by Brian Hodge
"What are you saying, Stuart?" Louise felt her face turning red. Stuart had that tone in his voice that meant he was about to deliver one of his lectures. She braced herself.
"I'm saying I did some checking on your story about Leon Wilson. You know what I found?"
"Let me guess," Louise said, fighting back the sudden urge to cry, "the cops went to Leon's house and they didn't find anything."
"Not a damned thing."
"You think I'm mistaken about all this?" Her lower lip trembled and she bit down on it. Savagely.
Stuart was still smiling but the smile was slipping. "I don't know, Louise. If it had been you who seen Leon, I might put a lot more stock in the story."
"But since it was John, you don't believe it?"
"I'm not exactly saying I don't believe it." He gave her a little squeeze. "We both know they had to send John away for a while when he was a kid. He kept having all those crazy dreams about Billy Two Hats, kept saying Billy was a killer. That Billy was cutting up women with a knife. He damn near had me believing him for a while."
"That was a long time ago," Louise said.
"I know it was, but I never could put no faith in anything John said. Come to find out, he was a thief, stole Billy's pocket knife, and then made up that cock-and-bull story to cover his own ass. And I haven't forgotten about the time he held up that liquor store in Tucson." Stuart smiled and waved at someone in the parade. "I don't figure he's changed all that much since then."
"He was only nineteen and he didn't do the holdup. Rudy No Horses did. John didn't know what Rudy was going to do; he was only driving the car." Louise shrugged loose from Stuart's arm. "So you're not going to do anything."
"I didn't say that, did I?"
Louise searched his face, looking for some sign of belief.
"Look, Louise, I didn't get to be sixty-three in this job by being stupid." The smile vanished and the twinkling eyes were dead serious now. "I asked the state boys for help, but without some kind of proof, there's not much they can do." He held up his hand to ward off Louise's next question. "I went on ahead and deputized three extra men just in case. If anybody shows up looking like the men John described, we'll get 'em."
A weight lifted from Louise's shoulders. "You know, Stuart, when you cock your hat a certain way," she said with a smile, "you look just like John Wayne."
"Go on now with you now. I'll take over here." The twinkle was back in Stuart's eyes and Louise knew he was pleased despite all his protesting. "Get on over to Charlie Cates' place, would you? There's some trouble at the snake pit. I think it's Charlie's boy, Elliot."
A look of distaste crossed Louise's face at the mention of the fifteen-year-old's name.
"I guess you're remembering that little stunt he pulled last July fourth," Stuart said.
"I don't call lighting the barbecue grill with a flamethrower a little stunt. His dad could have been killed. Where on earth did Elliot get something like that?"
"His grandfather brought it back from Korea after the war. Had it buried in an old trunk out in his garage." Stuart motioned to a couple of elderly Japanese with camcorders. They paused to get a shot of Stuart, who sucked in his paunch for the occasion. "You got to admit the boy showed some mechanical ability, getting that thing working after all these years." The old sheriff seemed more amused than concerned by the incident.
"Yeah, he's a real genius. I don't think his dad's eyebrows are ever going to grow back."
"Well, that was unfortunate. Charlie had on one of those floppy chef's hats and it just sort of vaporized. Don't be too hard on the boy," Stuart said. "At that age Elliot's just a little rambunctious."
"He's just a little juvenile delinquent," Louise answered.
The five-year-old dangled headfirst over the open snake pit. His name was Timmy Cates and he was screaming bloody murder.
Inside the pit, there were nearly two hundred rattlesnakes crawling around. They made a constant crackling, like dry leaves underfoot, whenever their skins touched. As the small boy descended closer, a rattling sound began, a warning not to come any closer. It grew in volume. Several of the snakes lunged at the boy's face and his screams became even more shrill.
"Put him down, Elliot," Louise said.
"That's what I'm doing, putting him down." Elliot Cates laughed. "In the snake pit." The smirk stayed on the teenager's face as he lifted up his five-year-old brother by the ankle. He sat the boy back on the ground.
