“But, let’s not get off track.” She lifted his face and smothered him with warm wet kisses. “Tell me what you’re holding back. No matter what it is, no matter how awful, my feelings will not change.”
Reluctantly, he began. “Do you remember the day after Cynthia Thomas was killed when I was sick?”
“Of course, I do. It was just the booze. You’ve been hung over plenty of times.”
“There’s something else. When you came back to the bar to pick me up, my shirt was missing, right?”
“Right, I just figured you had puked on yourself, and thrown your shirt in the dumpster. I didn’t even bother to look for it.”
“I found it that afternoon.” He tested each word as though it was the most important declaration of his life. “It was in my saddlebag.”
“So?” Star answered insouciantly. “Your shirt was fucked up, and you stuffed it in your saddlebag. Doesn’t seem like a big deal to me.”
“No, sweetie, you don’t understand. My shirt wasn’t only covered with vomit. There was vomit and blood, someone else’s blood. I didn’t have a scratch on me. I think it was soaked with Cynthia Thomas’s blood. The evidence points to me. I have done some research on people with multiple personalities. As I understand the illness, it is possible for the individual personas to do things without the others knowing. Like more than one person sharing one body. If I have that mental illness, this really could be my doing. Without knowing, I’ve raped and killed at least two women.” He sobbed. “Don’t you understand? I’m a monster!”
She jerked backward and pressed against the wall. “Deacon, Jesus, this is worse than I thought.” She stared intensely into his eyes with a look of incredulity. “Do you really think it’s possible? I’ve heard of multiple personality disorder, although I assumed that the other personas, as you called them, would be aware of everything. Do you really think this could be you?”
“You see. I knew it,” he wept profusely. “Even you are repulsed by me. There is no such thing as absolute, unconditional love. This is more than even you can take. There’s no place for me on this earth. I’m sick, an aberration.”
“Wait a second, wait just one second. I’m shocked for sure, but it doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Nothing’s changed between us. Everything I said is still true. I’m not going to leave you, no matter what. We’re in this together to the end.
“Honestly, I am stunned by so much information that implicates you. Still, let’s not forget about the possibility of someone else, like Doc, framing you. He certainly has the motive.”
“I just don’t believe he would do anything to harm me. He’s like a brother to me. Actually, he’s more than a brother. Brothers are thrown together by accidents of birth. Doc chose me. He chose to be my friend.” With the words, flashed a memory of the Reverend and something he had often said. Boy, if a man has to tell you that he’s honest, don’t trust him. In that moment, Deacon doubted his ability to trust anyone, even himself. He looked into the enchanting, blue eyes of the love of his life and wondered if he could even trust her.
“Wake up and smell the reality, Deacon. We’ve established motive; Doc stands to get your half of the business. That could be worth real money. He always knows where you are, and what you’re doing. He has a key to your house. He could have easily slipped into the garage and put the bloody shirt in your saddlebag.”
“All right, let’s say you’re right—just for the purpose of discussion. How could he have gotten my shirt in the first place?” Deacon proffered. If I knew I was guilty, this would be easier.
She answered without thinking. “That’s easy. You were unconscious outside the bar. I went home to get my car. There was plenty of time for someone, let’s just say it was Doc, to take your shirt, drive to Soulard, commit the murder, get blood on your shirt, and return to the bar before me.
“Or, let’s say he didn’t have time to do all that and get back to the bar. He just switched to plan B. He simply slipped into the house sometime early Sunday morning, and put the shirt in your saddlebag. Either way, the result is the same. He makes you think you’re the murderer. You end up in prison or an institution for the criminally insane. Or, even better for him, you commit suicide and viola, the business is all his.”
Star continued adamantly. “If you prefer, you can just go on thinking that you have a split personality, and Mr. Darkside is the killer. Either way, doll, you’re right. Your life is over. Are you ready to give up?” Her screams ripped through the thin walls. “Are you so fucking weak that you’re goin’ to roll over and let someone else win?”
