by Rod Reynolds
Crossing to the main entrance, I spotted the barrel of a shotgun poking out from behind a pillar. Couldn’t see anything of the man holding it.
We backed up until we reached the door, and I kicked it open with my heel.
‘We’ll find you.’ The shooter’s voice echoed across the room.
We burst out into the darkness. ‘Car. Where’s the car?’
‘Far side.’ His voice was a rasp, my arm tight on his neck.
I whirled us around and pushed him a distance in front of me. ‘Run.’
He broke into a loping sprint, me trailing behind.
We bombed around to the far side of the property, thinking he could be leading me into a trap just as three parked cars came into view. He arrowed for the middle one, an old Chrysler.
He threw the door open and got in. I dived into the backseat and jammed the pistol into the base of his skull. ‘Drive, drive—’
He threw it in reverse and backed out with my door still swinging. He braked hard, momentum slamming it shut, and shifted into first. The wheels spun and then we lurched forward, careening over the jagged ground until we made the blacktop. I looked out the back window, saw a crack of light widen as the doorway came open, and then we were gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I checked the highway behind in the wing mirror, saw no sign of anyone following. I guided him north, to Lang’s rendezvous point.
‘Nancy Hill, where is she?’ I said, still panting.
He didn’t answer, eyes glued to the road.
‘She was friends with Diana Desjardins. You don’t need me to tell you who that is.’
‘They’ll kill you.’
‘If that girl dies tonight, I’ll kill all of you.’
His mouth was a thin line in the mirror. ‘Where’re we going?’
I strained to see in the dark ahead, looking for a glimpse of Lang’s car along the highway shoulder. I switched the gun to my other hand to wipe my palm on my trouser leg. ‘You panicked hearing DiSalvo. You know what I’m talking about, tell me if Hill was part of it.’
Back to silence. I searched the road ahead, still no sign of Lang. Old doubts about him rearing up again. One of Winfield Callaway’s lines coming back to me out of the blue: ‘Somebody’s using you.’ A taunt from a dead man.
‘Slow down.’
I shifted across the seat so I could monitor the rearview. No lights behind. Eyes front again. ‘Dammit, Lang …’
I was sure we’d gone more than a half-mile. I was reeling, a voice in my head saying over and over that I needed a new plan—
A red light appeared in the night. On the shoulder, swirling around once, twice, then extinguished again.
‘There. Pull over.’
He peeled off the highway and came to a stop twenty yards in front of the other vehicle.
It prowled up behind us, its headlamps on now, lighting us up like floodlights. It came to a halt behind us and no one moved.
I went to get out but stopped myself. It felt wrong. The beams were dazzling, I couldn’t make out the driver beyond a silhouette. Why the hell wasn’t he getting out?
‘You mean to just sit there?’ Landell said. Another smart mouth bastard taunting me.
I flexed my right hand, working out the cramp, then wrapped it around the gun again. I cracked my door and called back. ‘Lang?’
The sound of the other car’s motor filled my ears.
Then, ‘Yates?’
I cracked my door wider. ‘It’s me.’
Lang emerged from the other car. His right hand was hidden behind his open door. ‘Who you got in there with you?’
There was an edge to his voice. The situation turning on me. The drumbeat of my heart, wondering now what his intentions were. ‘What’s in your hand?’
‘A gun. Who’s in there?’
I glanced around, as if I might find an escape route. ‘The bartender from that joint.’
He stepped out from behind his door and started towards us, a silhouette in the rearview. He stopped when he came level with our trunk, ducking to inspect us.
‘You holding a weapon, Yates?’
It was bathed in the headlamp beams, so bright in the dark. ‘Yes.’
‘Go on and set it down.’
I lowered it to the seat.
‘Turn your face, driver.’
Landell complied, sullen. ‘Howdy, Sheriff.’
‘Hell.’ Lang took a step closer and popped my door. ‘Get out.’
I still had the gun in my hand and he snatched it from me as I exited, the movement so fast I had no time to react.
