Thunder Road

by Thorne, Tamara

  “You think we got trouble?” Henry asked.

  “They’re probably in there blowin’ each other,” Mad Dog announced.

  Tom ignored Mad Dog. “I’m really beginning to wonder what they’re up to.”

  Just as Henry, the worrier of the group, suggested they were planting bombs in the toilets, the door opened and out came the four, all decked out in their crazy white robes and carrying those long white umbrellas under their arms. One of them had a stack of fluorescent pink flyers.

  “I told them they couldn’t do that,” Tom said softly. His consternation over Marie was making him feel unusually peevish.

  Mad Dog checked his watch. “We got just enough time to roust them.” He stepped forward, but Tom put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

  “Let’s wait a minute and see what they’re gonna do. Show never runs on time anyhow.”

  The four white-robed men started handing flyers to the tourists, sermonizing in loud voices about the Living Savior and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, telling everyone they’d pray for them to see the light. It was disgusting, and they were approaching fast.

  The Apostles were only six feet from them, either unaware of them or flaunting their trespassing. “You know, boys,” Tom drawled in his best booming cowboy tones, “those guys in those white dresses are really something.”

  The Apostles turned to look at him, and he saw that he was right. Old Beaknose was back, glaring at him. Tom smiled as he locked eyes with another man he’d seen yesterday, a fellow in his thirties with a powerful build, short hair, and the face of a hardcase.

  “I kinda like those umbrellas they got, though,” Tom told his buddies. “In those getups, don’t those Apostles just sorta remind you of a big old herd of Mary Poppinses?” Laughter came from a growing crowd of onlookers.

  The hardcase’s umbrella came up, its silver tip pointing at Tom. “You take that back!” he growled.

  The umbrella’s tip was within six inches of Tom’s chest, and he had to put his hand on Mad Dog’s arm to stop him from pushing it away.

  “Campbell,” warned Beaknose.

  The hardcase didn’t move. “I said, you take that back.”

  Tom smiled, wide and tight-lipped, then turned his slow, unconcerned drawl back on. “If you boys want to look like girls, that ain’t nothin’ for me to apologize for, mister.”

  “Tom, what’s gotten into you?” Henry hissed in his ear.

  “Did I say ‘mister’?” Tom asked, winking at Henry. “I meant to say ‘miss.’”

  “Why, you cocksucking son of a bit—” Campbell lunged the umbrella at him, but Tom was the quickest draw in Madelyn, and his hand was up and wrapped around the tip before it could touch him.

  “Better smile when you say that, friend,” he said slowly. He looked at Beaknose. “Better wash this boy’s mouth out with soap. Got a real stinkin’ load of garbage in there.”

  Campbell, red-faced, was still hanging on to the handle end of the umbrella. “I’m gonna kill you—”

  “I said, smile.”

  Before the Apostle could react, Tom moved, yanking the umbrella from Campbell’s hands and giving it to Shorty Sykes. “Take care of that for me, will you?”

  “Pleasure.” Shorty promptly bent the thing in two, smiling the whole time. Mad Dog was also grinning, and even Henry looked vaguely amused.

  “Now, you boys better get on outta here.”

  “We’ve been sent by God. His law supersedes Baskerville’s!” Beaknose intoned.

  Tom put his hand on his blank-loaded gun. The one called Campbell was about ready to spring, and Tom didn’t care to get in a scuffle. The gun’s blast would confound the guy long enough for the stuntmen to grab him. “Well, maybe God’s law supersedes the chief’s; I just don’t rightly know. I’ll have to ask him. Here, I’m in charge, and you’re gonna have to abide by my laws. Me and my deputies here will be seeing to it. That’s a fact.” He heard applause all around and couldn’t help smiling. He loved a good show as much as the next man. More, maybe.

  “You will pay for this,” Beaknose hissed.

  A vein was popping rhythmically on Campbell’s temple, but he made no move. Tom thought maybe he wouldn’t try anything now, especially if he made himself scarce. “Boys,” he said to the stuntmen, “I got to get to the show. You three still got a couple minutes. How about seeing these gals to the gate?” Calmly he put his foot in Belle’s stirrup and swung into the saddle. He tipped his hat. “Afternoon, ladies.”

