Hailey's Hog

by Andrew Draper

  She quickly stole a glace at the large speedometer set in the middle of the Hog’s gas tank. 37 in a 35, not really speeding. Maybe he’ll just go by me. Half a block ahead, the red light at Swan Road forced her to stop, the long arm of the law now only a few feet away. Why can’t you get a call or something!

  She got a quick look at the officer driving as they waited for the light to turn green. Go away! She willed the officer to ignore her presence. Signal going from red to green, the traffic surged forward, allowing her to slowly open the distance as they moved up the block. Seeing the cruiser turn off and head down a side street, it took several seconds before she grasped the idea that she really had nothing to fear from the police. Now making a right on to East Golf Links Road, she continued getting closer to her nemesis.

  Distracting her from the gnawing phobia of being followed, she noticed the intermittent red flash of Grady’s right blinker suddenly telegraphing his intention to leave the slow-moving, motorized throng. She closed the gap, watching him turn into an upholstered cesspool euphemistically referred to as a “Gentleman’s club”, on the edge of Davis-Monthan Air Force Base. She stole a last glimpse as he pulled the Jeep into an empty space and parked, almost completely obscured by the deepening darkness.

  Silencing the low growl coming from the Vance and Hines pipes, she cut the engine and lights, coasting around the corner of the building into the back lot. Finding an empty space, she silently rolled to a stop, effectively hiding herself and the Hog in the shadows between a mammoth SUV and a fading, dented pickup truck.

  Now on foot, she moved quickly, darting from car to car, crossing the parking lot to melt into the shadows beneath the club’s tall billboard. Taking refuge behind a reeking dumpster, she watched him, heart racing, from her makeshift lair among the mountain of trash and empty cardboard boxes.

  Her quarry sat still for several seconds before turning to quickly look over his shoulder, scanning the lot, ostensibly for any intrusion on his solitude. Why doesn’t he get out already?

  Apparently satisfied he was alone, he pulled a small white pipe and cigarette lighter from his shirt pocket. Putting the pipe to his mouth, the dancing flame of the lighter outlined his chiseled face in contrasting patches of light and darkness.

  He exhaled and a small cloud of blue smoke drifted away from his lips, glowing as it passed through the sharp, yellow beams of a streetlight a few yards away.

  Still watching from the darkness, Hailey’s nose caught the sweet scent of marijuana as it drifted across the lot from the jeep’s open cockpit. I get it. Gotta cop a buzz before you go to see the boobs bounce. Pig!

  The sweat dripped down her forehead as she contemplated her next move. Now, with the moment almost at hand, she leaned back against the side of the building, the rough stucco wall digging into the soft flesh of her uncovered shoulders. She watched him smoke in silence for several minutes wrestling with her own anxiety-fueled indecision. Maybe I should just get the hell out of here…before he sees me. Her pulse thumped in her ears, a marching band stomping through the field of her erratic emotions. I could go to jail for just being here.

  Her palms grew damp with sweat, equal parts desert heat and rampant fear, the tension prickling at her consciousness in the overheated air.

  Maybe mother was right, maybe I should just forget what happened and get on with my life. But how can I, knowing those men are out there, knowing what they did to me.

  Struggling to get a grip on her swelling apprehension, she forced her heartbeat to settle and willed her breathing to return to normal…as normal as it could be.

  No. No more hiding. I want the truth. I need to hear him say it.

  In her concealment she reassured herself of his mortality. He’s just a man, nothing special about him.

  She repeated it over and over in her mind as a toxic cocktail of surging adrenaline and piercing dread still pumped through her veins.

  He looked around one last time, confirming he remained unobserved, and exited the vehicle. She heard the electronic ‘chirp’ of the jeep’s alarm engage as he turned, making his way toward the club’s entrance. She watched him move through the lot, passing between the cars and getting closer to her hiding place. She placed a hand across her lips, silencing her sharp intake of breath lest she give herself away with the small sound.

  As he approached, she thought that he was taller than he appeared on the pitchers mound, the distance playing tricks on her perceptions. Striding forward with power, his nonchalant demeanor belied an ease and confidence that comes with a life of high position.

  She moved to the edge of the wall hiding the dumpster, close enough to smell the clean, spicy sent of his cologne, mixed with the smoky tang of burnt pot clinging to his clothes.

  Her target hadn’t even seen her approach, his mind no doubt entirely preoccupied with the night of debauchery ahead. Stepping silently from the shadows, she jammed the barrel of the Beretta 9 mm against his back. He froze in his tracks, muscles locked with fear-induced tension. He slowly turned his head, then his body around, the moves exaggerated in their slowness and benevolence. His eyes locked on the black menace in her hand, his face turning a pasty shade of white.

  The two stared at each other for several seconds before either spoke. Her hands trembled, the barrel quivering.

  “Easy with the piece, lady.” He said, voice unsteady. He slowly reached into his back pocket and pulled out his billfold, holding it between them. “Just take the wallet and go.”

  The intimation startled the young woman holding the gun, sending up a hot flare of infuriation. She gripped the pistol tighter. Idiot! He thinks I’m here to rob him.