‘He didn’t come with you voluntarily,’ he said, pointing.
‘No.’
‘Talk fast.’
I glanced at the highway, seeing a headlamp beam in the distance moving towards us. ‘We need to get out of here. He knows something about Desjardins and Hill—’
‘How do you know that?’
The lights kept approaching.
‘I mean it, we should go. Someone else was there. Those lights—’ I nodded in their direction.
He looked over his shoulder down the highway, the sound of the other car coming in waves across the night.
He went back over to his cruiser and reached inside to switch the red globe on.
The headlamps in the distance slowed and then stopped thirty yards short of where we were. The other car idled a long moment – five seconds, ten. Lang stuffed the pistol he’d relieved me of in his belt to take a two-handed grip on his own.
Then the car turned around, its beams lighting up the desert in an arc as it went, bringing the blackness to life for a fleeting second and leaving a glare on the eye like the trace of a bullet. It accelerated sharply, heading back the way it’d come.
He faced me again. ‘Where’d you get the gun?’
‘He was about to pull it on me.’
‘What for?’
‘For asking about DiSalvo. He flipped his lid when I said the name.’
I heard the passenger door open. ‘That’s a damn lie, Sheriff—’ Landell was climbing out of the car.
Lang raised his weapon, stopping him dead. ‘You armed?’
‘No.’
‘Sit your ass back down.’
‘This man took me hostage, Sheriff. Stole a gun, threatened me and the girls—’
‘I said sit down.’
Landell stayed on his feet and slammed his door shut. ‘You know who my boss is. We’re all paid up.’
Lang holstered his weapon and marched around the car. He stopped in front of him and reached for his handcuffs. ‘Put your hands on the roof.’
‘You arresting me, Boss? What charge?’
‘That’s two instructions you disobeyed. On the roof.’
Landell looked away in disgust. He faced around and put his hands on the roof to be patted down.
But Lang switched his grip on the cuffs, holding them like a set of brass knucks. Then he raised them up and slammed them down onto the back of Landell’s hand.
The empty car underneath magnified the sound of the blow, a hollow thud that was immediately drowned out by Landell’s scream.
Shock rooted me to the spot. Lang held the cuffs by his side, watching him writhe. Then he did it again.
I winced. Landell’s scream split the desert. I couldn’t bear to look.
I tried to go over but my legs wouldn’t work. I fought to get any words out. ‘Lang, wait—’
‘Tell me about the starlets.’ Lang’s mouth was an inch from his ear.
Landell slumped against the car, his hand covered in blood, torn skin flapping loose. His legs buckled but he managed to stay standing. ‘Goddamn, this ain’t right. You can’t do this to—’
Lang gripped a handful of his hair to hold him up and smashed the handcuffs into the roof, an inch from the mangled hand, the sound like bullets hitting the bodywork. ‘Don’t you ever talk to me that way, you pissant. Your boss’s money is all’s keeping you breathing right now. Be grateful for anything more.�
�� He slammed the cuffs into the roof again, two, three, four times, ramping himself up. ‘Flap your gums at me like you can’t be touched. Piss on you.’ He shifted his grip to Landell’s wrist and raised the cuffs in the air. I flinched as he brought them down on his hand once more.
Landell’s legs gave this time and he collapsed down the car, vomiting as he went. ‘Lang, that’s enough.’ My feet were moving and I rounded the car in a daze, too late to do anything.
Lang held his arm out to back me off, eyes blazing. ‘You want to find her or don’t you?’
He turned away and crouched next to Landell. ‘Starlets. Talk.’
Landell was clutching his hand between his thighs, whimpering. ‘Siegel. Mr Siegel. He came down heavy on Joe, made him do it. It’s just a telephone number, we don’t see a dime.’
‘Have you seen the girl this man asked you about?’
He nodded, rolling side to side in the dirt.
‘Nancy Hill. Yes?’
More nods.
I dropped to my knees, leaning over him. ‘Where is she?’
Praying he wouldn’t say dead.
‘Don’t make me say. Please, Boss.’