The boy ran over and grabbed Louise's leg in a death grip. She could feel his heart thudding against her leg. "It's all right, Timmy," Louise said. She stroked the top of the sobbing child's head. "Everything's going to be fine. You go find your mom."
Timmy turned, gave Elliot the finger before bolting.
"I wasn't really going to throw him in, Louise," Elliot said. "He asked what they ate, so I told him little boys. I was only having some fun."
"Is that a fact?" Louise asked, moving closer. She looked around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't.
"Yeah, that's a fact," Elliot said. "The little turd said my snake wasn't going to win." He saw something in Louise's face and took a step back. Unfortunately the snake pit was right behind him. He couldn't move any farther. "I didn't hurt the little crybaby any."
"You scared him pretty good. And he could have fallen, maybe broke his neck. It's a good fifteen feet to the bottom of that pit." Louise took another step forward. "He'll probably have bad dreams for a month because of what you did, Elliot." She punched the redhead teenager with a stiffened finger. "You ever have bad dreams, Elliot?" Her face was only inches away from Elliot's now. She grabbed him by his T-shirt and forced him back another step.
His feet found the edge of the pit and sand spilled down, causing the rattling to resume. A couple of the snakes began blindly lashing out. Elliot looked over his shoulder; he wasn't smiling anymore. He teetered, trying to regain his balance. "I'm sorry, Louise, honest. Relax. Jesus, it won't ever happen again. Okay?"
"Why don't I believe you, Elliot?" She took another step forward, bending the teenager back over the pit. "You ever see anyone after they've been bitten by one of those big rattlers? They get real sick. Sometimes they even… die."
"You're just trying to scare me, so quit kidding around. You're not going to knock me in the pit."
Louise let go of his T-shirt and he tipped backward, arms flailing wildly. He managed to grab hold of her arm. It was the only thing stopping him from pitching into the pit, and his grip wasn't secure. Louise's skin was sweaty.
His fingers began sliding.
"You think I'm still kidding around, Elliot?"
Elliot's grip was down to Louise's hand now. "I'm going to tell my old man what you did."
Louise's hand gripped his.
Elliot smiled.
"Maybe you won't get the chance." Louise's hand opened.
Elliot fell backward into the pit. He looked faintly surprised.
A third hand, dark, sunburned, reached out and grabbed hold of Elliot's shirt, held him suspended in space for a second. The shirt began tearing. The hand grabbed more material, and this time it held long enough for Elliot to be deposited on the ground at the edge of the pit. The shaken teenager looked down at his torn shirt, started to say something, but his throat didn't seem to want to work. He climbed to his feet and stumbled a couple of steps, fell. His legs had turned to rubber on him. He didn't look back.
Louise turned and saw Stuart. The elderly sheriff stood there, breathing heavily, with a piece of Elliot's shirt in his hand. The expression on his face was one of shock. "Louise, what in God's name are you doing?" The voice jarred her, brought her back from the dark place.
"Something somebody should have done a long time ago," Louise said. "Teach that little bastard some manners." She shook her head, trying to clear it. The anger in her was a hard fist pounding against her temples, and when it finally stopped, it left her weak. She almost collapsed and Stuart had to catch her.
"I'm sorry, St
uart, it's just when I saw Elliot holding Timmy over the pit, I guess I lost it. He would have fallen and I… and I…," Louise began to sob, then brutally ran her hand across her mouth, stifling the tears. "Couldn't take that again."
"Louise." Stuart started to put his arm around her.
Backing away, Louise reached into her uniform pocket, produced a cigarette, but her hands were too shaky to light it. She pulled it from her mouth, crumpled it, and threw the remains on the ground. "I smoke too damn much anyway." She tried to laugh but the sound came out all wrong.
"It's all right," Stuart said, pulling her close. "It's not your fault." He stroked her hair. "It's mine, all mine. I knew what Elliot was doing back here. I shouldn't have sent you. I guess I wasn't thinking. Forgive me."
"He was going to let his little brother fall. He was going to let… my baby fall…."
"It's all right." Stuart held her and cursed himself for being a damned old fool. "Nobody's going to fall. Nobody at all." He held her while she cried.
