Mind Games

by Polly Iyer

  “Why are you so sure the man is the one you saw on television?” Jenrette asked.

  “Because it looked like him,” Granger said. “He didn’t flaunt his face around or nothin’, but it was him all right.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “Yeah, when he came in. Hard not to notice a stranger when he walks into a local bar. They kinda stand out, if you know what I mean. ’Specially one looks like him.” He locked his beady black eyes on Lucier. “Like fish outta water. Catch my drift?”

  Jenrette ignored the blatant racial innuendo. “Did he talk to anyone or leave with anyone?”

  “He sat at the bar and talked with the bartender the whole time. Course she was all over him, sticking her big tits in his face. He couldn’t ignore them. Not if you’ve ever seen Alice’s tits. He was still there when I left.”

  “What time was that?” Lucier asked.

  Granger answered Jenrette as if Lucier didn’t exist. “’Bout one. Knowin’ Alice, she got what she wanted after she closed up.”

  “You know where Alice lives?” Jenrette asked.

  “There a reward for this guy?” Granger asked, his eyes like lasers on Lucier.

  “Could be, if we get him ’cause of your information.” Jenrette moved in front of Lucier to break Granger’s eye contact. “Alice, you know where she lives or don’t you?”

  “Hell, every man in town knows where Alice lives.”

  Granger gave them directions to Alice’s apartment complex. Lucier hoped they were better than the ones he gave to his house. Before getting into the car, Lucier turned and asked, “What kind of car does Alice drive?”

  “Red Camaro, eighty-eight,” Granger said to Jenrette.

  * * * * *

  Jake Farley drove his pick-up into the parking lot of Alice Mayburn’s apartment complex. He saw the silver Corolla with Alabama plates and called Jenrette. “The Corolla’s here, but I don’t see the Camaro.”

  “We’re two blocks away, Jake. Don’t do anything till we get there. Deacon and Dumar are on their way too.” Jenrette flipped his phone shut. “I think we’ve gotta move fast. Either Macon’s there alone or he’s killed the woman and taken the car.”

  The two unmarked vehicles drove into the complex with little fanfare. Farley stood outside the door of her building. Deacon covered the back exit. The three men joined Farley and entered the building. With guns drawn, they silently mounted the steps to the second floor apartment. Standing to the side, Jenrette banged on the door and made the customary police announcement. No response.

  Carl Dumar motioned everyone to stand back while he mustered his impressive power and kicked the door open with one thrust of his huge foot. They rushed inside, scattering to every corner of the apartment, checking the bathroom and opening closet doors.

  “Looks like they’ve split,” Farley said. “When a woman’s personals are gone, she’s gone.”

  “Shit,” Jenrette said. “The son of a bitch is always one step ahead of us.” He speed-dialed his office and ordered a BOLO for Alice Mayburn’s car. He emphasized that Macon was armed and dangerous and to approach with extreme caution. “We’ll get ’em,” he said. “We’ll get the fuckers.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Daddies’ Little Girls

  Diana lay in bed, trying desperately to meditate her mind clear, the one weapon she had to defeat Macon. She’d been overjoyed to learn Jenny McClellan was alive and safe. The girl was somewhere in the hospital getting a thorough check-up, after which she planned a visit to Diana’s room to thank her.

  “You saved that girl’s life, you know, baby,” Galen said. “Story’s all over the newspapers and television.”

  “Macon will go ballistic when he sees she’s been found. Ernie figured out the location.”

  Galen held eye contact with her. “He’s a pretty smart fellow for…”

  “Yes, Galen? He’s a pretty smart fellow for what?”

  Galen squirmed in his chair. “For…for figuring all that out.”

  “Does that mean Macon will try and contact you?” Blanche asked.

  Diana, in a fierce stare-down with her father, turned toward Blanche. “I hope not, but he’s obsessed. He still has something to prove, maybe now more than ever.”

  “Don’t worry, honey, the police will get him,” Blanche said.