  “You moron,” she groaned, “I don’t want your wallet.” Summoning a veneer of artificial calm she didn’t really feel, she pointed down the alley with the menacing black weapon. “Down there. We’re going to talk.”

  Pushing the barrel forcefully into his kidney, they silently walked into the dark recess. Moving deeper into the murk, they passed the rear door of the club. Standing open, its escaping light cast eerie shadows on the dirty pavement ahead.

  The overwhelming, musky smell of “Generic Stripper No. 5” hung thick and stagnant in the air. She wrinkled her nose as over-used perfume formed a toxic cloud, surrounding them in the half-light of the alley.

  The cheesy music boomed from the open door and echoed off the dirty stucco walls. The undulating bass rhythm masked their voices to all but each other.

  “This is good enough,” she said, stopping near a wooden gate closing off the end of the passage to the busy street beyond.

  Her nerves crackled with negative energy, her heart threatening to leap from her chest as she faced her fears in the flesh. She stared at the man before her, the bad illumination twisting his features into a grotesque mask fashioned from the very fabric of her nightmares. She locked eyes with her captive for several seconds before she could bring herself to utter a sound.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” she said, the venom dripping in her voice.

  He stood in silence, eyes flitting between the pistol and the woman wielding it. The glow of the streetlight reflected off the film of moisture now forming on his wide brow.

  “I didn’t imagine you would.” Getting no sense of understanding from the man on the other end of the gun, she continued. “We met last year… Fourth of July… ring any bells?”

  She took in the uncomprehending look on Grady’s face, continuing in the calm typically preceding a storm. “I, on the other hand, will never be able to forget you,” she said. “Or that you and your friends raped me.”

  She watched his face change as recognition set in, then disappeared behind a mask of hastily constructed subterfuge. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about.”

  Anger seared her nerves. His denial a spear, its poisoned tip bit deeply into her already-wounded dignity.

  “Liar!” her words came as a strangled scream. “How could you do that to me, you sick bastard!”<
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  “Calm down and listen. I didn’t rape you. You’re mistaken,” he said, pointing a finger in her direction. “You better get the hell out of here before I call the police.”

  “Call them! You’ll be the one going to jail.”

  His voice raised in frustration. “I’m telling you, I didn’t attack you!”

  “I know you were there. I remember every disgusting thing you…and the others… did to me.”

  “You need help lady. You’re crazy!”

  “Just admit what you did, that’s all I want. You owe me that much, you son of a bitch!”

  “I’m not going to admit to something I had nothing do to with.”

  She unintentionally posted into a classic firing position, knees bent, feet set at shoulder width. “Tell the truth,” she pointed the pistol at his face, “Or die.”

  He remained silent for long, interminable seconds.

  “Okay, okay,” he croaked, holding up his hands in surrender. “I remember. I was there.”

  She stood in silence, pistol still trained on his forehead.

  “I’m sorry.” he said, his eyes refusing to meet hers.

  Fighting a flash flood of noxious emotion, she blistered with white-hot anger. “You’re sorry?”

  She watched as he visibly flinched at her condemnation. “It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was wasted. We were all wasted.”

  The blood roared in her ears, drowning out any peep of reason…or conscience.

  “You were wasted!” she seethed. “Is that supposed to be some kind of an excuse?” She steadied her trembling hands. “I should fucking kill you right now.”

  “Please, don’t do this,” he pleaded. “I’m begging you, don’t hurt me!”

  She basked for a second in the stark terror plainly etched on his features. Take charge! She reminded herself. This is what you came for!

  Suddenly feeling her fear diminish by degrees, she conjured a malicious grin, baring her even white teeth.

  “You’re not so tough with someone who can fight back, are you?” she said, lowering the pistol to his chest. “How’s it feel?”

  Her forcefully rendered words came in a staccato burst, the voice now clear and strong.

  “Tell me who the others were…I want names…Now!”

  “I don’t know who they were.” He cowered, flinching as she moved closer, now pointing the gun at his genitals.

  “Tell me their names before I blow your balls off.”

  She reveled in the feeling of power now surging through her.

  “I only remember one. A guy from Phoenix, he said his name was Stone, Jake Stone.”

  “Who were the others?” she barked, disgust bursting from every syllable.

  “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t remember their names.”

  Hatred and rage radiated from her in concentrated waves. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I only met them that day…on the run,” he said, trying to mask the terror in his voice, and on his face. “They were TOA’s”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Triumph Owners of Arizona.”

  She cocked the automatic’s hammer.

  “Oh, God! Please, no!” he cringed, hands outstretched in supplication.

  She watched in mild amusement as a wet stain appeared at the crotch of his jeans and spread down his left leg. She listened in undisguised revulsion as he whined, begging for his life.

  “If its money you want I can get it. My folks are loaded.”

  A blood red veil of fury began to cloud her vision, building from the edges as it moved toward the center.

  “First you rape me, and now you want to pay me off like I’m some kind of whore!” she yelled. “I don’t want your money!”

  “I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you! We just got a little carried away!”

