The Dream Virgin

by Don Quine

  Sarge said he was sorry, he must have nodded off, too.

  Would not happen again.

  But now that Reimer was down in the pet cemetery and could see the dog statue and spot the shoebox next to it, all was forgiven.

  “It’s about fucking time!” Reimer yelled, a gummy grin breaking free from his twisted face. “Finally! I got my due!”

  “If anyone’s due it’s you, boss!” the Sarge said, raising a fist.

  Reimer felt the adrenaline rush through him, the payoff steps away. It made him feel invincible. He unsheathed his machetes, did his warrior dance over to where the shoebox waited.

  He wished he could have a video of himself here and now so he could remember this forever. Wished he was wearing one of those caps that the old fucks wear that say ‘Life Is Good.’

  CHAPTER 74

  Fred sat on the Jolt of Java patio sipping a latte in the late afternoon wearing a chic polka dot sunsuit. The coffee shop was just down from the EcoErotica, where Wendy was working until seven.

  Fred had called Wendy right after she put the plan in motion so Daddy-O could hire and inform the shooter. She told Wendy she was thinking of selling her townhouse at the shore, thought maybe she’d drive up for the Labor Day weekend. See what the Crazy Ideas Bash was all about.

  “You’ll love it, Sally,” Wendy said. “Come on up and I’ll show you around.”

  Sally said she dug the Lake Meadows vibe. “The yacht club set is getting to be a snore. Pseudo sailors with seasick smiles are what my pal calls them. Gave up his slip in June, sailed to Costa Rica. Almost went with him in his gorgeous Jeanneau, but they have crocodiles and serious undertows. People die down there all the time.”

  Wendy said, “Sally, you drive yourself up to Heightened Delights and all you’ll have to worry about is a plethora of pleasure,” coming on sultry, calling Lake Meadows a provocative name that only an insider would know.

  “I was thinking,” knowing Wendy had the hots for her, “I’d beat the holiday traffic, head up today; could you call the motel and reserve a room?”

  Like she thought she would, Wendy said no way. Sally was going to stay at Wendy’s place. Where there no doubt would be pussy play.

  Could be fun. Wendy knew her dildos.

  The first thing that Fred did after she parked her rental at the bowling alley lot, was stroll to the end of Main and then on up to the pet cemetery. She had guessed correctly that there wouldn’t be anyone paying respects mid-day, so she took the shoebox out of her fashionable shopping bag and placed it on the grave grounds next to the dog statue.

  Fred removed her gloves before she walked back to town.

  There would be no telltale prints on the box. Just Reimer’s.

  Fred took care of all that yesterday.

  Now she took a sip of coffee and was captivated by the setting sun, how it brought such a lovely blush to the solar rooftops along Wonder Way. Then her cell phone buzzed.

  The text read Bingo.

  Fred finished her latte, got up from her chair on the patio. She wanted to move right along, but not look like she was in a hurry.

  At the end of Main Streat, the asphalt road continued nearly a quarter mile beyond the north edge of the lake, veered to the east as it ran out of blacktop and shortly after became dirt trails that branched up into the mountains and over to the cemeteries. Fred knew it would take less than five minutes for her to get there and when she did she’d hang back, sit on one of the nearby log stumps on the side of the trail, wait for her brother to come down for the shoebox.

  Fred opened her purse and took out a dog biscuit.

  The two-year-old Weatherby Vanguard was a Wilderness model. Less than seven pounds, it was an easy carry. Composite stock was grippy, had a 300 Mag caliber bore. She equipped it with a Vortex Diamondback 4-12x40 hunting scope, the best hunting scope in the business.

  The shooter sighted in on the target, watched him pick up the shoebox. She inhaled, then let her breath out soft and easy, the mark’s head in the crosshairs as her finger began to squeeze another $12,500 into her foreign bank account.

  Then the head was gone.

  Replaced with a scream of rage.

  Elfri and Chip had tied up their horses, walked down to the cemetery for Chip to visit his mom first, then Timber when they heard the scream.

