It was late in the day now. Shadows were beginning to creep across the front of the house. It would be dark soon and Scott had things to sort out, like where he was going and what he would do when he got there. But for now he was hungry, so he stood Warren up and took him into the house. Davey was on the floor. Lila was still on the couch. One glance was all Scott needed to know that she remained virtually untouched since he had last seen her. Unfortunately, that one glance also showed him the ragged gash across her throat, the blood-soaked blouse and the dead-rictus grin.
“I oughta make you bury her,” he said.
Warren said nothing. He just stood next to him, staring down at the floor.
They went down the hallway, to Warren’s stash. Scott asked him if he had anything better than beef stew, but he didn’t. Yesterday it had seemed like nectar from the gods, but today he found himself having to force it down. But he was hungry, so he polished off a can of the stuff, some fruit and a bottle of water. While Warren did the same, he sat there, staring at him, until Warren said, “What?”
“Your teeth, why are they like that?”
“The same reason I only come up to your belt buckle, I reckon.”
“You were born that way?”
“Yes.”
“Hmph.”
“You figured out what you’re gonna do yet?”
“Pretty much.”
“Oh yeah… what?”
“You got any more of that yellow rope?”
“Yeah… why?”
“Where is it?”
“In the closet. Why?”
“I need some. Get in there and get it.”
Warren got to his knees. Grimacing, he got to his feet, and Scott followed him to the closet. He opened the door and Scott slipped his pistol from its holster, thumbed back the safety and shot Warren in the head. He had tried twice to kill him, once at the pit, and once again with Dub and his gang. Scott couldn’t afford to give him another crack at it. He turned and crossed the room, leaving Warren dead in the closet doorway, the smell of blood and cordite hovering over his shoulder as he paused by the bed. He was about to leave the room when he spied a bandana lying on the floor. He remembered Lila removing that same bandana from Davey’s mouth, and then remembered how that kindness had been rewarded. He picked it up, stepped into the hallway and went down to the bathroom. It was getting dark now, and he saw only a vague outline of himself in the bathroom mirror. He touched the dimpled indentation in his scalp, and then brought the ends of the bandana together, knotted them and made sure the wound was covered. He drew his weapon from its holster and slid it behind him, like those guys back at the pit, shrugged out of the harness and dropped it to the floor. Then he left the bathroom and went back outside, sat down on steps and stared out at the street.
He sat for a long time, staring out into darkness, wondering what the chances of getting his wife back actually were, and if he got her back what kind of shape she would be in. Would she be horribly scarred? Mentally? Physically? How could she not be, after what she’d been through? He could only imagine what had been done to her these last four weeks, the cruelty she had endured.
An hour went by, then another, and even though he knew time had no bearing on the matter, that in this upside-down world, time was irrelevant, Scott wondered what the hour was. The night sky was dark, but his eyes had adjusted to it. He looked at his bike, at the house across the way, and then back at his bike. Beyond him was the city he’d spent the past twelve years of his life in; somewhere in that city was his wife. It was time to get going. He stood up and glanced back at the open doorway, at the blackness it framed. He thought for a moment of the brave woman entombed within those walls. She had saved his life, and he would never forget her. He sighed and shook his head, and then turned and walked down to the street, straddled the bike and fired it up, and turned his headlight on. Then he worked the kickstand back into place and roared off through the neighborhood.
A left and a couple of rights put him back on the city streets. Before he knew it he was rolling up in front of the Ambassador Hotel. A horde of merry revelers crowded the sidewalk in front of the place, bikers and their babes intermingled with men and women who didn’t look like gang members at all—citizens, maybe, who had somehow fallen in with these pricks. They were laughing and joking and passing around the booze, milling about several huge grills that had been lined up in front of the hotel. Smoke drifting up from the wide mouths of those metal containers put Scott in mind of the pit, but it wasn’t the nauseating smell of human flesh wafting through the air tonight.