  Belle stepped toward the Apostles, and that’s when Campbell grabbed at Tom’s leg. Shorty made to move on him. “No!” Tom ordered, grinning and doing snake-eyes as well as Mad Dog as he kicked the man’s hand away. “This one’s mine.” As he spoke, he took his lariat from the saddle and moved out into the wide dirt street; getting it ready.

  The crowd lining the sidewalks cheered wildly.

  “You want me to rope all of you at once?” he asked, kicking Campbell away again. “Might make your hair fall off your head,” he added, looking at Beaknose. “Toupee ain’t worth a horse potato once it’s been roped off and stomped.”

  Belle backed up, making enough space to throw the rope, just like she would in the show. Tom glanced up and saw that Henry was clearing the street of tourists, sending them all up on the sidewalks. Henry always thought of things like that, thank heaven. “You all back off,” he told Beaknose and the two others. “You, Campbell, I’m a sporting man.” He looked down the empty street, at all the tourists waiting for a show, needing a show, and decided that, by golly, that’s what they were going to get.

  He urged Belle around, cutting Campbell out of the flock. “You get runnin’, right down the street. And if I don’t catch you by the end, why, you boys can walk around the park in your dresses.”

  “I’ll see you burn in hell,” roared Beaknose.

  “Not if I see you first. Yee-haw!”

  The whoop set Campbell into motion, and the crowd went wild as he ran the gauntlet. When he was halfway down the block, Tom signaled Belle to take off.

  Holding the lariat up, sighting on Campbell, who didn’t even have the sense to zigzag around a little bit, Tom waited until he was fifteen feet away, then let the circle of rope fly at its target. It lassoed Campbell like a dream, and the crowd yelled and applauded as Tom cinched him tight and reeled in the rope, snugging it over the saddle horn when Campbell was nice and close. “Now, miss,” he drawled, “you gonna come along quietly? ‘Cause if you ain’t, I’ll just hog-tie you right now.”

  Silently Campbell walked alongside the horse, eyes forward, giving off such strong sparks of anger that Belle kept shying away from him. Tom rode back to the arena, tipping his hat, loving the cheers, and reminding everybody to come to the stunt show. When he arrived back at the arena, the other three Apostles were nowhere to be seen.

  “They’re waiting outside the gate,” Shorty said.

  “You want to give this one to Baskerville?” Mad Dog asked, grinning at the fallen Apostle.

  Tom rubbed his chin. “I guess not. Moss’s got plenty to do without having to take out the trash, too. I don’t think these boys’ll be back any time soon, anyway. Ain’t that right, Campbell?”

  The man didn’t answer.

  “Tom,” Henry said. “They’re cueing you.”

  “Well, hell’s bells, Campbell, I got to go.” He waited until Henry removed the rope and Mad Dog and Shorty had the guy by the elbows. “Come on, Belle,” he said. As they trotted into the arena, he felt much better, and hearing the applause made him feel downright fine. He took his Stetson off and waved it at the crowd, who cheered louder and waved back. My Lord, he thought, there’s nothing better than a good audience. And as he dismounted in front of the false-fronted western town set, that little voice came back to annoy him by adding, Nothing better except for a good woman. Like Marie.

  69

  Justin Martin

  AFTER SEEING CARLO AND ALEX MANDERLEY ENTER LA PANZA Roja, the nicest restaura
nt in Madland, Justin Martin hurried to the Haunted Mine and told Old Man Marquay that he had to run home and change a flat tire for his mother. Marquay was understanding even though the park was teeming with people this Friday afternoon. Justin thanked him and promised to return as quickly as possible, then he ran for his car.

  He drove south, toward home, just in case Marquay noticed him. He crossed through New Madelyn, then turned up Ghost Town Road, the long way into Spirit Canyon. He finally got back up to the Madland fork, where he turned right onto the dirt track that led into the hills. He’d last traveled this way in the wee hours on his bicycle, and as the road began to climb, he marveled that he’d made it.

  A few minutes later, he found Alex’s turnoff and nosed the Mustang along the tight hillside road, driving slowly, watching for the glint of his keys. He finally rounded the last bend and drove onto the broad flat, and parked just past the mound of rocks he’d hidden behind the night before. His keys had to be here somewhere.

  “Hi!” Eric Watson ambled toward him, a red-haired scarecrow of a guy, pure nerd from his glasses to his goofy grin.