Chapter 16
The jackrabbit was running for its life, splay-footed panic in full flight.
It had come upon two most unusual predators.
Elliot and Timmy Cates.
The fifteen-year-old and his brother leaned low over the dirt bike, weaving in and out of the stands of cactus until they were right behind the terrified animal. The teenager's torn shirt flapped in the wind, making him into a redheaded scarecrow. He was all sharp edges and gangly limbs that seemed like they didn't fit together. The vacant green eyes and smile only added to the illusion. His little brother sat behind him, holding on tight.
The rabbit, desperate to escape, threw up dust as it tried to draw ahead.
Elliot pulled up alongside and knocked the animal flying with the long pole in his hand. "Lord Strathmore, the world's greatest polo player, scores the winning goal. The babes go crazy." He laughed when the rabbit went sprawling end over end, a tangle of legs and floppy ears. Elliot skidded to a halt, waited.
The exhausted jack climbed to its feet but, instead of taking off, it just crouched in the dirt, confused, its sides bellowing in and out.
"Nobody called time out. That's cheating." He prodded the rabbit with his pole and the quivering legs again ratcheted into motion. This was great; Elliot hated it when they gave up too easily.
The three of them raced across the scrub grass and out onto the open plain. The whine of the cycle was the only sound, and it was sucked up by the immense distances that surrounded them. A streak of blue smoke drifted out behind the bike, floating over the copper-colored landscape. Looking back, Elliot was reminded of the streaks left by the jets when they cut across the evening sky.
The rabbit began to slow so Elliot bumped him. A squeak of despair was drowned beneath the drone of the bike as the animal was sent rolling once more.
Elliot Cates and his brother lived in a fantasy world most of the time, horror movies and heavy metal were their favorite things in life. At the age when most kids were into Bambi and Disney sing-a-longs, Elliot had Timmy OD'ing on Freddy Krueger and Motley Crue.
Sarah Cates was forty-five when she'd had Timmy, and when Elliot was in the fifth grade, a kid told him that his parents wouldn't love him anymore. Elliot asked why. The kid said Elliot's parents would only care about Timmy, because he was a baby. That kid had turned out to be right. As far as Elliot's parents were concerned, he was invisible.
That was the way everyone treated Elliot.
Like he was invisible.
Even though Elliot tried to hate Timmy, it was hard to hate someone who thought you hung the moon. His younger brother was the only one who didn't ignore him. The little twerp was always following him around, always asking questions. It was annoying, and yet Elliot didn't mind, because, deep down, he knew that was as close as he was ever going to get to having someone love him.
The rabbit swerved, darted down a dry creek bed.
"Oh no, bad move, Mister Bunny Rabbit." Elliot gunned his bike after it, kicking up loose gravel in a rooster tail. Tied to the back of his bike was a gunnysack for collecting rattlers. It too was flapping in the wind. In his hand, like a lance for jousting, was a pole with a wire loop on the tip. Tools of the trade. Tools that would net him the five-hundred-dollar first prize for the largest rattler.
The pole also had one other feature; it had a sharpened tip that made it perfect for spearing jackrabbits.
This one would make number fifty-seven. He was sure of the count because he put a notch on the pole after every kill.
Elliot pulled even with the tiring animal, swerving his bike, forcing the rabbit against the creek bank. The rabbit, trapped, turned wild eyes on his tormentor. It wheeled and started back the way it had come. Elliot anticipated the move, swung his bike around, pulled up even with the rabbit again.
"What's up, doc?" A laugh of pure exultation poured out of the teenager. He prodded the animal with his stick, drawing blood this time. "C'mon, sucker, don't you quit on me. Run!"
The jackrabbit put on a desperate burst of speed. Drew slightly ahead.
The bike stuttered, dropped back. A look of pure venomous hatred twisted Elliot's face. He rotated the accelerator back and forth, trying to clear the clogged carburetor. A cloud of black smoke spewed out and the bike stalled for a second.
"The rabbit's getting away," Timmy said, secretly glad.
Elliot geared down, popped the clutch. The bike lurched, almost started. More black smoke poured out.
