Hunting Witches

by Jeffery X Martin

  Penny had given him the key code to the lockbox on the front door, and he entered it quickly. The box opened with a metallic pop, spitting the key into Rafferty’s hand. He unlocked the front door, slipped inside and walked to the window.

  Rafferty may have chosen a life of celibacy, but he still liked to watch.

  He watched through the window as the Sheriff rolled up in his cruiser. What a bumbler. Both of ‘em, the Sheriff and his deputy. Buffoons. Yokels. He couldn’t hear them, but Rafferty could see them, going in and out, stomping all over the crime scene like cats shitting in a sandbox. Not that they would find any evidence. Rafferty was too well disciplined to leave behind a mess.

  He fished a new package of beef jerky from his pocket and tore it open with his teeth. He had finished it all by the time the hazmats arrived with their fancy equipment. They wouldn’t find anything either. He had been wearing gloves when he picked the brick. He had used a small vacuum cleaner on it before he wrote on it with a common felt tip marker, too common to bother attempting to trace. He had worn his hair slicked back and placed a knit cap on his head. He had shaved the hair off his arms. He may as well have been a mannequin.

  Later, as he watched the officers and the bewitched man place thick plastic over the window frame, Rafferty realized something: there had been no screaming. He had thought the witch would shriek at the realization that she had been found out. But there was nothing. They acted with concern, and in a responsible fashion, but there hadn’t been that sound of fear and surprise.

  Could they have known? Rafferty could still see her, in the throes of demonic orgasm beneath that sheet. He felt as if the woman was in his head, trying to seduce him and distract him from his holy work. If that were true, she must have known what was on his mind. He clenched his fists at the realization that she was a stronger sorceress than he had dreamed.

  It was late before anyone working with the law enforcement community left the area. Rafferty had watched as much of their antics as he could from his limited vantage point. When the coast was clear, he left the front door and locked everything back up tight. He walked out of the subdivision and into the woods, disappearing, a solid shadow.

  ***

  Morning.

  Tommy Clark had already downed three cups of coffee and he was good to go. He normally drank about three pots of the stuff every day, and it never did affect how he slept at night. He was naturally adverse to The Jitters, he guessed, and that was a damned good thing, considering the nature of his business. You can’t carry plate glass with shaky hands.

  Tommy pulled the truck onto the shoulder of the road, the normal place at the appointed time. It was a strange thing, to have your best employee be a homeless guy, but it was sure easier when it came to paying taxes. The man had no address, no family. It wasn’t going to bring down the government if a ghost like Rafferty stayed off the books.

  The man was usually waiting for Tommy, up with the dawn. Maybe he got lucky, Tommy Clark thought, then shook that thought from his brain. Guys like Rafferty don’t get lucky. Lucky guys don’t live in the damned woods.

  He took a sip of lukewarm coffee and honked the horn. Come on, boy, he thought. We got work to do. A few seconds later, Rafferty came stumbling out of the woods, brushing leaves and twigs out of his hair, wearing an old camo jacket with his name on it. He smiled and gave a weak wave to Tommy before opening the truck door and climbing in.

  “Morning, boy,” Tommy said. “Getcha some coffee.”

  Rafferty shook his head.

  “Don’t understand how a man can get through any God-given day without drinking at least one cup of coffee,” Tommy muttered.

  “High metabolism,” Rafferty said, and Tommy laughed.

  “I’mma swing by The Meal Worm and get some breakfast,” Tommy said. “You want anything? We’ve got a job this morning, but we’ve got about an hour before we have to be there.”

  At first, Rafferty declined, but after Tommy said it would be his treat, he decided to eat some food. It would be a welcome break from beef jerky. He told Tommy what he wanted, but Tommy felt like it wouldn’t be enough for a hard-working forest dweller like Rafferty. He doubled the kid’s order, added tomatoes to everything and then got himself some breakfast to go. He talked to the Three Amigos (Crandall, Lucas and Large Richard) at the counter for a few minutes while waiting for Delores to bag up his food.

  “Hell, I didn’t know anybody was still living in Vanishing Pointe,” Large Richard said.

  “New couple,” Tommy said, “only been there a couple weeks.”