  “Hi, Eric!” Justin slipped his spare key in his pocket, then pulled one of his shoelaces loose before climbing out of the black Mustang. “I just stopped by to see how you guys are doing.” He scanned the ground at the back of the boulders, but saw nothing. Damn!

  “Come on over in the shade,” Eric invited. “Want a Coke?”

  “No, thanks. I can’t stick around.” He walked over to the rocks, surreptitiously searching for the lost keys. “Could I take a look through your telescope, though?” That would allow him to walk closer to the road.

  “Sure. Come on.”

  “Go ahead, I’ve gotta tie my shoe.” He bent down. The fucking nerd didn’t go ahead but waited until he was done. Still no keys. “Let’s go,” he said, ready to put Plan B into effect.

  After staring through the scope at the storm clouds and mountains far to the north—big fucking deal—Justin checked his watch. “I’d better get to Madland. Don’t want to be late for work.” He began walking back, purposely veering over to the road as he moved. The nerd came along with him.

  “So where’s Dr. Manderley?” he asked as they approached the car.

  “She’s having lunch with a friend.” Nerdman paused. “Say, how’d you find our camp?”

  “Oh, Carlo told me.” Digging in one pocket, then another, he asked, “How come you moved again?”

  “Military harassment,” Nerdly said, his nose wrinkling.

  “Can they do that?”

  “Helicopters can do anything they please. They practically blew us out of the canyon. What’s wrong?”

  “Can’t find my keys. I put them in my pocket when I got here. There’s a little hole in it—they must have fallen out.” He started searching in earnest.

  “That’s a coincidence,” Eric said.

  Justin looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “I found a set of keys right by that pile of rocks this morning.” Eric’s lip curled. “On a rabbit-foot key chain. But you just lost yours, right?”

  Goddamn son of a bitch! “Yeah. Just now.” He turned away from Eric, slipping the spare key from his pocket, then bending down and pretending to pick it up. “Found them,” he called out.

  “Great,” Nerdface said.

  Justin opened the car door and sat down, then flashed a shit-eater. “Say, would you like me to drop those keys off at the police station?”

  “No, thanks. It’s possible that Alex dropped them. I’ll have to show them to her first.”

  Fuck! “You know, if you and Dr. Manderley want to go into town together, I’d be happy to watch the camp for you.”

  “That’s nice of you, but I don’t really think I’ll be leaving the camp for a while.” Eric smiled tightly. “I’m working on my thesis, and this is the perfect place to do it because there’s nothing to distract me.”

  “Okay,” Justin called as he began to pull away. “But keep it in mind.” You fucking asshole nerd!

  Enraged, Justin drove down the narrow jeep trail and pulled out on the road, turning to go back the way he came. He was pretty sure Alex Manderley would recognize his key chain, with its dangling rabbit’s foot.

  Justin screeched down the canyon’s back road, only slowing when he reached the fork. He turned sedately back onto the paved road that wound toward Madland. At the camp, he’d almost offed the nerd right then and there, but he’d stopped himself, knowing it would be a good idea to consider his options. The key chain was his and he wanted it back, especially because if Alex recognized it, she’d know he’d been up there. Though it meant nothing in connection with anything serious, like murder, it meant humiliation, and he couldn’t stand that.

  He decided he would have to wait and see if she knew the keys were his. If she did, he would do something about it. Or maybe ask the Peeler to handle it. After riding down from the canyon on the back of his motorcycle, Justin felt a stronger kinship with him than ever and knew that he would tell him the truth very soon. But he needed to give him at least one more gift first. The goat’s ear wasn’t much, but unless something better came along, it would have to do because the rectangles of skin he’d taken from Old Lady Marquay had gone bad. The goat’s ear made him think of that fucking Eldo Blandings, the high-handed Supreme Asshole of the Apostles. He hadn’t heard a peep out of him or Caine yet, and that was really grinding his ass. Ungrateful motherfucker!

  A half mile from Madland, Justin saw movement near the roadside, a flash of blue, and slowed, peering into the brush. A boy, no older than eight, was sitting on the ground. Beside him lay his bicycle, a little motocross number.

  Something better had come along. Justin stopped the car and rolled down his window. “Hi!”

