The Hunt (Tony Downs)

by Paul E. Cooley

  Where is he? I asked her mind.

  She answered me, promising Beatrice would be with him. Good, I thought. It will make this business less messy.

  But still I had to deal with Rachel. I felt no pity for her. Despite her confusion about why she had done nothing to stop Jennifer's death, I felt nothing.

  Listen to me, Rachel, I commanded her mind.

  She said she would.

  Then, I began the plan.

  In the two hours that Mikey stayed at the bar, I had two Jack & Cokes. A drink my father always calls Blackjack, just like the game he's fond of playing with his hunting buddies. Poker. Very much like what I was playing in the bar.

  Though I doubted it, Mikey might very well have had my physical description. I hadn't been careful enough the week before, that much was clear. I guess if Dad ever figured out it was me that caused all the trouble which the papers reported, he would have said it was just like an amateur to blow it. I smiled and downed my second blackjack.

  Mikey was no longer talking to the bartender, but fondling a brunette on the dance floor. She seemed less than happy about it too. I watched them closely, wondering if I should make my move right then in public, or maybe get one of the guys on the dance floor to pound the living Christ out of him right there. No, that wasn't the right way to handle it. No sense in getting an innocent person in trouble, right? This was my job. My responsibility.

  Mikey said something and the girl's face went passive. A dull smile spread over her face.

  What did he say? I wondered. A minute ago, she looked like she was going to slap him. She brought her arms up and cradled them around his neck. That's not right, I thought.

  With a smile, I closed my eyes and reached toward her mind. The gentle sound of Jesus and Mary Chain echoed inside her head, her mind filled with sudden infatuation toward Mikey the monster. I couldn't stop myself.

  HIT THE BASTARD! I yelled in her mind.

  The results were quick. Her arms moved off his shoulders and her body stiffened. Mikey stared at her with amazement, like he couldn't believe someone would dare defy his wishes. Then her right arm flashed in a hard arc and her fist connected solidly with Mikey's face.

  Even from my place across the room, I heard the sharp crack of flesh striking flesh. Shaking my head in disbelief, I watched as Mikey's hand stroked his sore face and he walked away from her without a word.

  I had expected him to jump her, do something which would enrage the crowd of men around her, but he only headed for the door. Ah, I thought. Now the fun begins. I put a three dollar tip on the table and walked out into the parking lot. I reached my car about two minutes before Mikey got into his. By the time his Mustang was moving out of the parking lot, I was hanging back, ready to tail him to wherever he was going. Ready to track the night's game.

  While my old Le Sabre grunted and groaned to keep up with him in the pouring rain, I felt some kind of strange pity for the monster in front of me. He was going to die tonight most likely because he had ignored last week's warning. After what I did to Beatrice and Rachel, I thought for sure he'd live the rest of his life in terror. But there he was, a murder suspect, and cooler than ice. Moron.

  Although it was sloppy, I was sure what had happened to Beatrice scared him silly.

  Instead of relaxing, the rain fell harder as I left the dorm parking lot. Upstairs in her dorm room, Rachel was taking care of something for me. Well, she was doing it more for herself— something to end the guilt she'd been feeling since Jennifer's death.

  I had left the dorm through one of the side exits, the ones which aren't watched by anyone. It was the best way out of the building considering I could avoid the co-ed Resident Hall Adviser I encountered earlier. Somewhere else to go now. Something else to do. I turned the ignition on and the car rumbled and groaned.

  Do you really want to do this? my father's voice asked in my mind.

  The picture of Jennifer's naked and raped body bleeding in an industrial scrapyard flashed into my mind. Beautiful Jennifer, her breasts raked with scratches, her belly sliced open in places. Pale creamy skin marked with crimson lines. Her beautiful gray eyes, so much like my green ones, staring into the endless night, staring toward eternity. Scarlet waves of hate filled my heart and the steering wheel clicked as my hands tightened on the stressed rubber and plastic.

  Yes, I thought. I want to. And I will, Jennifer. I will.

  Backing out, the wind howling like a starving caged animal, I turned on Calhoun and made my way toward another hunting ground. This time I was looking for Beatrice Riley.