  “Shame,” said the older man. “There’s good people in this town. Hate to think the new folks are gonna get a bad impression first off.”

  “Damn right,” Crandall chimed in.

  “It’s all right,” Tommy said. “We’ll get them fixed right up and they can go right on back to their normal lives.”

  Delores dropped two bags full of biscuit sandwiches, home fries and extra tomatoes on the counter. Next to those she placed a cardboard drink carrier that held two large cups of coffee, one large sweet tea and a big ice water, no lemon. Tommy put some money on the counter, grabbed both bags with one hand, lifted the drinks in the other hand and headed back out to the truck.

  He threw the bags of food in Rafferty’s lap. “There’s enough food in here to feed a damn army,” Tommy said. “And it ain’t all for me. You need to eat. Get some protein, pack some meat on those bones.”

  Rafferty took off his jacket and stowed it behind his seat. He reached into the bag and grabbed a foil-wrapped biscuit at random. He unwrapped it and inspected it for a second. Sausage, egg and cheese. His favorite. Tommy may not have known much about Rafferty, but he never forgot what Rafferty liked to eat.

  “Get ye some tomato on that, too, boy,” Tommy said. “Get some Vitamin C. Make sure you don’t get the scurvy.”

  Rafferty did as he was told, slapping a slice of tomato onto his biscuit. Normally, Rafferty didn’t eat that much, but he found himself ravenous that morning. He ate as much as could, not only replenishing his strength from the night before, but realizing that he would need some reserves to draw on for the coming night.

  “We got to go out to the Blasted Lands this morning,” Tommy said, after a sip of coffee. “Some new folks in town got their window busted out. We’ll do an estimate. See if we can talk ‘em into getting it fixed.”

  Rafferty managed to keep a straight face and not spit out his mouthful of home fries. What were the odds? There were glass replacement companies in Bell Plains. There were at least two other guys in Elders Keep who could do that job. But there he was, being driven back to the scene of the… well, he couldn’t call it a crime. Rafferty did not answer to the laws of men.

  It must be a test. God was big on testing His followers to make sure they were worthy. Rafferty dared not smile in the face of such a challenge, although he felt sure he would pass. The Pendletons had not seen him. They wouldn’t recognize him, wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a lineup. Stealth. Rafferty had it.

  Rafferty scowled at the sight of the plastic tarp covering the empty window frame in the front of the Pendleton house. He hadn’t expected them to cover it so quickly, reestablishing a feeling of security. He certainly hadn’t expected the cops to help them fix it. He thought all that protecting and serving cops were supposed to do was fictional.

  Tommy parked the truck in the driveway. “Hang out in here, son,” Tommy said. “Finish eating. You haven’t even touched your tea.” Rafferty nodded and unwrapped another biscuit. Tommy pointed at Rafferty’s food and cocked an eyebrow. Rafferty nodded and put a slice of tomato on the sandwich. Tommy was good people and even though Rafferty sure didn’t need a daddy, Tommy had been kind to him, and Rafferty was grateful for the goodwill.

  Tommy got out of the truck and shut the door. He wandered up onto the front porch, taking mental notes on window size and thickness. Only afterwards did he knock on the door; Tommy hated to seem unprepared when first meeting a
customer.

  Mark opened the front door and Tommy started talking before Mark could even open his mouth. “Hey, buddy! Looks like you need a new window.”

  “What was your first clue?” Mark asked.

  Rafferty took a deep drink of sweet tea. He didn’t need to hear the small talk. Tommy said the same thing every time anyway. Show some sympathy to the customer. Gain their trust. Get that hand shake. That was when the deal was truly established, whether the customer knew it or not. The man smiled and laughed, and there it was. Mark shook Tommy’s hand. Rafferty’s test had begun.

  He wiped the grease and tomato juice from breakfast off his hands onto his pants. “Hey, Rafferty!” Tommy yelled. “Let’s get to measuring!” Rafferty nodded and got out of the truck. He kept his eyes on the ground as he walked towards them.

  “You can go on back in, Mr. Pendleton,” Tommy said. “Rafferty and I will get this whole thing figured in a few minutes.”