  When Reimer opened the shoebox expecting the cash payoff and found ashes instead, he knew something was wrong and looked around quick and desperate, trying to spot the backup.

  In the setting sun Reimer couldn’t see anyone.

  Except one thing he saw real clear was the pet fuckers fucked him.

  But hold on. Wait just a fucking minute. The pet fuckers didn’t give him the plan. Daddy-O and Fred did.

  That meant they were the ones who fucked him.

  That’s when Reimer threw the shoebox in the air, went apeshit and shouted at nowhere, “You do this to your own blood!” He raised his machetes. “I’m gonna rat both you motherfuckers out, send you to Supermax for the rest of your back-stabbing lives!”

  Sarge waited a second, then said, quietly, “Need to turn around, boss.”

  Elfri and Chip watched Reimer turn around and stare at them.

  Chip clutched Elfri, pale as a ghost, Elfri in front of him as she backed them both slowly away. They were standing in the resting area between the two cemeteries, no more than twenty feet from Reimer.

  “How long you been there watching me?” Reimer said, then answered with, “but it won’t matter if you don’t stand still while we figure it out.”

  Reimer twirled his blades. “Move an inch and you’re sushi.”

  Elfri watched Reimer swing the machetes, do his dance steps, not so steady on his feet. He seemed to have a hard time focusing, looked like he was near death. Looked grotesque. She decided she should stay still for a second, listen to him talk to himself. Not glance over to the bench.

  “Think they’re pet fucker types, Sarge?”

  “Never know, boss. But the young bitch looks good enough to eat.”

  Reimer lowered the blades, slowed down his dance as he moved closer to stare at Elfri. And Chip.

  Elfri watched Reimer talk out of both sides of his mouth and when one of his dance moves made him stumble and drop one of the machetes, Elfri yelled, “Run, Chip!” pushed him back away and was over at the bench in a heartbeat.

  “Dirty little bitch!” Reimer yelled, and started for her.

  Elfri grabbed the Evermore walking stick from the bench slot, ducked as the machete skimmed over her head and scraped against the stone bench, scattering sparks into the approaching night.

  Elfri swung the big stick fast and struck Reimer on his wounded knee, made him shriek; then he kicked Elfri and she fell to the ground.

  The shooter was in a quandary.

  It was hard for her to keep the target in the crosshairs. Should she take the shot during the assault and take the chance of hitting one of the innocent visitors to the cemetery or wait until she had a clear shot and hope the target didn’t seriously harm the young woman and the boy?

  That would be hard for the shooter to live with.

  Reimer was able to wrestle the bitch onto her back and smash her head on the bench leg, straighten out her feisty little ass so he could raise his machete, see the bitch’s face turn scared like bitches do when they know it’s curtains. It made Reimer wonder if the look of terror would stay that way when he cut her head off and held it up in the air for the Sarge to see.

  Be so fucking cool if it stayed frozen scared like that.

  Then Chip pounced on Reimer’s back, grabbed his machete arm and screamed, “I’ll kill you!” as he bit into Reimer’s neck and tore at his eyes.

  Reimer fell back onto Chip and knocked the boy unconscious.

  Sarge said, “Nice work, boss. Got time to screw the bit
ch?”

  Reimer picked Chip’s limp body off the ground, tossed him on the bench.

  ‘’After I cut this little fucker’s head off,” Reimer draped Chip’s head over the edge of the bench. “Should of done him back when I did his fucking wolf pup.” He raised the machete. “You live and learn.”

  There was barely enough sunlight left to see the target that finally stood still enough to keep in the crosshairs for a clean shot.

  Reimer was about to swing his blade when the young bitch moaned. Then she looked at him with two different color eyes and cried, “Don’t do it! Please! I’ll do anything! Don’t hurt him!”

  The pleading made Reimer grin.

  Until he heard the growl.

  Reimer turned his head around to where the dogwood hedge was and saw six bright orange eyes staring at him. Two in front of the other four.

  This time Reimer wasn’t able to get his arm up fast enough.

