That seventeen cameras in one room should malfunction at once was pushing the odds toward impossibility. It didn’t take much for her to convince Richards and Dicks that they should investigate. They took an elevator up to the ground floor, deciding that the quickest way to reach the autoport was to take a couple of electric carts straight down Main Street.
The big door had rolled up and Stella had seen the intruders scattering like cockroaches. She had stomped on the accelerator and the cart had lurched forward. The old man seemed to appear out of nowhere, his body dropping down out of sight with a thump and a bump. Stella’s cart slued to the left, cutting off the other cart and enraging Richards and Dicks. She took a deep breath and looked down. A skinny liver-spotted arm came into view, the fingers twitching. The two cars, the police patrol car and the news van, were on one of the camouflaged roads leading to and from Compound West. She jumped out of the cart and ran to one of the widebodies. Richards and Dicks did the same, moving as fast as they could. Dicks was working himself into a crazed state, bloody foam dripping off of his chin. Richards just looked stoned. Stella started the engine and put the widebody in gear.
A man walked under the Main Street door and passed the two vans without a glance. Stella had never worked with him, but she knew Godson on sight and watched him move to a dark corner of the autoport.
In the second widebody, Richards poked at Dicks. Both of them were fucked up on painkillers, but Dicks was driving because he was far more limber than his partner. The bandages under Richards’ clothing made him look like he was on steroids, and his movements were clumsy. Dick’s eyes locked on Richards’ gesturing thumb.
“Who the fuck ith that,” Dicks asked of the man in the white suit as the engine roared, “The Man from Glad?” Richards made a quiet smacking sound with his mouth, and rolled his eyes.
The man in the white suit ignored the widebodies, making a beeline for a shadowed corner. To Dicks it seemed as if the guy was looking for a place to take a leak. The white suit became a creamy blur in the darkness and then expanded and started moving. Now the man was behind the wheel of a white convertible that rolled out of the autoport in pursuit of the half-dozen assholes who had just escaped. Dicks watched the white T-Bird a moment longer, and then realized that Stella, who was just way too damn hot to be a dyke and was probably looking for a real man to straighten her out, was following them as well.
Stella saw Dicks throw her a wink, and then both vehicles were racing out the autoport door and into the blinding sunshine.
A Page from the Past
Interstate 40, Near Essex, California December 31, 1999
Will was cruising west down Interstate 40 as the sun rose behind him. The windows were rolled down and the air was fresh and bracing. He had the radio tuned to an oldies station, tapping his fingers as Tom Petty sang Here Comes My Girl.
He’d left San Francisco a few weeks ago, taking his time as he passed through Tahoe and Reno and then Vegas, where he noticed he was being tailed by two suits in a shiny new Taurus. These guys had been on his ass for a while now.
He enjoyed going to Vegas, doing a little gambling, stocking up on firepower at one of his favorite gun shops, and getting laid. For some reason, showgirls seemed to zero in on him like flies on shit. On this last trip he hadn’t done any of that. He had decided to head back to Los Angeles via Bullhead City because L.A. offered a lot of places to hide, and had thought he’d lost the tail on Highway 95 as he headed south toward Needles.
As he crossed the state line, the tail had found him again. The Compound had shadowed him off and on for most of his life, but for the last few years they had been getting uncomfortably close. Now it looked like they meant business.
What he really wanted to do was see Hometown again, the only town in America that did not officially exist. It was the only place where he would be safe . . . but he wasn’t so sure he was welcome. He didn’t want to bring his troubles there, of all places.
Things had been getting weird all over lately. At all his regular hangouts he was told there were people looking for him. Like these assholes tailing him, for instance. Maybe it was time to stop being such a live and let live weenie and find out what was up.
There was a rest stop up ahead, a place to fill up water jugs and radiators and use the public restroom, if you could stand the baking stink inside. That’s where he hoped he’d get some answers.
Dick Richards and Richard Dicks saw the boxy old Ford LTD pull off the Interstate and ease out of sight among dozens of vehicles parked around a low concrete structure that housed a pair of restrooms. It was still an hour before noon and the air was already warm and thick.