He slowed to a stop amongst a group of Harleys parked alongside a forty-foot trailer. He knew it was a refrigerated trailer because he could hear the reefer unit attached to it thrumming along in the background. Nervous apprehension flooded over him as he killed the engine and jacked down the stand. Even though only a few had even bothered to look his way when he pulled up, he knew that he was a stranger in their midst—one curious look, one wrong move could bring an unwanted scrutiny that could lead him straight to his death. He wanted to turn, to get on the bike and run. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He turned off the headlight, dismounted and walked calmly over to the sidewalk. Nobody seemed to notice as he passed through the hotel entrance. They were all too busy with their hunks of meat, the booze and the pot they were passing back and forth. Loud, raucous laughter drifted up the hallway, intermingled with the thumping beat of a bass and drum, the wild, piercing wail of a guitar. Scott recognized the tune to be AC/DC’s Highway To Hell.
How appropriate, he thought. He stood for a moment in the hallway. The lights were on and the music was blaring. He closed his eyes and his life was back to normal. He was in a hotel bar with the boys, waiting on Sandi to show up after a hard days work. Beer and hot wings and some casual conversation would make things right, then he and his wife could go home and make love. Make love. He sighed and shook his head, and those thoughts quickly evaporated. Then he pushed open the door and the ear-shattering heavy metal music enveloped him.
The place was packed with the same variety of people he’d seen outside, just more of them. Bikers and babes stood side by side with average every day people of all walks of life, truckers and workmen and people in the ragged remnants of what once would have passed for business attire. Across the room, a three piece band was cranking out the jams, a bouncing bass player with a face full of metal, a pretty-boy guitarist and a drummer who looked like he was bored half out of his mind. The raised platform on which they performed was their kingdom, the gyrating crowd their subjects. Off to their left sat the guy who had nailed Warren to the doorframe, the same guy who had hacked off a burnt and blackened breast and tossed it to that crazy bastard back at the pit—that guy was there, too, a few seats down from… Dub, that was his name. He and his gang were sitting there with a couple of… He saw her. Through a haze of smoke as thick as a curtain, he saw her. He would’ve known her anywhere, the blonde hair, the full lips and the curve of her shoulder. He would’ve known her anywhere and he knew it was her. She was sitting beside Dub, smiling and leaning against him. He had his arm around her shoulder, rubbing his fingers across her breast. And she was enjoying it. She was smiling, smiling while Scott’s heart leapt into his throat and his breathing became shallow. She leaned forward and grabbed something off the table. It was a syringe, and she sank it into the crook of her arm, leaned further into Dub and closed her eyes. She stayed there for a moment, her eyes closed, the needle still in her arm, Scott staring at her from across the room while the ear-crushing strains of Highway To Hell became a dull and droning echo of discordant notes, further muddled by the blood pounding through his temples. She opened her eyes and pulled the needle from her arm, tossed it onto the table and looked out into the crowd… And saw him. He knew she did, he could see it in her eyes, the look of shocked disbelief as if someone had stepped out of their grave and said, “Hi”.
For a brief moment, one split second, it was Sandi and Scott alone in the r
oom, the unruly crowd surrounding them nothing but hazy grey shapes. Then the moment was over and she was saying something to Dub. A couple of bikers stepped in front of Scott. When they moved, she was gone, and Dub’s table was empty.
Scott made his way through the crowd, hoping to see where they had gotten off to, but there were too many people in the way and he couldn’t find them. Then the crowd began to part and they were coming right at him, Dub and those two Neanderthals from the pit. They had Sandi with them, stumbling and shaking her head ‘no’ while that tattooed prick pulled her along behind him. The band had just started up with another tune: Van Halen’s Running With The Devil. Dub raised a fist in the air and the music stopped, leaving nothing but the murmur of the crowd, who had gathered around Dub and his crew, who now stood directly in front of Scott. Dub nodded and the two behemoths took a step forward, one on each side of him.
“Well,” Dub said. “What could a skinny little runt like you have done to upset my woman so?”
Scott said nothing. His wife stood before him, staring down at the floor. She wore a thick coat of garish make-up, a black miniskirt and a red silk top, fishnet stockings and come-fuck-me pumps. He could feel the 9mm. resting against his hip, but he wasn’t going for it. He wouldn’t last…
“The fuck are you?”
