A Killing Rain

by P J Parrish

  “Jesus, Adam, you made a mess.”

  Vargas frowned. “It’s the only way I know how.”

  Ellis glanced at him. “Forget it. It’s okay.”

  Ellis walked around the old woman and leaned over the sink, looking out the window to the backyard. Then he disappeared into the living room, turning off all the lights.

  Vargas pulled his knife back out of its sheath and walked to the sink. He was careful to step around the table, careful not to step in the wide pool of blood that covered most of the linoleum in the tiny kitchen. He looked down at the old woman, curled there on the floor. He didn’t even remember slicing her. Her husband, yes, he remembered doing that. But the woman...funny, he didn’t remember how she had died.

  Vargas paused at the sink and turned on the faucet, laying his knife on the counter.

  You made a mess.

  Mess? Death was supposed to be messy. It wasn’t supposed to be quiet and neat, like having your wrinkled old heart just shrivel up and stop in your sleep one night. If you were going to die, better to go out fighting.

  Like cops. Hell, they went out every day knowing they might have to fight for their lives. That actually gave him some respect for them.

  Far more than he gave that coward Austin Outlaw. The bastard ran. Deserted his own kid. He was the kind who would slip away quietly, like from a drug overdose, a disease, or maybe even suicide. That man needed to understand what a death of glory was.

  He took off his gloves and held his hands under the warm stream for a few moments. He squinted at his fingers.

  Blood...how did he get blood on them? He glanced at the black gloves he had tossed on the counter. There was a tear in the palm, sliced completely through.

  Damn it.

  They were fifty-five dollar gloves, a “getting out” gift from Byron. Gloves were important. In “Shane,” the Black Angel always put on his black gloves before he killed someone.

  He’d have to keep these for now. It was too damn hard to find good gloves in Florida.

  Vargas picked up the knife and held it under the running water. He washed it until the water was clear again then used a sponge to wipe down the knife’s thick curved blade. He was careful to get all the blood out of the place where the steel met the wood hilt. When he was finished, he started to turn off the water then stopped. No prints, Byron had said.

  He spotted a dish towel. It had a border of blue ducks and matched the blue ducks marching across the wallpaper. He had a vision of the old woman standing in Wal-Mart, carefully matching up all the kitchen accessories. Getting her ducks in order.

  He used the towel to turn off the water then to wipe the knife dry. He put the knife back in the sheath on his belt, careful not to touch the counter with his bare hands.

  “Byron, I ruined my gloves. I cut them,” he said, coming back into the living room. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Ellis glanced back. “Did you touch anything in there?”

  Vargas shook his head.

  “Where’s your gloves? I told you to keep your damn gloves on.”

  Vargas slipped the gloves back on. “Are you mad at me?”

  “Why would I be mad?”

  “If I hadn’t fucked up out there in Alligator Alley...”

  “That was my fault. I should’ve gone with you.”

  “And if I hadn’t missed Outlaw at the park.”

  “My fault, too. I shoulda taken the shot. I know you’re lousy with guns.”

  “But if we’d gotten him at the park —-”

  “Shut up, Adam. It’s done.”

  Ellis peered silently out the window, watching Susan Outlaw’s house. Vargas turned and walked to the back of the house. He wanted to see if the old man had a nice set of leather gloves. Not likely. You didn’t need them much here. But then again, lots of these old geezers came from up north and some kept gloves around for the trip home.

  He went to the first bedroom and turned on the light. He blinked, staring at the room.

  Cowboys.

  They were everywhere. Cowboys dancing across the wall. And more, on the old chenille bedspread twirling lassos, and there on the lampshade riding bucking broncos around the bulb, and there on the curtains...hundreds of cowboy hats.

  He stood staring at it all, thinking about his own room back in the trailer. This should’ve been his room.