“Does it really matter? Either way, the life I was living is lost.” He rapidly sank into an extreme depression. “If I’m not who I thought, and if my friends aren’t my friends, what do I have? Without a future, friends, or family, what is there?”
“Deacon, your friends and family have betrayed you, fucked you. You only have me. We’re in this together, and we can’t stop now. We have one more murder to sort out; then we’ll put an end to this.”
“Is it necessary to continually rehash the details? It’s like the difference between reading the obituaries and actually going to the funeral. Being there makes it real, too real. These murders are cold stiff corpses to me.”
“Deacon, I love you, but you’re pushing your luck. I’m sick of listening to you whine. Your problems are overwhelming. I repeat, YOUR problems. Yet, here I am, still tryin’ to do the right thing, still tryin’ to help. So, cool it. Bite your lip or hit your head on the wall. Do whatever the fuck it takes. I don’t give a shit. Pull yourself together, or you won’t have to worry about me because I won’t fuckin’ be here.”
“You’re right. I’ve got to get myself together. Hang in here with me a little longer. One way or the other, I’ll find a solution. We’ll solve this mystery, and I’ll settle it once and for all.”
Star moved on as though nothing had happened. “Better, much better. Number three, what do we know?”
Deacon opened his red notebook to the final inscribed pages. Details of the final incident were sketchy compared to the previous two. “Her name was Tina.” He began as he remembered his first luxurious night on the floor with his Tina. “She was a dancer at PT’s. They found her naked in the back seat of her own car.”
“Where and what is PT’s?” Star asked innocently.
“It’s a strip club on the East Side in Illinois.”
“You ever go there?”
“Yeah, a few times.”
“What’s the attraction to those places? Do you go there to get laid or just to get your rocks off?” She asked angrily. “Have you been with any of those women, those whores?”
“Sweetie, it’s not like that,” he said defensively, “least not in the places I’ve been.”
“You’ve been to more than one? I can’t fuckin’ believe it. You’ve conveniently never mentioned this before. Fuck, you think you know someone.”
“Star, you’re blowing this completely out of proportion. It’s just my friends and me. You know, just a bunch of guys hangin’ out. We go there to look, have a few laughs, and drink a few beers. No one ever leaves with a girl. It’s against the rules. It’s a fantasy; no one gets hurt. You can’t even touch the girls. The guys go home to their wives or girlfriends excited, anxious to please them. There are no victims.”
She shook her head disapprovingly. “Tell that to the family of the woman who was shaved and beaten to death in the back of her car.” She said sharply.
“How’d you know she was shaved?” He asked surprised.
“I dunno. I think you told me yesterday.”
“Did I—Don’t remember, seems I don’t have much of a memory these days.” Deacon stared at the lines of ink, bewildered.
“What else do you know?” Star asked.
“J72829 was printed on her head in red lipstick.”
“Which means—what?”
“I think it’s a reference to Jeremiah Chapter seven, verses twenty-eight and
twenty-nine. Scripture I was forced to memorize as a child. It’s a reference about people who don’t obey the Word of the Lord. It orders them to cut off their hair, and cast it away.”
Star added the abbreviated notations to the outline. “Was it?” She asked.
“Was it what?”
The vic, the stripper, was her hair cast away?”
Well, yeah, I guess. As far as I know, it was missing.”
“Was she raped?”
“Yes,” he answered dismayed.
“Doll, why does that upset you?”
“You know the answer.”
She persisted. “I want to hear it again in context.”
“It bothers me, ’cause it’s all stuff I know. It’s like somethin’ I’ve lived, and tried to forget. It all points to me. The night it happened, I was alone. PT’s is an easy hour’s ride from where I slept, or didn’t sleep. It frightens me because I might have been there, because I could’ve done it. You know the worst thing. It’s the wondering, the waiting to find out what’s real. My heart is trying to beat me to death. I fear I’ll die of internal bruising or a brain hemorrhage before I find the truth.