The Taurus entered the parking area, which was nearly full. There were cars and vans and station wagons full of the crap tourists and travelers take with them on long road trips.
A group of little kids was running around yelling, “Mil-en-yum, mil-en-yum!” An old couple sat unmoving in their car as if they’d died last week and no one had noticed. Teenagers shutting out the world with shades and headphones lounged around and tried to look cool while exasperated parents waited in slow-moving lines to use the bathrooms. A lanky man wearing only a pair of Bermuda shorts and sandals was lying on the hood of his car, his back against the windshield, soaking up the sun. He was holding up a length of wood bearing a sagging cardboard sign which read Know Ye That These Are The LAST DAYS When CHRIST RETURNITH With A RIGHTOUS HARDON For SINNERS AND TRANGREASORS!
“Look at these idiots,” Richards said as he yanked the keys out of the ignition.
“Yeah,” Dicks nodded. “It’s like they all had fucking Ex-Lax with their Wheaties.”
They got out of the Taurus and approached the LTD on the far side of the lot. Its black primered body looked like the burned-out shell of a real car. The windows were rolled up, the sun glaring on them. They couldn’t see anyone behind the wheel and moved closer.
“What a piece of shit,” Dicks said.
Richards shrugged. “I don’t know. I drove one of these in high school. In fact, this could be that car. It’s gotta be over twenty years old.”
”Pile of scrap metal,” Dicks murmured, peering through the driver’s side windows. “Look at the bags of garbage in the back seat. This guy never drive by a dumpster? Climb back there and you could catch a fucking disease.”
“What do you think?” Richards asked. He gestured toward the keys, still in the ignition. “Think he got the shits?”
“Maybe,” Dicks said. “Let’s split up and go around the shithouses, just in case he’s hiding on the other side. Then you can go in and check them out.”
“Me?” Richards looked disgusted. “I can smell those septic tanks from here and there’s no way I’m going in there. I’ll lose my breakfast.”
“All right then, damn it, we’ll both go.” Dicks pulled a quarter out of one pocket. “But there is a gents and a ladies, and I don’t want to do the ladies.” He flipped the coin. “Call it.”
“Tails.” Richards watched the quarter land at their feet, heads up. “Bastard!”
They separated, each making his way around one side of the restrooms.
When they were out of sight, the black plastic garbage bags in the LTD’s back seat moved and Will appeared. He had snapped the bags open and tied them shut, trapping the air inside. Then he had hidden behind them. He couldn’t believe the men from the Taurus hadn’t at least poked around here for a moment. He slipped into the front seat with a garbage bag in one hand and a beat-up old Dodgers cap in the other. He started the LTD’s engine and left it idling. As he got out of the car, he set the bag behind the steering wheel with his ball cap on top. He closed the driver’s side door and walked a few feet away. If you knew what you were looking at, it looked goddamned stupid. But if you came running out here in a rush . . .
Dicks stepped out of the men’s room into the sunlight and took a deep breath of air. He and Richards had circled the low concrete structures and found no sign of the LTD’s driver. T
hey had entered the bathrooms simultaneously, Dicks in his neat gray suit getting curious looks from three guys at the urinals. He had seen that the lock on the single stall was broken and had drawn his automatic, kicking the door open on a fat man wearing a floppy hat.
“Damn it all, son,” the fat man had said, pushing the door closed. “If y’all got to go that bad—”
Dicks had cut him off and gestured with the gun. “A courtesy flush now, before the rest of us choke to death.”
“All right, dude,” a young guy had said while zipping up. He had headed for the door and Dicks had stopped him.
“Wash your hands, punk,” he’d said, watching as the young guy scurried to the filthy sink.
Now he breathed fresh air and watched as Richards backed out of the ladies room, making submissive gestures.
“Ma'am, I’m sorry ma'am,” Richards said as he moved away from the door.
“How’d it go?” Dicks asked.