“Nobody.”
“Who is he, Cherry?”
“Cherry?” Scott said. His voice, full of derision, drew a wide smile from Dub, who said, “Who is he, Cherry?” He tightened his grip and she yelped out the name, “Scott… he’s my—”
“Scott? Scott with a bandana around his head? You’re not Scott the midget’s friend with a bullet in his head, are you? Scott who couldn’t kick his own ass if he tried but somehow managed to fuck up a whole shit-load of my men?” Dub’s eye’s narrowed, the smile having already evaporated from his face as he snatched the bandana from Scott’s head. “I’ll be damned,” he said.
Scott’s hand snaked behind his back, and was promptly grabbed by one of the towering behemoths, who took hold of his neck and yanked his arm halfway up his back.
Tears welled in Sandi’s eyes as she cried out, “Don’t hurt him!”
“Why, Cherry, why don’t hurt him?”
“He’s my husband!” Now she was sobbing, tears streaming down her face as she looked up at Dub, who said, “Ease up, Bert.”
Scott’s arm was released, his gun taken from him. He stood there, waiting for whatever came next while a blood-thirsty crowd surrounded him. He was dead and he knew it. He’d been lucky these last two days, but he would need a lot more than luck to see him through this.
“Why’d you freak out when you saw him?”
“I… I thought he was dead. I didn’t want him to see me like this. You’re supposed to be dead, why aren’t you dead!”
Scott said, “Believe me, I wish I was.”
Dub chuckled. “Well,” he said. “We have quite a predicament here, don’t we, boys?”
“Yeah,” Bert said.
“Damn straight,” said Ernie.
“On one hand, I have to admit I have a certain amount of respect for what you’ve accomplished here. Skinny little fuck that you are, you wiped out four of my best men yesterday, all by yourself. How the fuck you did that, I have no idea. Then got the fuck away when we had you cornered this morning? I gotta give it to you, man; you’ve got a huge set on you. But then again, you did fuck up my men, and I can’t let that stand, can I? So, on one hand, you’ve got a small measure of respect. On the other, well, you’ve got something coming to you. Then there’s Cherry Vanilla here, with the soft lips and a pussy like a 7-Eleven—always open for business.”
Scott, visibly shaken, winced at those words.
“That’s right, Scotty. Give her a little scag and off she goes like the fucking Energizer Bunny. Don’t you, baby?”
“Can’t you just let him go?”
Dub laughed. “Let him go? Hell yeah I can let him go. I run things up in this motherfucker. I can do anything I want.” He looked at Scott, then down at Sandi. “Tell you what. You leave me and the scag behind and go off with Scotty into that bleak-assed world out there. Leave the food and the drugs and your nice luxury apartment and go and fend for yourself with all the slimy creatures running through that shit out there. Do that and I’ll let the both of you go. Do that or stay with me, and let hubby there get crucified at the crack of dawn.”
“Dub, please.”
“Like I said, I run things up in this motherfucker.” Then, smiling and leering at Scott, “Go on, baby. I’m sure Scotty can keep you safe out there.”
She looked up at Scott, the brilliant emerald eyes he had once adored dull beneath the heroin coursing through her nervous system. He knew it was over before she opened her mouth and said it: “Why didn’t you just stay dead?”
“Sandi.”
She leaned into Dub, closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest.
“So it is written, so shall it be,” Dub said, then, “Off to the dungeons with him.”
Bert said, “The dungeons?”
“The jailhouse, you stupid fuck.” Dub stepped forward and put a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “I really would’ve let you go. What can I say; they’re all a buncha cunts, eh?” He drove a knee into Scott’s stomach; another to his face sent him reeling to the floor, where he lay gasping for breath in the fetal position, squirming while Dub said, “I’m gonna fuck your wife all night long, and when the rooster crows, your ass is going up on a cross out in the town square, nailed to the son of a bitch.
“Now, you two. Take his ass to the jailhouse, and lock him the fuck up.”