  IMO's, Rachel Dehlaney had said.

  Very few people sat at the bar and there was even less conversation. The jukebox pounded out alternative tunes which shook the walls, but no one danced and no one sang along. The few patrons at the bar looked dazed and drugged. I guessed it was possible the night had brought on mass depression for the entire city. But that wasn't all that likely.

  I sat down on one of the stools and the bartender favored me with a surprised look. He made his way over to where I was, his hands worrying a white cloth rag. He was cute. Tall man, long dark bangs tied back in a pony tail which dangled from the back of his head, the rest spilling neatly over his shoulders. The white tux top and black bow-tie clashed severely with the faded blue jeans he wore. That was, of course, part of his charm.

  "What can I get you?" he asked.

  Oh, if you only knew, I thought. "How about a beer?"

  He nodded. "What flavor?"

  "Heinekin."

  His smile widened. "Looking for someone?" he asked after I made a quick glance over the bar.

  "Well, now that you mention it. I'm looking for Beatrice Riley and Mike Whitmire." His smile faltered slightly. "Seen them tonight?"

  He popped the cap off a bottle and pushed it across the counter. "Not yet." His eyes carefully looked me over. "They don't seem like your type."

  "Why's that?" I asked with a laugh.

  He looked around, a conspiratorial smile tattooed on his face. "Because Mikey's not into guys, and Beatrice isn't into effeminate men. Catch my drift?"

  "Is that the only reason?"

  He looked me up and down. "I don't think you're into butch women, if you're into women at all."

  I was blushing hard. "Well, to tell you the truth, neither you've described are my favorite flavors." I let him ponder that for a moment and then casually reached for my wallet. "How much for the beer?"

  He waved a hand. "On the house, as long as you tell me what you want with Beatrice the Bitch."

  Why not? I thought. "I just wanted to ask her about some merchandise, that's all."

  He stared and then nodded to himself. I didn't look into his mind because I was pretty sure he already thought I was a cop and it wouldn't do to have him resisting with all these people around. I kept myself perfectly still, my expression flexible.

  "Is something wrong?" I asked.

  Although he continued to stare, his smile looked a little more authentic. "Well, I'll let her know about that."

  "When? This place should be closing soon, right?"

  The bartender laughed and his hand went below the counter for an instant and then quickly returning to the rag. "This place never closes. What's the deal, you cherry or something?"

  "I'm new in town," I said evenly. "Rachel Dehlaney told me Beatrice is in the China trade." At her name, his brows furrowed.

  "Rachel Dehlaney?"

  "Yeah," I said. "I met her this evening after class and we talked about China. Got a problem?"

  "No. No." His eyes left me and studied the bar counter instead. Lifting my beer and wiping the wood beneath, he said "I didn't think Rachel was into China, that's all."

  A woman walked out from the back of the bar near the restrooms. Her dark hair was cut cruelly short, the hair spiked and crowning her face with razor sharpness. She wore a black leather jacket, the rain-slick hide glistened beneath the lights.

  "Is that her?"

  He casually turn
ed around and smiled. "Yes, that's Beatrice." He raised his hand and waved her over. She smiled and began walking toward us. "I'm telling you," he said in a low voice, “you don't want to mess with that bitch. I can get you another China connection. But you don't want to deal with her, man."

  I smiled. "I'll take my chances for now. But maybe, just maybe, I'll go your way if I don't like things."

  He nodded and shrugged. "Your call, hoss."

  "Hey, Billy," she said to the bartender.

  "Hey, Beatrice. This is--"

  "Tony," I said with a smile.

  "Yeah, Tony. He's a friend of Rachel's."

  Her face immediately became suspicious. "Oh, Christ. What's that bitch been saying now?"

  Definitely not the response I anticipated.

  "Now, is that any way to talk about your room-mate?" I asked.

  Her lips curled into a cold, reptilian smile. “If you're friends with her, you're either a fag or a wanna-be fag. I bet you listen to Depeche Mode, right? Or maybe the Pet Shop Boys?"