Elliot looked like he was about to cry. The bike was losing speed. "C'mon, you piece of shit." He geared down more, popped the clutch again. The machine grunted as the engine caught, resumed its nasal whine.
"All right," Elliot said, elated. He patted the bike. "I knew you wouldn't let me down."
Elliot accelerated, standing the bike on its back wheel in a showboat maneuver. He again caught up with his quarry. "Looks like your luck has run out, fuzzball." He whacked the exhausted animal with the pole, trying to stir one last effort from it.
But the rabbit was all played out. It came to a halt, its sides quivering, eyes glazed.
Elliot rode past, swung around in a showy arc, throwing gravel high into the air. He let the bike idle while he wiped the sweat from his face. "Prepare to meet your doom at the hands of the red knight." He lowered the stick into jousting position, urged the bike forward. In his mind, Elliot was facing the black knight.
Timmy closed his eyes, pressed his face into his brother's back. He hated this part.
The rabbit seemed unimpressed by the honor accorded it.
The jack died impaled on the stick, kicking feebly, without a sound.
Wiping the blood from his stick, Elliot checked the sky. "We'd better get home," Timmy said. "Dad wants you to wash dishes tonight."
"Shut up." The sun was beginning to set, and that made Elliot a little nervous. Time was running out. He shouldn't have wasted so much time on the jackrabbit, but he had to admit he felt a whole lot better now, not angry anymore.
Killing something always soothed him.
Play time was over now,; he had to shake a leg, because ten o'clock was the deadline for entering a snake in the contest. So far he had been unable to find that really big rattler, the one that would get him the down payment on that new Yamaha he'd had his eye on for the last two months.
There wouldn't be a chance of earning that kind of money for at least another year. He doubted the piece of shit between his legs would last that long. That meant he could end up walking, and the possibility of that kind of humiliation was too much to even think about.
That would be worse than what Louise Warrick had done to him back there at the snake pit. Whew! Man, she'd gone psycho. Good thing old Stuart had shown up.
Louise had humiliated him. There was only one punishment; no more thinking about her when he whacked off.
Then he imagined her sweaty breasts pressing against him. Well, maybe he was being a little hasty. A couple of days off would be enough punishment f
or her.
Elliot pushed the bike to greater speed, ignoring the large stones that littered the creek bed.
Life wasn't fair.
Every time he tried to liven things up a little around Crowder Flats, people got pissed.
He consoled himself with more fantasies of Louise Warrick's sweaty breasts, even though he had never felt a breast, sweaty or otherwise. He stopped watching where he was going and the bike hit some loose gravel, veered off course, plowed into a patch of larger rocks.
The rear end of the Kawasaki began hopping up and down like a jackrabbit with its ass on fire.
Elliot and Timmy went one way and the bike went the other.
They swapped ends several times, but Elliot never dropped the snake pole, even when he plowed up about ten feet of the creek bed with his face.
The bike coasted to a halt, fell over on its side. Timmy started crying over a bloody nose. One of his teeth, knocked loose by the impact, fell to the ground. A smile lit his face. "Lookit, Elliot, something for the tooth faggot."
"That's fairy, tooth fairy, you little retard."
"Dad said fairies are faggots," Timmy insisted.
"Okay, fine, you got something for the tooth faggot. If you don't shut up, you're gonna have something else for him." Elliot climbed to his feet, dusted himself off, and walked over to his fallen steed. He gave it a savage kick. Timmy did the same, copying his older brother. Elliot's MOTLEY CRUE T-shirt, which hadn't been in very good shape to start with, was reduced to tatters now. Ripping off a part of it, he dabbed at his bleeding face before giving it to Timmy.
He righted the bike and kick-started it back to stuttering life. Everything was jake, just a little more paint missing, just a little more skin. His looks didn't matter. No girl had ever looked at him anyway.
A triangular head peered at them from the bushes, tongue flickering in and out of a mouth white as cotton. A rattler but way too small for the contest. It coiled, its tail giving a familiar warning. "You want to bite something, shithead? Well, bite this." Elliot grinned, guided his bike across the snake's back, leaving it writhing in the dust, its spine broken.