  Lucier knocked and opened the door without waiting for a response. “Oh, sorry, I’ll come back later.”

  “No, no, come in,” Galen said.

  Diana, surprised at Galen’s hospitality, said, “We were just talking about you.”

  “You were?”

  “Yes. My father said how clever you were to find the girl. She would have died if it hadn’t have been for you.”

  “Really.” Lucier’s skeptical expression focused on Diana’s father.

  “Yes, weren’t you, Galen?”

  “Hmmph, good job, Lieutenant,” Galen mumbled. “Good job.”

  “Diana gave me all the information,” Lucier said, sneaking a glance at her. “I just put the pieces together.”

  Another knock and the door opened to Jenny McClellan holding her father’s hand. “Is this a bad time?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” Diana said, doing her best to hide a wince caused by sitting up. “You must be Jenny.”

  The girl withdrew at the sight of Diana’s face, but regained her composure and approached the bed. “I want to thank you for finding me,” she said in a tiny voice. “I didn’t think anyone would.”

  The girl, tall for her age, prompted Diana to think how much faster girls grew up these days. When she was fourteen, she looked nine. Now, a girl fourteen looked like a college coed. But they were still fourteen.

  “Come here, sweetheart, sit down on the bed for a minute so Lieutenant Lucier can hook your locket around your neck. Anyway, he’s the one who figured out where you were from a few clues I gave him.”

  “Thank you,” Jenny said to Lucier.

  He smiled, then fastened the locket. “There you go. How are you feeling?”

  “I was hungry and cold when the police found me, but I feel better now. I’ll be glad to go home with my mom and dad.”

  “I bet you will,” Diana said. “One thing I’m sure everyone’s told you is that even a grown up girl like yourself has to be very careful about talking to strangers. Don’t be fooled by good looks and a nice way. That’s the type of stranger you should stay away from. You’re a lucky girl. You know that, don’t you?”

  Jenny nodded, then looked at her dad.

  “The man who took you is very bad. He took me too, and although I may not look lucky right now, I’m grateful to be here.”

  “I guess we’re both lucky,” Jenny said. “I promise to be more careful from now on.”

  “Good. Me too.”

  “We’d better go, dear,” Mr. McClellan said. He looked at Diana and Lucier. “I can’t tell you how beholden we are to you both. We’ve lived every parent’s worst nightmare, and I thank God nothing happened worse than it did. And a speedy recovery to you, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Mr. McClellan.”

  He took his daughter’s hand and left.

  “Well, a happy ending,” Blanche said. “We better go too, Galen. Diana needs her rest.”

  “Okay, dear.” Galen looked at Lucier. “You coming, Lieutenant?”

  “No, I think I’ll stay awhile, Mr. Racine. I have some things I need to discuss with your daughter.”

  Galen looked toward Diana, who dared him to object.

  Both kissed her good night. “We’ll see you tomorrow then, baby,” Galen said.

  When the door closed behind them, Lucier said. “Protective, isn’t he?”

  Diana relaxed. “You have no idea.” She reached for the glass of water and grimaced from the stretch.

  “Here, let me.” He brought the straw to her lips and she sipped. “How are you doing?”

  “Better.”

  “You look better.”

  She laughed. “Ern
ie, I look like I just went ten rounds and lost every one. But thanks for saying so.”

  “No, you do. There’s a light back in your eyes…um, eye.” They both laughed, then Lucier turned serious. “Diana, when Macon took you, I was frantic. I thought of last week and how I blew it.”

  “You didn’t blow it. See, I’m still here. A little worse for wear, though. Something else.” She noted again the strange and beautiful color of his eyes. “That day at your house I wanted to make love to you in the worst way. I don’t think that’s any surprise; I wasn’t very subtle. But after what’s happened, after what Macon did, I don’t know if I’ll ever feel that way again. Not because of you, but―”

  “Shh.” He stroked back her hair. “You never have to do anything you don’t want to do. Ever.” He leaned close to her and kissed her forehead.