  He wanted to stay there and just look at them for a while longer, but he had to find some gloves. He pulled open the dresser and rummaged through the clothes. Nothing. He gazed around, his eyes finally going to the open closet. Just a bunch of old clothes and some blankets on the shelf. But there were a couple of old Hush Puppies shoe boxes up there, too. He pulled the first one down and took off the top.

  Baseball cards. He tossed the box on the bed and got the second one down, flipping off the lid.

  He let out a slow breath.

  It was full of plastic cowboys, Indians, and horses. They were old and there were maybe a hundred of them crammed in the box.

  Vargas pulled out a little figure wearing a hat and fringed chaps. He knew who it was. And he was proud he knew.

  “Byron,” Vargas called. “C’mere.”

  “What?”

  “You gotta see this.”

  “Well, bring it out here.”

  Vargas grabbed a handful of the figures, and stuffed them in his pocket, tossing the shoe box on the bed. He went back to the living room, carrying the one he recognized.

  “Look at this. It’s Gene Autry.”

  “Who?”

  “Gene Autry.”

  “Oh yeah,” Ellis said without looking back. “He was that guy who got the medal in World War II or something.”

  Vargas stared at him. “Nah, that was Audie Murphy. Gene Autry was a famous cowboy. What’s the matter with you, you didn’t have a TV when you were a kid?”

  Ellis ignored him, his eyes intent on the street.

  Vargas held the plastic cowboy up, trying to see it better in the darkness.

  “Hey, come over here and watch the house,” Ellis said.

  “Why? Where you going?”

  “I want to get rid of these damn bodies,” he said. “It’s bad enough we gotta sit here and wait for fuck knows how long till Outlaw shows up. I ain’t living in blood until then.”

  “Where are you going to put them?” Vargas asked.

  “In the trunk of the Buick,” Ellis said, heading to the kitchen. “It’s cold enough out there they shouldn’t start to stink for days.”

  Ellis disappeared. Vargas set the Gene Autry figure on the windowsill, tilting his head to look at it. He began to sing softly as he looked back out at the house across the street.

  “Back in the saddle again. I’m back in -— ”

  He stopped suddenly.

  A white car was coming down the street. It slowed and pulled into Susan Outlaw’s driveway, parking behind the old Mercedes. Vargas peered into the dark, watching as a man got out of the car. He hurried through the rain and up to the porch. In the few seconds he paused under the porch light, Vargas got a look at him —- tall, black.

  Shit. It was Outlaw.

  Vargas looked toward the kitchen then back at the house. A cop opened the front door and Outlaw slipped inside.

  Vargas let the blind fall shut. Hell, he had only seen Outlaw a few times. On Friday, when they had first driven down this street, they had seen Outlaw from pretty far away putting suitcases in his trunk and when they realized he was leaving, they had decided to wait and get him when he drove back to Miami. But then he had put the damn kid in the car and they had to rethink everything.

  And he had seen Outlaw again at the park, but it had been getting dark and then, after they shot at him, he had run away.

  This guy was the same height...and he was black.

  Vargas looked back out at the street. Damn. It had to be Outlaw or why would the cops let him in? He wasn’t wearing a uniform or anything.

  Shit, if that was Outlaw, then
maybe they could make their move tonight. Maybe later, about three in the morning, when the cop outside was drifting off to sleep out of boredom and the cop inside had settled down in front of the TV. Maybe they could get in and kill the bastard while he slept right next to his wife.

  Vargas could hear Ellis dragging the second body into the garage.

  And maybe if he was the one who came up with the plan this time he could impress Byron and make up for screwing things up in the park.

  But first, he had to make sure it was Outlaw in the house.

  His eyes drifted toward the kitchen but he didn’t want to leave the window to make the call. That’s when he saw a second phone on a small stand near the hall leading to the bedrooms. He went and picked it up, stretching the cord to take the phone as close to the window as he could. He knelt at the window, reached in his jeans pocket, and unfolded a slip of paper with a phone number on it. He dialed it and a man answered.