“Fucking twats,” Richards mumbled. “Where did that asshole get to? Are we going to have to search every vehicle here?”
Dicks shrugged. “Let’s take another look at his car. Maybe we’ll find something.”
They walked back to the LTD, getting a clear look at it when they were a few yards away. They froze. They could see a dark shape behind the wheel, the ball cap, the engine idling.
Without a word they drew their weapons and opened fire. Rounds tore through the hood, blasted white-edged holes in the windshield and blew out the back window in a shower of glass. They approached the car. Kids and adults were screaming behind them. They looked inside. The ball cap was there, as were some shreds of black plastic.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Richards said. “Where the hell did he get to?”
Dicks holstered his weapon, heading back to the Taurus. “Fuck knows. Maybe he flushed himself down the toilet. I’m going to get on the radio and call for a clean-up crew. We’ll keep an eye on the car until then. Maybe it can give us some clues.”
Richards scratched his head and circled the LTD.
Dicks opened the driver’s side door of the Taurus. He slid behind the wheel, scowled at the civilians and the noise they were making, and then pulled the door shut. Richards was about forty feet ahead on the left, still studying the car, flashing bogus FBI identification and yelling shut up! and back off! Dicks reached for the radio beneath the dashboard and froze when he heard a voice from the back seat.
“Freeze. I can see your face, so don’t even wink at your partner. I can see your hands too. I’ve got a big gun with big bullets leveled at your lower back. If you do so much as twitch your kidneys are going to end up in the CD player.”
Dicks was pissed. Even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer he asked, “Who the fuck are you?”
“A mind reader. That was my question.”
Dicks felt a hand slide into the pocket of his coat.
Will leafed through the billfold containing Dicks’ identification. “FBI, CIA, Secret Service, NRA, shit, that’s probably the only authentic ID in the bunch.”
“Get fucked, asshole,” Dicks said over his shoulder.
“You guys are from the Compound, huh?” Will asked. “I’ve heard of you two. Richards and Dicks. Is that right?”
“Yeah, we’re working for the Compound.” Dicks snarled. “They want you back. And we’ve got your number now, pal.” He shut up when he heard the hammer on a gun being cocked back. He nearly shit when something was slipped over his eyes. An old T-shirt? It stank of sweat, and with a yank it was cinched around his head like a blindfold. The last thing he saw was Richards facing away from him, arguing with an old lady.
“Start the engine. Put the car in gear.”
“Blow me.”
“I’ll blow you away if you don’t turn that fucking key. You can get your head opened up or you can get fucked with a little. Your choice.”
Dicks started the car.
“I’m going to let you guys live.”
Dicks forced a laugh. “That’s kind of you.”
“I want you to tell the Compound to back off. Who’s in charge these days. Zane? Or is it Mondani’s turn now?”
Dicks wondered what was taking so long for Richards to notice what was going on. “We brought in a new guy. Michael Eisner.”
“That’s good. Here’s one that’s even better. If I ever see you clowns again you better be carrying fucking hydrogen bombs, otherwise I’ll be the only one walking away from our encounter. Put the car in gear. We’re taking a little trip. A hundred feet or so.”
“You idiot,” Dicks snarled, grabbing the shift lever. “You don’t really think you can get away with this bullshit, do you?”
“Floor it. Now, and hit the brakes when I say stop.”
The warm, thick circle of a gun barrel was pressed against the back of Dicks’ head. He stomped on the gas and the car leaped forward.
Dicks was shitting himself and waiting for the gunman to yell stop! when a hand grabbed the steering wheel and cranked it to one side.
Richards had just about all he could take from the tourists who were yelling in his ear. Especially annoying was the old blue-haired broad he’d run into in the crapper. She would not shut up, accusing him of being a pervert, implying he was trying to get a look at her wrinkled old twat. Jesus, he thought, maybe the asshole they were looking for was hiding under the car. A pretty slim possibility, but he could check it out if he was just left alone for a moment. He put away his piece and his ID and hollered, “Back away!”