  “That doesn’t mean you have to kiss my forehead. Kissing is okay. I have no problem with kissing.”

  “We have plenty of time.” He brushed her lips, then reached for her hand and held tight. “You have to concentrate on getting well, and I have to concentrate on finding Macon so you’ll never feel threatened by him again.”

  This time he caressed the sides of her swollen face and kissed her more deliberately.

  “Now that’s more like it,” she said.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Nothing Beats a Little Luck

  Macon lay stretched across the bed in the dingy motel room, watching his face flash across the television screen in wavy lines. The smell of stale cigarette smoke hung in the musty air like rancid grease. He got up, paced the floor, and kicked thin air in frustration.

  The strong premonition at Alice’s apartment that the police would burst in any minute prompted him to make her pack her things and leave. He’d debated whether to kill her or take her along, finally concluding that she’d be more help than hindrance. He made a wise decision. Aside from the physical satisfaction she eagerly offered, Alice’s face wasn’t plastered all over the networks. The desk clerk at the fleabag motel paid no notice when she checked them in. They were safe for a while.

  “She found the girl. She wasn’t supposed to do that. I had her so messed up she couldn’t think, but she found her. How in hell did she do that?”

  “Jeez, Harley, what’d ya send her the locket for if you didn’t want her to find the kid?”

  He got right in her face. “That was the game, Alice,” he said, as if it were clear to everyone in the whole world but her. “Those were the rules. Don’t you understand, you stupid bitch? Those were the rules.”

  Alice skulked down on the bed, saying nothing more to further incur his wrath. She eyed her bag and the door.

  “What are you looking at the door for? You thinking of leaving? Huh? Is that what you’re thinking?”

  “No, Harley. ’Course not, but you scare me when you talk like that. I don’t mind what you done or that you call me names. Everyone calls me names. I don’t even mind that we’re running from the police. It excites me. Like we’re Bonnie and Clyde, you know? But I don’t like when you yell at me. You scare me when you do that.”

  He looked at her. Shit, Harley, watch your temper. You need her. He couldn’t have her running off at the first opportunity. “I’m sorry. I lost my head for a minute.” He hooked his index finger under her chin. “Won’t happen again.”

  “Okay, Harley, okay.” She sat up bed. “So what’re ya gonna do?”

  “I don’t know. I have to think.”

  “Why don’t we get the hell out of here. Forget the game. Forget her. Let’s get another car and go to Mexico. They’ll never find us down there.”

  He knew she was right, but he’d waited too long, obsessed twenty years too long. “By this time they must have found out about you. Probably know your car too.”

  “You don’t know that. No one in the bar paid any attention to you.”

  “Don’t be so sure. People don’t forget me. That’s the curse of good looks.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Always been kinda average myself. Except for, you know, these.” She thrust out her chest.

  “We don’t have time for that right now. Besides, I’m distracted. Can’t think about sex now.” But he had to admit, she turned him on. Visions of her naked, doing the things she did—Stop, goddamn it, Harley. Not now.

  He’d never met anyone like Alice before. The perfect woman. Totally immoral. Didn’t give a rat’s ass whether he was a murderer or a priest. All she cared about was fucking, and that suited him fine. Besides, she was loyal. Not a woman who’d leave him when another man came along.

  “That woman’s gonna be the death of us both, Harley. Is she that important to you?”

  He thought about Diana Racine, nodded. “Yeah, she is.”

  “Okay then.” Alice got up on her knees. “Let’s do it.”

  “We’ve got to get another car and someplace to stay.”

  “I know a place. Lots of places.”

  “Where?”

  “There’s a lake not far from here. People go there in summer when it’s hot in the city. There might be a couple of people, but there are plenty of empty houses. We could go there and look around.”

  “How far away?”

  “About an hour’s all. We could find the most deserted house and stay there till this quiets down and your picture ain’t all over TV.”

  “Hmm, might work. But we can’t take your car. I don’t trust the cops aren’t looking for it.”