  “Outlaw? Is that you, Austin Outlaw?”

  “Yeah. Who’s this?”

  Vargas hung up, setting the phone on the floor. Yeah. Yeah.

  He cracked the blind, watching. Suddenly, the lights in the house went out and the whole place sunk into darkness.

  Something was wrong. Shit...what the hell was going on?

  Ellis came back in, wiping his gloved hands on his jeans. “What a fucking mess,” he muttered.

  Vargas stood up, moving away from the window. He stepped past Ellis, through the kitchen doorway. He had to have a minute to think this out, figure out the next move.

  “Where you going?” Ellis asked.

  “I’m hungry. There’s another pizza in the car. I’m going to get it.”

  The garage was dark, and he tripped over something, cursing softly. He felt his way around the white Buick, and the string from the overhead light hit him in the face. He jerked the light on and stood still, trying to sort things out, trying to figure out why the lights had gone out in Outlaw’s house all of a sudden. Maybe he should have told Byron about Outlaw right from the start.

  He started back inside the house, remembered the pizza, and went to the Toyota. He yanked opened the front door and grabbed the vinyl pizza warmer. Ellis was still standing at the front window, the phone in his hand when Adam got back to the living room. He was staring at Vargas.

  “Adam, who did you call?”

  Vargas set the pizza box on the counter.

  “Who the fuck did you call?” Ellis asked again.

  Vargas hesitated. “Outlaw. He’s in the house. I saw him go in. I called to make sure and he answered.”

  Ellis stepped toward him. “You shouldn’t have called!”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Adam, think!”

  Vargas stared up at him.

  “We lost Austin twenty-four hours ago and we wait until now to call?” Ellis said. “Why the hell would we wait that long? Don’t you think that is the first thing they are asking themselves?”

  “So what if they are?”

  Ellis slammed the phone down onto a table. “You gave us away, man! They know now you saw him go in that house. That means they know we can see that house right this minute! Why the hell do you think they turned the lights off?”

  Ellis went back to the window, cracked the blind, and looked back at the street. “Fuck, man, in about two minutes, this whole street is going to be filled with fucking cops.”

  Vargas just stood there, his eyes tearing up. Fuck. Damn it. Fuck. Fuck.

  Ellis let the blind go. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”

  “How?” Vargas asked. “We’re on a damn island. One way in, one way out. How are we going to get that pizza car back to your car and then get over the causeway?”

  Ellis hesitated. “We’ll have to leave my car because we’re not taking the pizza car anywhere. Or the old folks’ car. We’re taking their boat.”

  “What?”

  “This house is on a canal, Adam,” Ellis said. “I saw it the other day. I saw the boat, too.”

  Ellis was looking around the living room. “You sure you didn’t touch anything without your gloves on?”

  Vargas was silent, his head down.

  “Adam!”

  Vargas looked up.

  “Did you touch anything in here without gloves?”

  Vargas shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

  Ellis stared at him for a long time. “Go out back and get in the damn boat. I’ll be right there.”

  Vargas nodded and left the house through the back door. He walked to the small dock and waited, folding his arms over his chest. He felt a few drops of rain on his neck and he started to shiver.

  CHAPTER 15

  The only light in the kitchen came from a single candle on the table. Louis could barely see Susan’s face, but he could see the flicker of the flame reflected in her dark eyes, eyes that were singed with an anger he knew was meant for Austin.

  “We need to get you out of here,” Louis said.

  “No,” she said softly.

  “We can’t protect you here,” Louis said. “They might be right across the street.”

  “And so might Benjamin,” Susan said.

  “Then what do you want me to do?”

  Susan didn’t blink. “Go get them.”

  Louis shook his head. “We need to wait for the Chief, and I doubt he’ll go busting into all the houses up and down the street tonight.”

  “Why not?” Susan said. “If they’re close, then Ben is close. Why won’t you go look for him?”