  Her mass of feral fury carried a terrifying howl as Shadow streaked across the graveyard, leaped into the air and sunk her glistening white fangs into Reimer’s neck, crashing him to the ground, blood spurting from his throat as Shadow quickly unclenched her jaws and looked back to the hedge.

  The two wolves moved quickly and helped Shadow drag Reimer off as he swung his machete and screamed for his life.

  Elfri was able to pull herself up, lift Chip’s head into her arms when the shooter ran down into the cemetery with her rifle, yelling, “Good God!” then quickly asked Elfri, “Is the boy okay?”

  “I think so,” Elfri said as Chip began to moan.

  “Wait here,” the shooter said, “I’ll be right back.”

  She moved cautiously to where the wolves had dragged the target, beyond the dogwood hedge. Out of sight.

  When the shooter got to Reimer he was dead; body ripped to shreds, his face barely recognizable.

  Blood dripping from their jaws, the wolves backed away as the shooter raised her rifle and nodded to them as they turned into the night.

  The Sniper kicked the machete lying by Reimer’s foot closer to his hand, and put a bullet in his heart.

  Took the cell phone from her hunting jacket and called 911.

  CHAPTER 75

  “Homicidal Maniac Wolfed in Pet Cemetery!” and other breaking news flashes about Reimer’s death got good ratings, sold newspapers, and went viral like you’d expect with sensational news.

  Unlike when Reimer was on the loose and went on his killing spree and Lake Meadows invited the press to an early breakfast and nobody showed but the independent reporter, Tuesday evening was a media onslaught controlled and curtailed at S2S with coffee and pastries and Molly’s hospitality.

  “We appreciate your patience. We’ll help you get what you need to report on the events of what happened here; cinnamon rolls are fresh out of the oven.”

  Will acted like a retired cop could at the entrance to the cafe. If the press got out of line, reporters flying in on helicopters from all over the state, if things got pushy, Will told them to chill and they did.

  The three people the press wanted most to ask questions to were Elfri, Chip, and Madge Truman, the hunter from Texas who shot Reimer.

  Elfri and Chip were off-limits.

  Leon and Will were with Dr. Duvall when he made an announcement to the press from the S2S stage. The general surgeon flew in from Enterprise, and after a through examination determined that Elfri suffered a minor concussion to the rear of her skull, there was a slight edema, the swelling should diminish in a few days. The boy, Chip, was badly bruised, but no broken bones. They both needed a lot of rest.

  Leon took the mic, thanked the doctor and told the press that he and Will would speak with Elfri and Chip and get a general statement up on the Lake Meadows website by early morning.

  Inside Molly’s cafe, members of the press interviewed Madge in a booth for five minutes. Interviews were timed.

  Same with Sally Singleton in the booth on the other side of the cafe; but her interviews usually lasted a couple of minutes at most since she didn’t really see that much, she just heard the shot, rushed over to offer concern and comfort.

  Leon was in the alley when the press first arrived, before he returned to the cemetery, and he made it clear that the press could do their interviews, but then they had to leave the cafe and wait outside the bowling alley for the shuttle to take them to the death scene.

  Once there they had to stay outside the roped-off areas, they could take pictures, but no interviews, take the shuttle back, and leave town with their stories for early morning release.

  Oliver and Nicole and the Associates helped keep things exciting, engaging the press about Reimer. What goes around comes around; how evil lurks in hearts of some; a man that sick must have had an awful childhood.

  The Nesters gave reporters their thoughts along with their names.

  Alec told the press he hoped they’d be able to squeeze in a mention that the madman met justice just in time to make the Crazy Ideas Bash a fun-filled festival with no maniac killer concerns to worry about.

  No worries whatsoever. Except for getting into the sold-out Labor Day weekend concerts at Strikes To Spare. Unless you had one of the limited press credentials that Alec could arrange.

  In the cafe, Madge Truman had already showed her identification to the police, which showed the shooter to be a thirty-seven-year-old widow from Dallas, who had lived in the Parker suburbs for the past twelve years. Had a freckled face fit for a box of cookies. She did not look like someone who liked to hunt big game.