Lang reached for the injured hand.
He jerked away. ‘NO.’
‘Answer the question.’
‘Ranch. A ranch. It’s on the road to Red Rock. They keep girls there.’
‘Is she still alive?’ I said.
‘How would I know? This is nothing to do with me, I swear. We take the calls, we pass it on.’
Lang stabbed a finger in his chest. ‘What about the other one, Desjardins? Was she a part of it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who killed her?’ he said.
‘Don’t know. I swear it.’
I got to my feet, my hands trembling, unable to stop gawping at Lang. He looked up from Landell and stared back down the highway towards where the chase car had been. My brain broke through the sludge and I cottoned what he was thinking. ‘Lang, if his crew go back and sound the alarm …’
He nodded in agreement and grabbed a handful of Landell’s shirt. ‘On your feet.’
*
It was a frantic race back down the highway to the Kitten Litter, Landell cuffed and slumped in the backseat. My nerves were raw at what I’d seen, but all I could keep in my head was how many minutes had passed since the other car had turned back; whether they’d have had enough time to call and warn whoever was holding Nancy Hill at the ranch. She was surely dead if so.
The brakes squealed when we skidded to a stop in the parking lot. Another car was parked there. Lang jumped out and pulled his gun, checking around for signs of life before he moved to the entrance. I slipped over to the other car and placed my hand on the hood.
I signalled to Lang. ‘It’s warm.’
The place was still.
I ran back over to the entrance, keeping my footfalls light. Lang tried the door but it was locked. He ducked his head back into the car. ‘How many men inside?’
Landell looked catatonic, gave no response. Lang shook him hard.
He opened his eyes with a start, pain shooting across his face as his senses awoke again.
‘I asked how many.’
‘One … just one.’
‘Name.’
‘Bader. Verne Bader.’
Lang went to the door and hammered on it. ‘Bader, open the damn door before I kick it in.’
The silence was total and oppressive.
Then a voice came from inside. ‘I’m opening the damn door – put your gun down.’
The lock sounded and then it opened a fraction.
‘Step out here where I can see you,’ Lang said. ‘I see a weapon in your hands, I’m not waiting to ask questions.’
The door opened wider. ‘I ain’t holding. Tell that to the damn maniac by your side.’
The man stepped from the shadows, hesitant. He flashed his hands – empty. As he did, Lang snatched his wrist, jerked him forward and slugged him on the skull with his gun butt.
The man hit the deck. Lang stood over him. ‘Did you make a call to warn the others?’
Bader’s eyes were rolling in his head. He stammered trying to say, ‘No.’
‘I go to check with the operator on your line, they about to tell me the same thing?’
He said nothing, clutching his head.
Lang kicked his foot. ‘Answer me.’
Bader rolled away. ‘Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit …’
‘You stupid, goddamn …’ Lang straightened up and shot me a look, his eyes wide. ‘Goddammit.’
My stomach dipped. ‘How long to get out there?’
‘Too long.’ He flung the driver’s door open and stuck his finger in Landell’s face. ‘I want directions right now.’
*
We sped west out of town in Lang’s cruiser, the Red Rock Cliffs just visible as a dark outline in the distance.
I hadn’t spoken a word to him since we left, still trying to come to terms with his sudden outburst of violence. I saw him in a darker light, the distance between him and the men I’d encountered before now much smaller. He may not have been a killer like Horace Bailey of Texarkana, but the abuse of power was out of the same playbook – regardless of whether lowlifes like Landell and Bader deserved what they got. What troubled me most was that I was riding with him regardless, the beneficiary of his vicious streak – willing to grant tacit approval to those methods when it was to my advantage.
Among it all I was bargaining with a god I’d never given credence to, cutting deals to spare Nancy Hill’s life. I couldn’t face the thought of finding her corpse waiting for us, and I tried to quiet my conscience that way by telling myself the end justified Lang’s means. It didn’t detract an ounce from my hypocrisy.
He broke the silence. ‘When we get to the ranch, I want you to stay in the car. You hear?’