  “Then we’ll find another one. There’s a small used lot on the main road outside town. Guy who runs the place drinks like a fish and is smashed half the time. He won’t know nothing’s missing till tomorrow morning, and maybe not even then. By then we’ll be halfway to Mexico. It’s only a couple of miles. We can walk. That way, if they find my car here they won’t put it together so fast.” She stopped, turned. “Harley, you know how to hotwire a car?”

  “I’ve never done it, but I can probably figure it out. How hard can it be? Cars get stolen every day.”

  “Never mind. I can.”

  “How do you know how?”

  “My first husband, the one the cops wouldn’t leave alone. He drove the getaway car in a few robberies. That’s what finally broke up our marriage. Well, jail did that. He was a master. Taught me lots of stuff.

  “You know, Alice. You’re not so stupid after all.”

  “There’s still plenty of surprises left in me, Harley. I been holding back a few. When we get to the lake I’ll show you what I mean.”

  Macon studied her. Yeah, good thing he took her along.

  Macon took his small satchel, Alice carried the few things she brought in hers, and she led him from the motel onto a street parallel to the main road. It took a little more than an hour to cover the distance in the dark. Fifteen cars sat on the lot, older models in fair condition.

  She rummaged through her cosmetic case and pulled out a nail file and a heavy-duty hairpin. She bent the flat end of the nail file into an L shape and straightened the hairpin, leaving a little kink in the end. “Before we resort to breaking a window and setting off an alarm, I got a better idea. Come on. Stay low. We gotta do this fast before anyone sees.”

  The door to the office looked like he could kick it in, but if Alice could pick the lock, the owner might not be tipped off as soon, and it sure beat the hell out of setting off a car alarm.

  “Ex-husband had many talents. Picking locks was one of them.” She stuck the bent part of the nail file into the lower part of the lock, the hairpin into the top part, and jiggled. When nothing happened, she jiggled some more, slowly turning the file. It took a couple of minutes, but the door unlocked.

  “Very cool, woman.”

  “Now all we have to do is find the keys. I want the one for the Camry over there on the left of the lot. There’s a zillion of ’em on the road. The cops’d have to stop every other car.”

  “Well, looky there,” Macon said. A board with all the keys hung behind the desk. He found the right
one.

  “Beautiful. Woot, looky here.” She picked up a license plate. “Could anything be better than this? Let’s go.”

  “Wait,” he said. He rummaged through the drawers, found a cash box, and took whatever was in it. “I’ll count it later.”

  “Harley, you’re the best. When you aren’t murdering people, you’d make a great crook.” She turned the latch on the door to lock it, and they hustled back to the lot, ducking behind a car when a pickup went by. She fit the key into the door, flipped the locks. “Get in.”

  He picked up the bags and tossed them in the back seat.

  “I ain’t usually this lucky in life,” she said with a huge grin.

  “Did I call you stupid before? You’re a genius. Now what?”

  “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  She turned the key in the ignition, put the car in gear, looked both ways to make sure no one was coming, and drove out of the lot. “I’m good, ain’t I?”

  “Damn good, Alice. You are definitely damn good.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  An Unwanted Dinner Guest

  When Lucier got back to the boarding house that night, Galen Racine was holding court in the middle of the parlor, regaling his audience with stories about Diana like a proud father confident of his bragging rights. He eyed Lucier heading for the stairs.

  “Have you had anything to eat, Lieutenant?” he asked.

  “Huh? Uh, well no, I haven’t. Hadn’t given much thought to food, really.” Lucier climbed another step.

  Mrs. Kirk, the owner of the boarding house, bustled toward the stairway and tugged at Lucier’s arm. “Come into the kitchen. There’s plenty of fried catfish, vegetables, and biscuits left from dinner. I’ll warm you a plate.”

  “I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble this late. I’ll just go to my room and―”

  “Nonsense. No trouble at all. I know how hard you’ve been working, and you away from home and all.”