Chapter Thirty
Karen spent most of the day with one of the guys who had found her patient staggering out of the alley yesterday afternoon. His name was Jimmy Jay, and he was a friendly, likeable sort of guy. He wasn’t a gang member, just a struggling member of a displaced society who figured it would be easier to join up with his oppressors than fight them. Before the big event, he had worked in a convenience store. Now he worked for Dub and The Devil’s Own. ‘No big deal’, he’d told her while rummaging through her old workplace. ‘Just another job’. The only difference was, while fucking up at the Jiffy Mart might get him fired; fucking up here would get him much worse. So he stayed on his P’s and his Q’s, and did what he was told, and this morning when Steady Teddy told him to stick with little Miss Doctor Nurse, he was happy to oblige. They took an SUV over to the westside, to the clinic Karen had been toiling in the day the big event came rushing across the horizon. Two hours later they had stripped the place clean, coming away with most everything Karen had tallied onto her laundry list of medical supplies. Once these items were offloaded into the jailhouse clinic, Karen and Jimmy Jay parted company, and Karen set to work on improving the quality of her patient’s healthcare. A bag of IV antibiotics was hung on a stand, the needle inserted and the drip, drip, drip begun. Pain medicines were administered and the bottle of whiskey removed, the wound cleaned and fresh bandages applied.
Karen left her grateful patient better off than she had found him, and under the circumstances, it was the most either of them could have hoped for. She was tired and hungry. She’d been up all night worrying about what might happen when Ben got back to his luxury suite. Now she had a different set of circumstances to worry over, like which one of those Neanderthal scumbags would lay claim to her after Jet failed to show himself. How many grubby hands she would be passed through, the indignities forced upon her until she had finally been deemed unworthy, and a fresh female had taken her place. And what then, end up like Tina, a woman who had traded her soul for a warm bed, clean sheets and as many drugs as she could suck out of her lowlife friends? Or maybe she’d end up worse than that. They actually needed Tina. Any day now they could run across another nurse, a doctor or a surgeon, and then Karen would be nothing but a piece of tail to be passed down through the ranks until she was used up and no one wanted her anymore. And what then? The possibilities w
ere endless, and try as she might, she could not keep them from turning her weary mind to mush as they barreled their way through it. She was tired and hungry, exhausted. She sat down in a chair at the nurse’s station, crossed her arms and cradled her head upon them, closed her eyes and drifted away. By the time sleep found her, it was late in the afternoon.
The roar of the crowd woke her. At first she thought she was back home in her apartment on First Avenue. Her boyfriend was watching a football game, a touchdown had just been scored and the crowd had erupted. She opened her eyes, yawned and stretched and looked around her. She stood up and went to check on her patient, and found him sleeping. She checked his vital signs, left the clinic and went down the hallway, through a doorway to find a huge party going on in the jailhouse lobby. The smell of grilled meat wafted through the air as she made her way out to the jailhouse steps. It was dark outside and she wondered how long she’d slept—judging by the way she felt, not long enough.
Jimmy Jay was standing by the entryway. “Hey,” he said to her. “Still here, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Ya hungry? Somebody dropped a truckload of beef by this afternoon. They’re grilling the stuff down there on the stairs.”
“God, yes, I’m hungry.”
“Hold on and I’ll get you a plateful.”
He took off down the concrete steps. Minutes later he returned, carrying a plate filled with freshly grilled meat. The smell of it put a smile on Karen’s face, and an almost agonizing knot of hunger in her gut. She took the plate and went back inside. On her way through the lobby, she grabbed a bottle of Rolling Rock beer from one of the refrigerators. On a table, next to the rows of canned goods that up until now had been keeping Dub and his crew alive, was a pile of forks and knives. Karen grabbed one of each and negotiated her way through the crowd. On her way back to the safety of the clinic, she decided to go to the booking room instead. She had wandered into the place earlier today. There were tables and chairs, and she thought she would be more comfortable there. She sat plate and beer on the table, sawed off a hunk of beef and crammed it into her mouth. The succulent taste of prime rib had her giddy as she twisted the top off her beer and dropped it onto the table. She swallowed, forked another piece into her mouth and picked up her beer. The door flew open and Bert and Ernie barged into the room, dragging a much smaller man behind them.
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