  I tried not to glare at her. "No need to get hostile. I guess if you're not interested in doing business, then I can go somewhere else." I stood up from the chair.

  "Business, eh?" she asked and shoved me back down on the stool. "Hmm. What kind of business?"

  I smiled. "China. That's what kind."

  A knowing look crossed her face and she nodded. "What kind of weight are we talking?"

  I shrugged. “Four bundles. Can you do that?”

  She laughed. "You don't know who the hell you're talking to, do you?"

  "Why don't you enlighten me?"

  After whispering something in Billy the Bartender's ear, she grabbed my hand. Billy nodded and handed me another beer.

  "Come with me, and I will."

  I clutched the fresh beer in my left hand and let her lead me toward the back of the bar.

  She stopped at the jukebox, pressed a bunch of numbers on the panel, and smiled at me. "A little business music never hurt."

  I smiled and let myself find her mind just to get a glimpse of what was in store. It was like lying naked in a pitch-black hallway while something slithered across your chest. Her mind was a pit of thoughtless action. I got the feeling she might do anything and not even bother to think about it first.

  I followed her through the back area. The restrooms were on the right. "EMPLOYEES ONLY" hung from a sign attached to an ancient oaken door. It looked like it hadn't been waterproofed in a long time and the wood was in bad shape. I thought it was strong enough, though, to take many hits before it collapsed entirely.

  She opened the door as Front Line Assembly began to churn and spit fire in the bar. With a flick of her hand, the room's single halogen lamp lit up and covered the room in a soft glow.

  Cozy, I thought. And the black widow leads her prey into the web...

  "Come on in," she whispered with a smile.

  I shook my head and entered. A ravaged futon sat in one corner of the room. Its seams were split in places and stuffing was visible through the pink and black colored mattress. The wood was splintered and in bad shape.

  I closed the door behind me and sat down on a stool near it. I wanted to be close to the exit if our "business" required a quick retreat.

  She threw her jacket against the wall. Plaster peeled off and fell to the floor from its weight. Zippers jingling, the leather jacket slid to the floor and sat there like a snakeskin after molting. Her nipples pricked through her cotton muscle shirt.

  "Make yourself at home," she said in a low voice.

  I nodded, although I barely knew what she said. The music from the other room was so loud, I thought I'd go deaf at any moment.

  Turning toward the futon, she lifted up the mattress, picked through a slot in the frame, and brought out several small packages encased in brown paper.

  Yeah, I thought, this is China all right. This is the stuff nightmares and bank loans are made of.

  "So, do you want to test the quality?"

  I smiled. "Where's the guy?"

  Her eyebrows knitted together. "What?"

  "Where's Mikey?"

  "Mikey's not queer, queer. There's no way he'd even want to deal with you if he were here."

  "He didn't have any problems dealing with my sister," I said in a low voice.

  The defiant look on her face quickly dissolved, her mouth turning into a round "O" of surprise. "What?"

  I leaped off the stool toward her. My fist connected hard with her chin. A small cry of pain followed the sharp crack of knuckle on bone, and I punched her in the solar plexus just to see her fall to her knees. She held herself, crying and coughing, trying to get enough breath to scream. I kicked her and then grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to look at me. "You're going to tell me why you did it, bitch. Why you let him do it," I growled.

  She held up her hand. "I don't know what you're talking about,” she wheezed. Blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth.

  "Wrong answer," I said and hit her across the nose. Even with the music blaring outside the walls, the sound of her nose breaking sounded like a rifle shot in the enclosed space. Blood spattered my trench and fell in droplets to the floor. Her eyes rolled up into her head. "Oh, no," I whispered. "You don't get off that easily." I grabbed her broken nose and twisted. A silent scream, nothing but air, filled the room like the hissing of a great beast. "You helped kill Jennifer Downs. I want to know where Mikey is and why he did it."

  Through the pain, the name registered brightly in her mind. I stood there, my hands clenched around her head and squeezing her temples. After I closed my eyes, I let myself reach for her. I no longer felt naked inside a dark, slithery room. Instead, her thoughts were a furnace of confusion and hatred.