  “All right, then,” Mark said, and went back inside.

  Rafferty expected to feel more emotion, being that close to the man whom he had just the night before attempted to drive out of town. Which emotion, though, he wasn’t sure. Pity wasn’t on the list, nor was any kind of primal male kinship. The Pendleton man was a sinner, one of the worst. Pastor Edward said so, and God and the angels had told him. The man of the Lord speaks the Word of the Lord, and that’s final.

  If Rafferty had followed his instincts, he would have torn that plastic tarp and broken every other window in their house. He would have watched them pack their suitcases and go speeding out of town in their little car. Rafferty would have marched around their house seven times, like Joshua did at the Battle of Jericho, reclaiming that land and that building in the Holy Name of the Lord, feeling that hot shock of righteousness pouring through his soul and outwards through his hands until Kingdom Come.

  “Where you at, boy?” Tommy asked, snapping his fingers. “Stay with me, now. Grab this end of the measuring tape.”

  Rafferty redirected his thoughts and did as he was told. Tommy hummed to himself and made mental notes about measurements. He was already thinking about what kind of glass to recommend, how much he could sell it for and what kind of profit he would be able to snatch from the job. Not that Tommy Clark ran a crooked business. Rafferty could not have worked for him, if that were the case. Tommy was okay. He wasn’t out to rip anyone off, but he wasn’t stupid, either.

  “Yeah, I think we can do these folks up right,” Tommy said. Rafferty nodded, and Tommy yelled through the plastic tarp. “Hey, Mr. Pendleton! Think we’ve got you figured out.”

  Mark opened the front door. “Come on in,” he said. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “It it’s not any trouble,” Tommy said.

  “Nah,” Mark said. “It’s already made. No trouble at all.”

  The Pendleton man opened the door and Tommy walked right in. Rafferty hung back a second. This was like entering a temple of evil and destruction. Rafferty could have sworn he heard foreign gods whispering, rolling low out of the open door, a tongue no mere man could interpret. He mumbled a quick prayer for protection and forgiveness, held his breath, and walked into the house.

  Mark was in the kitchen, coffee pot in one hand, dragging mugs from a cabinet down to the counter with the other. He smiled. “How do you take your coffee, gentlemen?”

  “Just black is fine,” Tommy said. Rafferty held his hand up and shook his head, saying nothing.

  “He don’t drink coffee,” Tommy said, making a face at Mark like, isn’t that the damndest thing? Who doesn’t drink coffee?

  “So, here’s what I figure,” Tommy said. “And you can tell me what you think. But I reckon if we’re gonna do this, let’s do it so that it not only keeps you safe, but adds some value to the house. You know what I mean?”

  “Right, right,” Mark said. “Keep going.”

  “We can put in a nice bay window there where your flat pane glass used to be. It’s just the right size. Eighty inches total, with a forty inch center piece. Now, they sell this shit in kits, you know what I mean? We can go over to Bell Plains, pick this up and have the whole thing installed by four o’clock this afternoon. It’s gorgeous, and the glass is reinforced.”

  “Yeah, I’m hearin’ you,” Mark said. He made Rafferty sick. He wasn’t just listening. He was trying to ingratiate himself with Tommy. He was trying to make his voice sound more Tennessee Southern instead of Florida Southern, and he kept eye contact with Tommy the whole time he was talking. Jedi mind tricks. Witch tricks.

  “Now, here’s what I’m going to do,” Tommy went on. “Y’all are new in town, and I hate that this happened. Really, it just kills me. This is a good town. Good people live here. Labor is one thing. It’s some moderate construction we’re doing here, but like I said, we can knock it out pretty quick. Done this before. But I’m only gonna charge you cost for the window kit. Does that sound right to you?”

  “That sounds better than right,” Mark said.

  “Well, don’t worry,” Tommy said with a wink. “We’ll get ours. But you’re not gonna get hammered, and the insurance will cover most, if not all, of the cost. I think you’re getting a pretty good deal, my friend.”

  “Mark. Call me Mark.”

  Tommy Clark smiled. “Mark, it is.”