  “It’s not that easy, Susan. There are fourteen houses on this street, a half-dozen acres of brush at the end, and a canal on the other side. They could be sitting in a boat in the mangroves over there, for all we know.”

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  Louis and Susan both looked up at Jewell. Louis hadn’t even realized he had been standing there in the doorway, listening.

  “Sir, it’s thirty-nine degrees outside,” Jewell said. “My bet is that they’re still inside somewhere.”

  Louis ignored him, leaning across the table to Susan. “Look, we’ll search the houses when Wainwright can get some more officers here, but you need to leave now.”

  Susan shook her head.

  Louis looked up at Jewell. “Chief say how long he’d be?”

  “Another hour or so. Now he’s got an accident on the causeway. He’s in traffic.”

  “This is crazy,” Susan said. “We’re sitting here in the dark, held hostage by a couple of madmen we can’t even see, and the only person who can do anything about it is tied up in traffic.”

  “Look, if I knew where to look I’d go myself,” Louis said. “But I can’t go blindly charging into these houses, Susan.” He went to the counter to pour himself another cup of coffee.

  He knew he shouldn’t snap at her like that, but he couldn’t work a miracle here. What she was asking was crazy and dangerous. And stupid.

  “Sir, can I say something?” Jewell asked.

  Louis sat down with his coffee. “Go ahead.”

  “I think we could narrow our search if we took a look at the possibilities.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jewell opened his notebook. “This afternoon, Ms. Outlaw gave me the names, ages, and descriptions of all the neighbors she knew. We could go over the list and determine which ones might be more vulnerable than others and check those houses first.”

  “Let me see that,” Louis said.

  Jewell handed Louis the notebook. Louis scanned the rundown: a young married couple in the pink house, two guys directly across the street, three more young couples, a single attorney, two elderly couples, and a vacant green house three doors down on the opposite side of the street.

  Louis stood up, motioning Jewell to follow him. When he reached for the front door, Jewell caught his arm.

  “Are you going out there to see which houses had a view of you when you were coming in?” Jewell as
ked.

  Louis nodded.

  “If you don’t mind, sir, you might let me do that. They might shoot at you.”

  Louis hesitated then stepped aside, letting Jewell go out onto the porch. Louis spoke to him through a crack in the door.

  “Can you see the empty green house from here?”

  “Yes, sir. Clear view.”

  “Okay, what about that one with the blue shutters? It belongs to an old couple.”

  “No, sir. Bushes and trees obstruct their view.”

  Louis marked it off.

  “What about the other old couple, five houses down on the other side. Pink flamingos in the yard.”

  “It’d take good eyes but, yes, you can see it well enough.” Louis talked him through several more, then Jewell came back inside.

  “The empty house is our best shot,” Louis said.

  “What’s our next best guess?” Jewell asked.

  “The house with elderly folks in it, at the end of the road, with the flamingos,” Louis said. He could feel Susan’s eyes on him and he turned to her.

  “So now you know where to start,” she said.

  “I’m not going out there alone, Susan.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Jewell said.

  “No, then she’s alone.”

  Susan glanced up at the bookshelf where Jewell had placed her revolver. But then she sank onto the sofa, her hands clasped.

  “Jewell,” Louis said, “call the Chief and tell him about the empty house.”

  Jewell moved away and Louis stayed at the curtain, his eyes traveling up and down the quiet street. In the glow of the street lights, the raindrops looked like falling glitter in the cold night air.

  The street seemed frozen. Lifeless.

  He heard Jewell come back to the door. “Chief says he’ll get some backup from the sheriff and be here as soon as he can. He’s bringing someone to tap the phone.”

  Louis nodded. “What else did you write in that book?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tell me what these people were doing, when they left, who came over.”

  Jewell’s penlight clicked on. “The guys both work day shift and they got home tonight around six,” he said. “I saw the red-haired lady walk her dog, the guy next door to her was in his garage for a while today.”