  Madge explained time and again what happened, how she heard the screams and yelling and came running down from the trail into the pet cemetery, found the youngsters obviously abused, the girl conscious enough to point to where the wolves dragged the killer. She found him not far away on his back slashing at the wolves with his machete. When he saw her he raised the knife like he was going to throw it at her and she defended herself. Then she called 911 and went back to care for the boy and the girl and found the woman in the polka dot outfit helping them, found out that she came to visit her friend’s dog. She believed the woman’s name was Sally. Sally had a doggie biscuit with her. Then the police arrived.

  Madge had her Oregon controlled hunt tag. She drove from Texas to the Wallowa Lake area to hunt buck deer, was scoping the area before the season opened. A friend in Idaho touted her on the Devil’s Canyon range for eight-pointers.

  She never thought she’d wind up shooting a crazed killer.

  Would have much preferred a set of antlers.

  After the interview with Madge, the reporters crossed to the other booth for interviews with Sally Singleton.

  Sally told them she had arrived at the scene shortly after she heard the shot. Came to the cemetery to visit her Lake Meadows friend’s collie. Sally went there to place a biscuit on Wendy’s dog’s grave, then she and the hunter woman from Texas tried to comfort the young people who were in shock. Then the sirens and police and all the other people showed up. Her being there was good or bad timing, depending on how you looked at it.

  It was certainly traumatic.

  Fred didn’t confide that when she walked over to look at her brother’s ravaged body the only thing she felt was relief. She didn’t have to babysit him anymore. What Fred enjoyed most about the interviews was they shored up who Sally was and what she was doing in Lake Meadows, increased credibility to her already well-credentialed false persona; none of the reporters were interested in doing a background check on a standby witness.

  Not that they’d find anything if they did. The counterfeiters Fred used created class-act dossiers; CIA caliber profiles.

  When she had a chance to chat with Madge in between interviews about what a weird thing it was for them, winding up in a pet cemetery with an escaped killer, Fred got a kick out of knowing Madge didn’t have a clue that Daddy-O hire
d her services, and that Bingo! was texted to Fred while she sipped a cafe latte.

  Madge asked what Sally did, and Sally shared she was visiting a friend, Wendy Robinson, in Lake Meadows, was thinking of trading the seaside for the mountains, maybe finding a place in town to live when she wasn’t traveling the world for unique jewelry that she resold to a select clientele. Sally showed Madge the unique rings and bracelets she was wearing. She spoke in a born-with-a-spoon-in-your-mouth fashion and looked high-class in her sexy sunsuit. Madge listened and said that Sally must have some interesting stories, traveling around the world, meeting fascinating people from different walks of life.

  After a few minutes, they had to stop chatting and go back to their booths for the same old questions.

  Fred thought Madge was well worth the twenty-five grand Daddy-O paid her. Was a total pro. Sincere and straightforward like all good actors.

  Keeping their roles close to who they really are.

  Ray Stewart and his Green Guides worked with Sheriff Haskins and the state police. Leon and Jack helped them rope off the spot where Reimer found his fate in the perilous night. They let the press snap pictures from all angles, flashes going off until the ambulance took Reimer to the morgue in Joseph.

  They gave the press what they wanted, wrapped it up by midnight.

  Elfri and Chip stayed close to each other at Leon’s, with Leon and Nicole and Tallula inside to watch over them; Rahim and George hanging around outside the estate to make sure it was off-limits to the press and snoops.

  Chip hadn’t said anything since he screamed at Reimer. And Elfri decided not to say anything to anyone about that, not even to Leon. She figured when Chip wanted to say something more he would. At least now she knew he could.

  Chip wasn’t sure how he felt about talking.

  He ate his oatmeal and listened to Elfri speak about what happened and thought what she said was okay. Then Leon told Chip that Bonnie Whittle, the independent reporter that expressed interest in Chip’s comic when she came to Lake Meadows when Reimer was on the loose, she wondered if Chip would meet with her if she stopped by, let her ask him a couple of questions for general release to the public. Chip didn’t need to say anything if he didn’t feel like it. Leon just wanted to know what Chip wanted Leon to tell Bonnie.