  The boy glanced his way but didn’t answer.

  “Is something wrong?” Justin hung his arm out the window so the kid could see the “M” on his varsity jacket sleeve.

  “Got a flat,” the kid called glumly.

  “You want a ride home? Your bike’ll fit in my trunk.”

  The kid almost smiled, but still seemed unsure.

  “I go to Madelyn High,” Justin told him. “What school do you go to?”

  “Madelyn Elementary.”

  “Then we’re neighbors.” Justin smiled broadly. “Madelyn’s so little that everybody’s a neighbor here.”

  Finally the kid smiled. “I’m Billy Cole. I’d like a ride, I guess.”

  “No problem.” Justin pulled to the side of the road and turned off the engine. Looking in both directions, he saw no people, no cars, nothing. Perfect.

  He walked over to the kid and picked up his bicycle and carried it back to the Mustang. The kid trailed along right behind him, a good little puppy. Justin smiled again and set the bike down and opened the trunk, then turned to study Billy and his bike. What to do, what to do, what to do? Should he put the boy or the bike in first?

  “I need to move a couple things around.” He rummaged around in the trunk and pulled out his crowbar and showed it to the kid. “Wouldn’t want this to mess up your bike. That happened to me once. Let’s put the bike in.”

  He glanced up and down the road. Deserted. “You get that end.”

  As the boy bent and picked up the back of his bike, Justin pivoted on one heel, bringing the crowbar up, then slammed it against the back of the kid’s head. Billy went down like a sack of sand, blood trickling from the base of his skull.

  Smiling, Justin pulled a black plastic trash bag from the trunk and tucked it around the kid so that he wouldn’t get any dirt or blood on his own clothes. Easily he lifted the boy and laid him in the bottom of the trunk. Within another sixty seconds, he’d bound the boy’s hands and ankles with silver duct tape, then he covered Billy’s mouth with the sticky stuff. Finally he placed two fingers on the kid’s neck, feeling for a pulse, smiling when he caught the barest of beats.

  He checked the road again, then threw the bike in on top of the boy and clos
ed the trunk. At last he got back in the car and drove on to work, whistling all the way.

  70

  Alexandra Manderley

  THEY HAD SPENT MORE THAN AN HOUR IN THE RESTAURANT, LOST in conversation, and both were surprised and disappointed when Carlo’s watch alarm went off, alerting him that he had an appointment in fifteen minutes. They’d hurried back to his shop and now stood on his steps saying hurried goodbyes. “I never got my palm reading,” Alex heard herself say. “Do I get a rain check?”

  “Of course.” He smiled hesitantly. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? I’ll read it then.”

  “I’d have to check with Eric, of course.” She shouldn’t accept, but she couldn’t help herself. “I don’t think he’d mind. But there’s one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m buying this time.”

  “No. I’m cooking, but you can help wash the dishes, if you want. Do you like Italian?”

  “Yes. Very much.” Her voice cracked. “I love pasta,” she added quickly.

  “Good. Seven o’clock?”

  “Seven’s fine. That is, if it’s all right with Eric, and no UFOs show up. I’ll call you from camp within the hour and let you know.”

  “Good.”

  “Good-bye, Carlo,” she said, extending her hand.

  He took it, but instead of shaking it, held it in his own. He had the hands of a surgeon, strong and graceful. “Until tonight.”

  She thought he wanted to kiss her hand, but he hesitated, then squeezed lightly and let go. She smiled, walked down the steps, waving once, then strode away, refusing to allow herself to look back.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this. She drove the Bronco up the canyon, telling herself to call and cancel. Things might get out of control if she was alone with him. “No,” she said aloud. “You’re a grown woman, Manderley, and you won’t let yourself get carried away. No clothing will come off!”

  She turned onto the trail to the camp, slowing her speed to a crawl to avoid running off the cliff on one side or scraping the mountain walls on the other. She’d been celibate for years and that wasn’t going to change, she told herself. No way was that going to change. Relationships just weren’t worth the heartache they inevitably caused. An evening with Carlo would be fun, the conversation good, the food most likely excellent. And that’s all it would be, no matter how much she wanted him. Even professional men—doctors, scientists—were inevitably intimidated by her and ended up resenting her devotion to her career. The double standard was dying a painfully slow, lingering death.