  Rafferty smelled her before he saw her. The air was suddenly infected with a dark undercurrent of cinnamon and cocoa gone fetid. Something else: patchouli, maybe? Some kind of incense? Nothing you would find in a normal home. Most houses smelled like plug-in air fresheners or dollar store candles. This place – this woman — smelled like something borne of fire.

  “Oh!” Mark said. “Hey, babe!” They all turned towards her, hiding shyly around the corner, her arms folded in front of her chest, as if she were expecting to be body-checked. Rafferty raised his eyes only, staring her down, taking in every detail. Again, he understood the feelings Penny had, the cravings he had felt the previous night. In the back of his head, he heard drums.

  Tommy Clark, ever genial, put his cup of coffee down and moved to shake Nika’s hand. “Tommy Clark, Tommy’s Glass,” he said.

  “Nika,” the woman said, accepting Tommy’s hand into hers. This slightly disappointed Rafferty, but Tommy had no knowledge of spiritual matters, the battle between good and evil.

  Tommy pointed over his shoulder. “That there’s Rafferty,” he said. “He don’t talk much.” Rafferty nodded once, still avoiding eye contact with the witch. Nika waved at him.

  “Well, the good news is this is not going to cost nearly as much as I thought it was going to,” Mark said. “Tommy says the glass that was…”

  And there went Tommy, running off the mouth, talking about bay windows and reinforced glass. He made sure to impart to the little woman what a stunning deal they were getting and that only he was in a position to give them that kind of deal.

  Rafferty wasn’t listening to Tommy’s closing spiel. He kept looking at Nika, quick glances, like a lizard. The longer he stood in her presence, the more he was convinced Penny was correct. If the woman was human, it was only marginally so. She projected thoughts of helplessness and desire. It was like the evil inside her tried to play dead, but couldn’t help showing itself in measured flashes.

  “Well, that’s great,” she said to Tommy and Mark, and he brought himself back around to business mode.

  “Sounds like a yes from the wife,” Tommy said. Such Andy Griffith pretension, Rafferty thought. Tommy had himself convinced that shucks and howdy good ol’ boy was his real personality.

  They were winding up the negotiation portion of the proceedings, and Rafferty placed his hands in his pockets and prepared to leave. He wanted to stay. He wanted to snap the neck of that scrawny man and force himself on the black witch, to baptize her with her own blood and streams of his semen, to sanctify her with pain, blades and fists.

  But at Tommy’s beckoning, Rafferty left the house, a good worker, humble, ready to assist.
<
br />   ***

  The thing about having to go to Bell Plains for a bay window kit was complete bullshit. It was a wonderful lie and it had been working for years. The truth was, Tommy Clark had all the materials in a shed behind his shop. He bought the wood in bulk and cut it to size himself. He had an industrial glass cutter and was able to cut pieces to size well in advance. Two solid weeks of cutting and pre-building during the year left him fifty weeks to sell cheap kits and make bank.

  “It’s a good job, boy,” Tommy Clark said, driving back to the shop. “I cut out the middleman and pass the savings on to me. And you, of course, providing you don’t clue anyone in.”

  Rafferty shrugged. “Business is business,” he said. “Not my concern.”

  “You’re a good boy, Rafferty,” Tommy said. “I think I’m gonna take a nap. Breakfast is sitting heavy. You wanna watch some TV? Don’t get no TV out in the woods.”

  “Can I use your phone?” Rafferty asked.

  Tommy Clark shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said. “Just flip the sign on the door to ‘closed’ and you can do what you want. Wake me up in two hours, all right?”

  Rafferty nodded, and Tommy went back into his private office, where he would fall asleep in his overstuffed office chair. When he heard Tommy snoring through the door, he picked up the phone and dialed.

  ***

  Pastor Edward had smoked more that morning than he had in the past six months. He had bitten the nail on his little finger down to the bloody quick. He jumped when the phone rang, and almost dropped it trying to answer the call.

  “Hello?” Edward said.

  “Pastor,” came Rafferty’s voice from the receiver.

  Edward heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God,” he said. “I was worried. Tell me. Tell me what happened. Tell me where we are.”

  “We need to move,” Rafferty said. “Tonight.”