“This is how my father used to punish me. It’s why I can’t bear to wait for bad news. Waiting was worst of all, waiting and wondering. I was afraid, but no one cared,” Deacon sighed. “I was all alone. I imagined my mother rocking and knitting; totally oblivious as I died a slow, agonizing death.”
“I understand better now.” Star edged away. “It’s really scary. For the first time, I have a feel for what you’re goin’ through. It really is possible that you’re the one. Doc has motive, your father has knowledge, but you; I can’t believe I’m saying this, you have: motive, knowledge, and opportunity.”
For the first time Deacon sensed her distrust. “I need to speak to Doc!” Deacon said urgently as he paced the room. “There’s something I have to do. I need his help.”
“What? What do you have to do Deacon? Let me help.”
“Star, if you love me, if you have ever loved me, trust me. This one last time, don’t ask any questions. I need to call Doc.”
“It’s not safe for you to go out. You can’t risk being seen. I’ll walk to a phone and call him for you.” She grasped his hands and locked on his sullen gaze. “James David, I have never loved you more. Whatever you need, I probably need it more. Soon, I will explain exactly how I feel. Doll, very soon you’ll understand, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what you mean to me.”
Deacon’s mind raced; the words meant little.
EIGHTEEN
The telephone at D-K-D Choppers rang twice. Dawg, the surly counterman, answered. “Give me Doc,” Star said curtly. A synthesized Born to be Wild by Steppenwolf played while she waited.
A masculine voice interrupted the song. “Doc,” he answered in a businesslike tone.
“Doc, it’s Star. Deacon says he needs you. There’s something the two of you have to do together.”
“Where is he?” Doc asked coldly.
“In a shitty motel fifty miles southwest of the city on highway PP, it’s the only hole-in-the-wall on the fucking road.”
Doc’s voice vibrated with mounting anger. “I know what you’re up to, bitch!”
“What,” she feigned surprise.
“I’ve discovered a lot more than you intended.” Doc spoke rapidly. “I know all about you. I know about California; I know what you’re trying to do to Deacon, Bridget, and I’m going to stop you.”
Her rage welled. They will both know everything, she thought, on my schedule.
She held the receiver at arms length and shrieked at the top of her lungs. “You only think you know me; you don’t know shit! Just try fucking with me. You’re out of your league. My advice is run and hide. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” She swung the receiver like a baseball bat; the black plastic exploded.
*****
Deacon heard the high-speed howl of the lone Harley as it devoured the last few miles. He winced as he pulled on his boot, and then limped hurriedly outside.
He shouted above the dying engine. “Man, am I glad to see you. These last two days have been more like months.”
“Deacon, you all right?” Doc practically leaped from his motorcycle. “I was scared shitless.”
“Of course, I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Where’s the bitch,” Doc demanded. “Where’s Star?” He looked past Deacon at the open door.
“Doc, what’s gotten in to you? You’re talkin’ about my Star.”
“Give me a chance to explain. Let’s go inside. Where is she?” He started toward the doorway. “Is she here?”
Deacon followed. “She’s not here. What’s goin’ on? She came back from calling you thirty minutes ago, said you were on your way, and then went out for soda and…”
Doc cut him off. “Was she upset?” he asked, then abruptly changed the subject. “What’s the matter with your leg? You’ve been limpin’ since the quarry.” Doc closed the door and locked it. “Looks like it’s worse. Did you hurt yourself?”
“I don’t know. Who gives a shit? My foot is the least of my problems. To answer your question about Star, at first I thought she seemed upset. So, I asked her and she said no. After that, she was fine. You know what a quick temper she has. I would have known if something was wrong.”
“Yeah, tell me about her temper, but I think she can control it whenever she wants.”
“Doc, what’s up between you and Star? You come in here ranting about where she is and calling her names, and then you change the subject. Besides, the problem isn’t my leg. It’s my toes. It feels like I stepped on a nail. I must have kicked somethin’ the other night runnin’ through the woods. Anyway, never mind me. What about Star, what do you know that you’re not tellin’ me?”