  “Is that all you have to say?” she said, her body stiff, her voice cold and demanding. “How do you justify what you did to me?”

  “We just wanted to have a little fun,” he told the pistol-wielding woman before him. “We thought that’s what you wanted too!”

  “You thought I wanted to be raped?” Her blind rage, long simmering and submerged, now burst to the surface, an ICMB of searing fury pushing her voice higher. “I can’t believe I was so afraid of you. You’re nothing but a sniveling coward!”

  The young man, arrogance and adrenaline suddenly prevailing over common sense, pointed a long finger toward the woman. “You were the one wearing the sexy clothes and flirting with everyone,” he said. “You and your friends were asking for it.”

  “You fucking pig.” She murmured, eyes blazing.

  She felt the pistol jump in her hand, the alley ringing with the automatic’s thundering blast. Startled by the noise, she didn’t register the light reflecting off the shell as it bounced away into the darkness.

  The slug pierced Grady’s left lung like tinfoil before shredding his heart and exploding out his back.

  Face frozen in shock and disbelief, he convulsed slightly. His eyes met hers for a split-second in an incredulous gaze as he crumbled to the ground. Jason Grady, college student, rapist, was dead before he hit the pavement.

  The final beat of his ruptured heart only served to pump his blood into an expanding pool on the filthy street.

  Her entire body trembling in rage, she took the card from her vest pocket and dropped it on his back.

  Chapter Four

  The memory vanished like wind-driven smoke while the Hog roared in her ears as she continued north. She rolled up the miles to pass Casa Grande, then Chandler, quickly separating herself both physically and emotionally from the horrific scene in the alley. Her stomach knotted with tension as the reality of what happened in that dark, garbage-ridden passage began to register on her overloaded senses. The random, disconcerting thoughts flitted across her consciousness, fighting for control of her raging emotions. I killed a man…but he deserved it…but I shot him, he’s dead…but he raped me!

  Her mind see-sawed back and forth between her ingrained Christian values and her sense of long sought-after justice as she guided the Hog on its course back home.

  Clenching her teeth, she pushed the unwelcome memories from her mind. Too far to go…can’t get distracted now.

  Approaching the steadily thickening traffic of north Phoenix, she veered onto the shoulder as a speeding taxi cut her off. Bouncing over the debris on the shoulder, she fought for control, the massive machine bucking under her like a wild stallion as she dodged the cast-off rubber tires and chunks of broken plastic. Heart skipping like a jackhammer, she leaned away from the concrete J-wall as it flashed past her elbow, knowing that even the slightest contact would almost certainly bring her trip to an instant, bloody end.

  A little freaked out by the close call, she ignored the shrill blast of the driver’s horn as she jumped across two lanes to pull off the interstate at Dunlap Avenue.

  Coming to the end of the off-ramp, she saw a convenience store, the modern, brightly lit station a sharp contrast to her previous stop outside Tucson.

  After polishing off a bottle of water in a half-hearted attempt to ward off dehydration and settle her screaming nerves, she filled the gas tank, mounted up and headed north back up the highway, now less then two hours from home.

  Vision locked on the narrow beam of her headlight, she passed the sign for Sunset Point, idly wondering if the rest area would ever reopen, as her body began to complain, racked with pain from her tense, aching muscles.

  Turn signal pulsing yellow in the darkness, she finally veered off I-17 for State Route 69. Only a few miles from home, she patted the automatic holstered high on her left hip and silently gloated in victory. I’m not sorry. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I’ll take it.

  In her mind’s eye she could still see the blood pooling around Grady’s inert form, the Queen of Spades looking up in silent sanction.

  Part Two - The morning after…

  Chapter Five

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sp; After two hours of dreamless sleep, John Smith awoke to the sound of his telephone’s shrill squawk. Smith had been working a dope ring, the leader avoiding arrest by using rented rooms to distribute his illicit wares. His mood a black hole, he rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for the phone. Fourteen hours staking out flea-bag motels and we got nothing.

  He put the phone to his ear, shaking the cobwebs from his head.

  “Hello,”

  “Smith?”

  “Yeah,”

  “Jackson here. We’ve got a dead body in the alley behind a strip club over off Golf Links Rd. Looks like a homicide.

  “Shit! Okay, call the CSRT guys.”

  The Crime Scene Response Team was the specialized unit designated to handle processing evidence at major crime scenes, such as homicides. Smith knew that they would need at least a couple of hours to process the scene before he could even cross the tape.

  “Will do.” Jackson said.

  “Thanks. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he dragged himself through the shower and jumped in his car. The seasoned veteran scrubbed one hand over his tired face as he drove. I have to have some coffee.

  Smith, a tall lean man, his presence commanding in tan slacks, western shirt and cowboy boots, stood in line. Still bristling in frustration over the stake out, he listened to the patrons ahead enunciate their complicated drink orders for the counter girl. It’s just friggin coffee! How about some coffee-flavored coffee? You candy-ass!

  He considered the menu, more an issue of how much to order, versus what to order. He stepped up to the counter and the pretty teen-aged girl behind it smiled.