  Show me, I whispered into her mind.

  Broken images. No continuity. Flashes and pictures of her and Mikey, both of them beating Jennifer senseless, Mikey holding a syringe in his left hand while he slammed into her again and again with his right hand and steel-toed feet. Through her eyes, I watched as she helped Mikey strip off my sister's clothes, saw her slap Rachel for crying in the rain. Then the last moment, Mikey huddled over my sister's naked body, pushing himself into her again and again while he slowly cut up her face with a sharp, gleaming blade--

  I pulled away and opened my eyes. My breathing was ragged, twisted. At some point, I had begun crying and I had to wipe my eyes.

  "Enjoyed it, didn't you?" I asked in a harsh whisper. She moaned and I twisted her nose again. "Listen to me," I growled. Her eyes flew open and she was suddenly there, all there. "Why did you do it?" The question came out as a sob. "Why?"

  Her knee flew up into my crotch and through the sudden pain, I heard her yell, "Because it was fun!"

  A fist smashed into my face and the world went gray.

  You're going to die, my father's voice said in my mind. You're going to die because you were stupid.

  She was moving around and I heard something click. It was a pistol being armed.

  "Goodbye, Beatrice," I whispered and let my mind go. Through her eyes, I watched myself clutching my hurt groin, a large caliber pistol aimed at my head. I smiled, felt her smile. The image before her began to change. My raped, dead sister rose over my shoulder. "This is how you die," my voice growled through the apparition's mouth. Beatrice's helpless mind began screaming as my sister's image, a hallucination made real, clawed at her brain. The screaming inside her head increased, my dead sister's cut and ravaged face turning into the snarling, grinning face of a hellish demon. I felt Beatrice's sanity buckle. The apparition punched with razor claws as I pushed as hard as I ever had in my life.

  The scream died. I felt darkness beginning to fill the world and I jumped out of her mind and back to my own. My aching balls made my eyes open at once. She fell to her knees, the pistol dropping from her dead hands. Her body twitched and shook. I smiled. Blood poured through her eyes, nose, and ears. A sickly grey fluid coursed through her mouth.

  "The dead rest not at
all," I whispered and turned toward the door.

  Billy the bartender opened it and stood in shocked surprise.

  I smiled at him. "Hello, sweety," I said and swung a fist into his temple. He went down with a soft grunt.

  The rear exit beckoned. It was only a few feet away. I ran toward it and looked at the sign. "EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY! PUSHING BAR WILL ACTIVATE ALARM."

  Fine with me, I thought, and pushed through into the rain.

  A klaxon began to wail inside the bar over the sound of Ministry banging away from the speakers. I walked to my car and watched with a smile as people began rushing out the front entrance. No more beer for you, I thought. I got in, started the car, and headed back to Austin in the pouring rain.

  I had let him get several cars ahead of me. That was all right, because I could track him without actually seeing him.

  Driving through the pouring rain was only a problem when my car's nearly bald tires decided to give up the road in favor of the rainy sheen. Then I was driving on water like Christ in a Buick. All those wonderful things I can do with and to people, yet I couldn't control a car in the rain worth a damn.

  I stayed back and let him get almost a mile ahead of me. Mikey led me further into the downtown warehouse district. The sodium lamps lit the street in an eerie wash of grisly surreal color. God, I hate those lights. It's like glimpsing a nightmare.

  I knew where he was going. For that, I hadn't had to check his mind. I had looked him up in the Houston telephone directory at the University of Texas Library. Memorized a map to his house I pulled off a CD ROM. Why someone with his connections, with his money, would live there seemed illogical, but in the warehouse district, crime is high and the property values are low. For a drug dealer or a vagrant, the place is perfect. Mikey fit only one of those criteria, but it made sense for one to live down there if one was going to run a crack house. Perfect if one was going to own two or three of them.

  But still, his behavior didn't make sense to me. I killed Beatrice in a way the coroner was still at pains to figure out. And Rachel. Poor Rachel. They found her last week after they couldn't contact her to identify Beatrice's body. The campus cops broke into her dorm room and found her taking a shower. She had been taking one for over a day.