“Deac, it’s a long fucking story. You had better sit down. It doesn’t have anything to do with me. I figured some stuff out, so I confronted her. This is strictly between you and Star. I’m just not sure why.”
Doc paced back and forth unable to find a beginning to what seemed to be a nonsensical story. He read parts of the outline aloud. “You didn’t write this,” he stated.
“Well, no, Star wrote it. Together we decided which details were important.”
“Look at this. Look at how much you’ve left out. What’s missing tells its own story.”
“What story?” In one fluid movement, Deacon was off the bed and face-to-face with Doc. “You’re makin’ me nuts, Doc.” What in the hell are you talkin’ about? Cut to the fucking chase, and get it over with!”
“Okay, relax. I didn’t want to tell you this. You have enough on your mind. I don’t think Star is who you think she is. The way I see it, nothing about her is as it appears.
“When I started checkin’ leads and comparing the facts, they didn’t add up. It wasn’t until I dug deeper into the life of Garvin Brown that it began to make sense. There was another warrant for his arrest in California. One they never served. You’ll never guess why they wanted him. This one had nothin’ to do with his brother’s murder. They think he had something to do with the disappearance of a Beverly Hills socialite.”
“So, what’s that got to do with Star? She’s no fucking socialite. She’s a waitress.”
“Let me finish. It seems this socialite was at a cocktail party. Brown arrived, she ran away, and was never seen again. They’ve been searchin’ for her since April. The real kicker is the woman’s name.” He pointed to the storyboard, “Bridget Luna.”
“I don’t get it. Who’s Bridget Luna? You’re pointin’ at nothing.”
“Exactly, her name isn’t on the list. Bridget was Cynthia Thomas’s lover’s name. I told you. It’s not here; you’ve left it off. It just so happens Bridget Luna disappeared something like four weeks before Kat first met Star.”
“Are you sayin’ you think there’s some connection between Star and this Bridget Luna?”
“I think Star is Bridget Luna. Isn’t Luna
Spanish for moon?”
Deacon gasped as if shot. He covered his face with both hands, fell to his knees, and keeled over. He wrenched in agony, moaned, and writhed in slow motion on the threadbare carpet.
Doc knelt at his side and tried to comfort him.
Deacon jerked away. “Leave me alone. You’ve done enough.”
Doc edged reluctantly toward the door. “What can I do? I don’t mean to hurt you, but this is what I found; these are the facts. Tell me what you need. This is as hard for me as it is for you.”
“Jesus, Doc, you have no fucking idea what I’m going through. This isn’t happening to you. It isn’t your problem.” He half-yelled, half-cried, his voice muffled by cupped palms. “My fucking life is cursed!”
Doc answered in a subdued voice. “I’m sorry.”
*****
Outside, alone, Doc touched Widowmaker’s custom seat. He kneaded the soft leather. Doc traded for the seat and gave it to Deacon, who slept that night, and every night until they installed the seat, with his prize next to his bed.
Doc shivered. What will the future bring, he wondered. How will this end?
The midday sun beat down on the neglected parking lot. Doc ventured back into the room. It was time to face the music. It was time to tell Deacon the rest.
*****
Deacon sat on the bed, an elbow on each knee, his face still hidden in his hands. Without looking up, Deacon spoke in a terse whisper. “It still doesn’t make any sense to me. How could Star have been Cynthia Thomas’s lover? The neighbor said this Bridget drove a blue Mercedes. Star drives a red Camaro. It would be impossible to confuse the two. When would she have had time for this? Besides, take it from me, she’s definitely no lesbian.”
“You tell me.” Doc said leaning against the doorway. “When was the last time you visited her, or called her at work?”
“I never go out there, and I don’t call because she’s only allowed to use the phone for emergencies. I talked to her boss a couple of weeks before Sturgis. I guess that was the last time.”
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