I was mindful there’d been no time to call for backup. ‘You don’t know what’s waiting out there.’
‘Exactly why it needs to go down my way.’
‘They’ll be expecting you.’
‘I know that.’ He glanced at Landell in the rearview. He’d sworn under threat of another beating that he didn’t know how many men were based there. ‘They’re not about to start a shooting war.’
‘You can’t know that. If it’s them killed Desjardins, there’s no telling what they’ll do if they’re cornered.’
‘You meaning to talk me out of this?’
‘No. I want you to give me that gun back.’ I nodded to the stolen pistol in his waistband. I kept my face even, trying not to let my fear show.
He looked over at me and away again, saying nothing.
We turned off the state road onto an unpaved track, the cruiser’s headlamps piercing a darkness that was otherwise complete. The route took us up a slight incline. The rutted ground slowed our pace, desperation making me think to get out and run.
It felt like we covered miles. Then we crested the ridge and I saw lights less than a quarter-mile distant. Lang tapped the brakes but kept us moving. It was a ranch house, all the windows lit. There were two cars parked at an angle outside, their headlamps crossing, lighting up the front of the building. Exhaust gas drifted across the beams like smoke on a battlefield.
It was a hive of movement. Two shapes fleeted past an upstairs window in silhouette. A man ran from one side of the property to the other, carrying a box. Another came out of the front door, dragging a second by the arm. They passed through the beams, and I saw the second form was a woman.
‘They’re clearing out,’ I said.
‘We’ll wait and take them in the cars.’ He killed the lights and hit the brakes.
‘What? No, you have to keep—They could be dead by then.’
‘We go now, they’ll scatter.’
I smacked the dash. ‘They’ll be alive. Go.’
‘For how long? They run and there’s no way we find them.’
My legs were twitching – adrenaline and
fear. ‘Give me the gun.’ I held my hand out, beckoning him.
‘What?’
I cracked my door. ‘Give me the gun, dammit.’
A faint cry from ahead drew our eyes. The man leading the woman by the arm had opened the trunk of his car and was wrestling her inside.
Lang shot his hand out, absently, as if it could stop what he was seeing. ‘Hell …’
The woman caught the man in the face, a scratch or slap, enough to stagger him and make him back up a pace. He got his feet under him again, then reared back and belted her in the head. The blow sent her sprawling against the open trunk and he bundled her the rest of the way inside and slammed the lid. He reached to favour his face. As he tried to catch his breath, his eyes strayed to the horizon.
The hand on his face went still. He was looking right in our direction. He gazed a minute, motionless, not sure what he was seeing. Everything froze. I could hear Landell breathing in the back.
Then the man broke for the house, hollering to alert the others.
‘GO, GO—’
Lang stamped on the accelerator. He hit the lights and sirens, the noise screaming through the desert. Rocks and cacti flickered in a red wash.
‘You see your girl?’ He was shouting above the roar.
‘No.’ My face pressed almost to the windscreen.
He ripped the stolen gun from his waistband and passed it to me without looking. ‘I just deputised you. Don’t use it unless you have to. Bring back anyone tries to make off with a woman.’
I gripped it tight to my thigh, straining to make out faces as we closed.
A hundred yards out, the scene descended into chaos.
The front door flew open and a half-dozen bodies spilled out – men and women. They criss-crossed and stumbled, the women running in all directions. The two men made for the cars.
Then a gunshot rang out, the muzzle flash dead ahead. I ducked on reflex, heard a second. I stole a look over the dashboard, no clue how close the bullets came.
We hit the hardscrabble turnaround at the end of the track and Lang slammed the brakes, swerving to leave us side on and partially blocking the way out. His window faced the ranch; he stuck his gun out and fired twice at the porch then threw his door open.
I kicked mine open and jumped out. There were shouts and screams in every direction. I glanced all about, trying to track the runners. I heard an engine turn over and the car with the woman in the trunk started backing up. Lang ran towards it with his gun up, firing.