The crowd around him scattered. He was thinking he should have used that drill sergeant bellow earlier when he heard the roar of a very familiar engine. He looked over his shoulder and saw the Taurus thirty feet away and moving fast. Dicks was behind the wheel. Dicks’ mouth was wide open, and he had a pair of underwear on his head. Richards tried to jump clear.
The Taurus slammed against Richards’ ass and knocked him headfirst into the LTD. He hit with a thud, denting a door panel, and collapsed.
“Brakes!” a voice cried, and Dicks stomped on the pedal. The Taurus slid to a stop. Dicks felt a current of air waft across his face. He didn’t feel the fist that clocked him on the side of the head. He didn’t feel anything as his door was pushed open and he was spilled out onto the warm concrete of the rest stop.
A moment later Will was behind the wheel of the LTD. He would have taken the Taurus, but a Compound car would have tracking devices built into it. The Ford’s engine started rough, but it smoothed out. He pulled onto the road, watching the crowd close around the crumpled forms of the two guys who looked like Ken dolls.
Will thought his troubles were over until he got a half-mile down the interstate. A white Thunderbird was pulled over and blocking both lanes. A guy was standing in front of the car. White suit. Dark skin. Hair all shiny like he’d combed something into it. Will thought the guy looked familiar. Maybe he’d seen somebody who’d looked like this dude on TV.
The LTD rolled to a stop fifty feet from the T-Bird and Will cocked his head out the window. “Problem?” he called.
“You must stop,” the man replied in loud, yet curiously gentle tones.
“Sure,” Will said. He stepped on the gas.
The guy in the white suit spread his arms like he was Jesus or something and called, “You must stop this foolishness. It is time to rest.”
Will felt the weirdest sensation, an almost physical tickle in the meat of his brain as he sped toward the man in the white suit. His foot eased off the gas, then slammed the pedal to the floor mat when his ghosts cried out, Beat it! This is no time to screw around!
The man in the white suit looked shocked. Will thought that the guy’s reaction couldn’t have been stronger if his LTD had started to fly. The man in the white suit leaped out of the way as Will swerved around the T-Bird.
“Have a nice day!” Will shouted as he passed by the man in white.
Soon he had left the white Thunderbird and the rest stop behind. Although he would recognize t
he Kens again instantly, the memory of Godson was already fading.
A few miles down the road he realized he was hungry, his throat parched. He tried to get the radio to work but it was shot to hell. “Damn,” he said as he drove down the road, “I hope I can find a diner or something out here.”
18
River of No Return
Betsy was driving as fast as she could along the hidden a road when she realized she was far ahead of the others. That wasn’t good. She needed to be close to Will and her mother when she shot the pretty boy. In the security office, Will had found a gun case and she’d shown him she knew how to use a gun and convinced him that she wouldn’t feel safe unless she could carry. He had given her a little Smith & Wesson J-frame .38, which she’d considered inadequate until she realized that she was going to do Will up close anyway, so stopping power hardly mattered. He had been right when he’d said the smaller weapon would be easier to tuck into her sweatpants than something heavier like he was packing, a Taurus revolver with six or more inches of barrel. She looked in vain for a place to pull over, or at least slow down. The road they were on was narrow and so well disguised that with every turn of the wheel the next thirty or forty feet were revealed just as the trail behind was lost from sight. The vehicles behind her seemed to be smoothly plowing through thick shrubs and rock. The road soon became uneven, leading up into a range of low mountains.
* * *
Al grabbed his mike and tried raising his dispatcher or another unit. He wasn’t getting anything but a shitload of static. He had a pretty good idea where this little caravan was heading, and it was in the wrong direction. As soon as they hit asphalt he was going to double back and get Carlos to a hospital.
* * *
“Man, this camouflaged road is wild,” Ravi shouted. His equipment seemed to be working fine, but they still weren’t able to transmit anything to the station in Needles. “We’ve got one . . . no, three vehicles in pursuit,” he said, looking through the rear window of the van.
Made in the U.S.A.: The 10th Anniversary Edition Page 40