwarz's face, but he didn't enjoy the thought of the man suffocating to death in the backseat of his Buick.
The moment he was close to Schwarz he had smelled booze beneath the blood. It explained a lot of the asshole's behavior. Not all, but a lot.
He passed up Jinx's empty diner and drove on to the gas station. He left his pistol in the front seat and got out of the car to approach the glass front of the station.
He nearly pulled his arm out of its socket with his first grab at the front door.
Now who the hell would close a gas station in the middle of a Friday afternoon?
Tom Hamm probably, since the sign on the window named him owner.
Nolan cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the glass. There was the phone, on the far wall beside the entrance to the garage. He turned away then he whirled back. In that garage was a car obscured by a tarpaulin much like the one claiming most of Gil Schwarz at the moment. It was a small car, everything covered but the front bumper and a tag that read CARIMAC.
Nolan frowned in confusion. His skin felt suddenly clammy. He knew that tag. He had picked it up for her.
He turned away from the glass again and saw a face watching him from a window across the street. The barber shop. The former lawman, Ed something. Ed was sure to have a phone. Nolan started over. He needed to make three calls: the sheriff, to take care of Gil Schwarz; Al Dunwoodie, to keep watch on Myra and the kids while he was gone and Carrie MacArthur, his ex-roommate, just to be sure he wasn't losing his mind.
CHAPTER 30
Vic sat behind the wheel of the Cadillac and stared at the white handkerchief protruding from the gas station attendant's hip pocket. His mind was racing. He had opened the trunk, nearly pissed his pants, and slammed the lid. He knew that unconscious woman. He had watched Nolan dump that woman back in Kansas City, about a hundred years ago. Now she was bound, gagged, and in the trunk of Jinx Lahr's car.
Vic didn't know what to do. He had stayed too long in the café. Jinx was probably awake now and wondering where the hell he was. And Vic knew why. He had the car with the girl in the trunk, the girl Jinx had gotten up three times in the night to what? Sedate her? Get rid of her? She wasn't dead, Vic knew that. Her blindfold had slipped off and he had seen her lids flutter in the tenth of second it had taken him to recognize her face and the gravity of his situation.
"Air hose is free now," the gas station attendant said. "You can pull on over there. You're right, that back left tire is looking awful low."
Wanna know why? Vic had the hysterical urge to say. Not only are there two five-gallon lard pails back there, but there's a very bruised, unconscious redhead wearing nothing but a lacy bra, a pair of yellow nylon panties, and the latest in designer bind-and-gag apparel.
He started the engine and pulled over to the air hose. He was afraid to open the glove compartment and look for a tire gauge. No telling what might be in there.
He said, "Okay, now," to himself more than a dozen times while he put air in the tire. It was supposed to prompt him, lead him into an idea of what the fuck he was supposed to do about this. But he couldn't think. Why the hell couldn't he think?
His brain felt like…white noise. Like nothing. Like the commercial on TV where the hip, unseen guy drops the egg into the frying pan and waits till the fat sizzles and the white stuff looks yucky before saying something like, "This is your brain on drugs."
Only this was different, because Vic wasn't on any...
Oh yeah. Wait a minute. Yeah, you are, son. You definitely are… remember those little white pills in your pocket. Doc's custom-made dope.
Sonofabitch. Now this was something to think about. How could he have been so dense? First barbiturates and then amphetamines. The calmness, the relaxation, the paranoia, the unreasonable anger—it all added up to the big DD: Drug Dependency. Ex-Vice himself, sucked into the dope trap as easily as a peer-pressured little middle-schooler.
"You stupid sonofabitch," he said to himself. And it wasn't drug-induced paranoia—well, maybe a little, he admitted to himself—that told him he was on to something here. If only he could think what it might be? It was bad, whatever it was.
He had to help Carrie. He knew that. But what about Jinx? If he abandoned him, Jinx could make a phone call back to Denke and maybe—No, don't think about that. Nolan would protect the girls with his life if he had to. Wulf was like that.
"Oh, shit," Vic groaned. He slung the air hose aside and crawled back behind the wheel. How could he ever look Nolan in the eye again?
"Wanna move it, buddy?" someone shouted from a car behind him.
Vic started the engine and drove out of the gas station. The motel was just down the block, but he wasn't ready to go back there. Maybe he should ask somebody where the police station was located. Or…wait! An anonymous phone call. Tell the local boys in blue where they could find a skinny old fart with a suitcase full of cocaine. Get Jinx arrested and drive like hell back to Denke. Maybe the rest of the boys in town were okay. Maybe it was just Jinx.
Help Carrie. Yeah. He needed to get her out of there as soon as possible. But she'd want to go to the cops right away. And she'd want to know what the hell Vic was doing with the guy who had kidnapped her, which brought to mind the questions of just why, where, and how the hell she had been kidnapped in the first place. But very good questions that they were, Vic couldn't think about them right now. He had to think about what he was going to do with her. She probably wouldn't be out that much longer, since Jinx had been unable to visit her last night. Or maybe he had and Vic had missed it. Jinx was one sly old dog.
He passed the motel and decided to drive around the block to give himself more time to think.
Yeah, Jinx was sly all right. Hey, boys, let's make old Vic our buddy, fuck him up on drugs, and then get him to sell our cocaine for us. Whaddaya say? Sound like a good deal? He was a cop, right? It'll work.
For sure, he had fallen right in the family pool and added his piss to everyone else's. Yeah, they were all involved. It wasn't just Jinx. What he needed to do now was find out how Carrie fit in. He needed to…okay, now it's coming. Right. He needed to stop somewhere and call Jinx, tell him some story about meeting someone in the café with an Albuquerque connection that could save them a hell of a lot of time. He had to chat it up with this guy and get in good, so he would be gone another hour or so. Then he would find some secluded place to pull over and talk to Carrie.
Okay. We've got a plan, son. Let's roll with it.
He stopped at a convenience store, bought aspirins then used a phone book to find the motel number. Jinx's voice sounded like a rifle report when he answered. Vic forced himself to sound calm as he went into his story. He wanted to fly off at the sonofabitch right then and there, but he didn't dare. Jinx's anger was sharp and icy. He was buying the story, but he was still pissed about waking up and finding himself alone with no keys and no car.
"Lay off, gramps," Vic snapped finally, no longer able to help himself. "You wanted me to do this and I'm doing it. Tuck in your hemorrhoids and watch yourself some TV. If this works out we can go home early."
He hung up then, right in the middle of Jinx calling him something that started with a long, sibilant s. When he got back in the car he heard a serious bumping sound in the back. Either she was awake, or the lard in those pails had come to sudden greasy life.
Vic put the car in drive and headed out. He kept his eyes open, looking for a park, a deserted garage or anywhere he could stop for a while. He settled for a burned out warehouse on the edge of town. He drove the car completely inside and turned off the engine. His legs trembled slightly as he got out of the car. His hand shook as he tried to fit the key into the trunk lock. The lid creaked as it rose.
Carrie blinked in the dim light. Her head turned slightly then she saw him. Her eyes grew moist at first as she recognized him then the skin of her face paled in sudden alarm. Vic swallowed and reached for her. "Carrie, I'm here to help you, not hurt you."
He debated whether to leave her gagged until he finished with what he wanted to say—he had seen her go off on Nolan— but his fingers were already moving to pull the tape from her mouth.
She sobbed once and it was a terrible, agonized sound that made the flesh on Vic's arms prickle.
He worked on the knots at her hands and feet and then stumbled and nearly fell into the trunk with her when she clamped a hand around his wrist and pulled. After righting himself, he put his arms beneath her and lifted her out to carry her to the front seat. Her crying came from deep in her middle, a shuddering, heartbreaking sound that reminded Vic of the way Christa cried when Connie's coffin was lowered into the…
"
Carrie," he said. "Carrie, it's okay. You're safe now. You're going to be fine."
She didn't look at him. Her face stayed in the crook of his neck. Vic checked her for broken bones then he felt the blood drain from his face. The insides of her thighs were mottled with purple bruises in the shapes of finger imprints. The crotch of her yellow underwear was brownish red with dried blood.
Rape? The old man had raped her?
"Carrie…I…” His voice cracked and his eyes filled as he tightened his hold on her. What kind of monsters had he been associating with? What kind of sickness had he contributed to? He felt nauseated. He felt suicidal. He should have listened to Myra. And to Nolan. He should have known everything was too good to be true.
He slowly forced Carrie to look at him. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut. Behind them there was nobody home. Either she wasn't coming out, or she was somewhere Vic couldn't reach her. It made him sad, thinking of the last time he had seen her. Green eyes shooting sparks, face proud, shoulders straight. A real livewire, Nolan used to say. Headstrong, stubborn, and used to getting what she wanted. Vic had a feeling that woman was gone forever.
Thanks to him.
She must have been on her way to see Nolan when Jinx got her. Maybe her car was in Al Dunwoodie's salvage yard at this very moment—just like the Buick Nolan tried to tell him about. Maybe she stopped for directions out to his dad's place and Jinx had taken a liking to her red hair and powdered skin.
She still smelled a little like baby powder. There was a hint of sweetness under the stale scent of sweat and the thick odor of lard.
When her sobs gave way to a deep, even breathing, Vic placed her in the seat beside him. She didn't stir when he put his short-sleeved shirt around her. He knew he should take her to a doctor and the police, but he also knew what would happen if she came around enough to point a finger. Jinx would call her a liar. He would swear he didn't know how she had gotten into his trunk, and the police would eventually believe him because he was a smooth-talking, harmless-looking old sly-dog sonofabitch. In less than an hour he would have them convinced he was just a sweet old man who had been framed by someone—probably Vic.
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