by Linda Ladd
This time Claire decided to do his bidding, having missed him rather a lot, too, and they quickly entered into their usual slippery, sliding, slick and lovely, skin-to-warm-skin, mouth-to-mouth explorations. They did so love their nifty hot tub and therefore used it often and well.
“You feel so damn good,” he muttered into her hair, his hand sliding up her bare back to grip the nape of her neck. “I love kissing you more than just about anything I can think of.”
“Yeah? Well, keep it up. I’m getting halfway warm for the first time all day.”
“My temperature’s been up ever since you took off all that sexy thermal underwear and those battery-operated socks.”
Claire laughed at him again, but the sound died away as he turned her around and pressed his mouth down on her naked shoulder, and in a very warm and eager way, too. Black knew full well where to find her major and most titillate-able erogenous zones, especially that spot on her shoulder that always made her go weak in the knees and in other places, too. Oh, yeah, he used that knowledge often and expertly in order to get her all turned on, and as fast as possible, at that. It was working admirably, yet again. She moaned with the keenest sort of pleasure, could not help it, as his lips moved up the side of her throat and settled over her mouth again. Thus and therefore, they had at it with lots of feeling and a plethora of it’s-been-way-way-too-long carnal enthusiasm. He pulled her onto his lap facing him, and she slid her arms around his neck and entwined her fingers into his hair. His mouth attacked hers with renewed interest, and she responded with equal alacrity, or at least she did until her telephone started ringing.
“Don’t even think about it,” Black murmured against her throat.
“Sorry. Got to,” she muttered, reluctantly disentangling herself, not exactly thrilled about the interruption herself, and yes, just when it was getting good. She left Black muttering under his breath and grabbed her phone off the ledge and looked at Caller ID. “It’s Bud. What the hell? He just dropped me off. Something must be wrong.”
“Damn it,” Black said, seriously not lark-happy anymore. “Tell him we’re busy.”
Claire ignored him. “What’s up, Bud? You okay?”
“Buck just called. We definitely got us a homicide. He says it looks like every bone in that poor guy’s body is broken and in ways that couldn’t be caused by any kind of fall. He said it’s god awful what somebody did to him.”
“Man, that’s just sick. Is the body still frozen solid?”
“Frozen solid? What body?” That was Black, moving up behind her and pulling her back up against his chest.
Claire concentrated on what Bud was saying, but it took some effort as Black took some more than welcome liberties with his hands. Bud was still talking and she tried her best to listen. “It’s still frozen, but Buck can see compound fractures, and he says it looks like there’s gonna be a ton of ’em. He can’t perform the autopsy until tomorrow. He’s gonna call us. Just wanted you to know we’re back on homicide for sure. Charlie already pulled us off traffic for good. Thank God.”
“Okay, great. Thanks for letting me know.”
Black stopped what he was doing and said, “Please tell me that you’re not going out again tonight.”
“I’m not going out again tonight.”
“Did I hear something rather unpleasant about somebody’s body being frozen?”
“Yeah, we found a homicide victim out at Ha Ha Tonka. Frozen to the bottom of the cliffs, half in and half out of the water. Wanna hear the gory details?”
“Later. I’m not finished warming you up yet.”
Claire was feeling pretty damn warm by now, hot even, but she wanted him to touch her as much as he wanted to, which was their usual state of affairs. She turned around and pressed herself up against him. “Okay, now, where were we?”
He showed her where they were, and it felt very good, and she felt very happy that he was back home and things were heating up so well. Because tomorrow was not going to be quite as pleasant as tonight. In fact, it was probably gonna be downright ghoulish and stomach-turning and horrible. Yep, just another typical day at work.
Blood Brothers
After the fight was over, they carried the poor kid named Hardnose to Loser Land, and just left him lying there, groaning and bleeding and crying. He had to stay there alone a while and suffer some pain to teach him a lesson, and then his father would take him to the doctor, if need be. That was the rule. Punk dragged himself to the back porch and lay down on the bottom step. His head was spinning around and around and making him sick to his stomach. He was seeing two of everything, and he couldn’t make them come together. He squeezed his eyes shut because he felt like he was going to throw up. Everybody was leaving now, climbing into their cars and pickup trucks and pulling out on the road with lots of revving engines and roaring motorcycles. And then it was dark and quiet and he felt very alone.
After a while, Pa stopped beside him, his boots planted apart and his fists on his hips. He looked furious. “You know what I gotta do now, don’t ya, boy? You acted like a ’fraidy cat out there. It’s downright embarrassin’ what that woman made you into. You got in one good punch but that’s it. Maybe after you spend a coupla nights out in the pen with the dogs, you won’t act like a big baby anymore. Now git on out there with them dogs and don’t you come outta there ’til I come git you out. You hear that, Punk? You hear what I’m sayin’?”
“Yes, sir.”
Punk staggered his way out to the dog runs alongside the barn, and then he felt so completely exhausted that he fell on his hands and knees and crawled the rest of the way. His pa raised coon hounds and beagles to hunt and to breed, as well as some really vicious pit bulls and Rottweilers that he used for the bloody dog fights they had every Wednesday night. Punk hated the way Pa made his older brothers go down into town and steal other people’s little poodles and other fluffy little dogs that he called “poms,” so that he could use them as bait dogs to rile up the killer dogs. Punk never could bear to watch those tiny little sweet ones get torn apart inside the ring. It made him sick, and he wished he could save them, but there wasn’t anything he could do but go off by himself and cry for them.
When he reached the chain-linked gate of the closest dog run, he opened it and crawled inside. The dogs were no longer barking, not now after all the cars had driven away and all the yelling and cheering was over. They were back inside the barn, sleeping, probably. He looped the rope around the post again, and made his way to the swinging dog door. Crawling inside, he lay down in the straw. Most of the dogs were lying around inside, snuggled up close together. Truth was, Punk didn’t mind so much being with the dogs. He liked them a lot better than he liked his brothers, except for his twin, who was okay and tried to protect Punk when he could. But he was the only one who did. The rest of them liked to slap him up the side of the head or shove him hard in the back so that he’d fall down in the mud.
It wasn’t long before his favorite puppy, a little beagle named Banjo, roused up and left the other pups in her litter, stretched lazily, and walked slowly over to him, her tail wagging. Punk was so tired now that he couldn’t sit up any longer, so he collapsed down and lay on his back. Banjo licked his face like she always did, and her little rough tongue felt so good on his cuts and bruises. It was nice that somebody was showing him all that love, almost like his ma used to. That sweet little dog loved him, even if nobody else did. The summer night was cooler now, and after a little while, more of the beagles and coonhounds moved over and settled in close around him, too. They licked his face and kept him warm, just like they always did when Pa punished him and put him inside their pen. He sure did love them, each and every one.
All through the night and every time he roused up, afraid, and not knowing where he was, Banjo licked him and made him feel better. Punk loved it so much that he decided to lick Banjo back and see how that felt. So he started licking the little puppy’s nose and found that it felt really good. He closed his eyes and pr
etended it was his ma he was kissing, that she was back down from Heaven, and all beautiful again with her white hair and pale skin. He wondered if she still looked so pretty underneath the dirt they had shoveled in on top of that plain pine box they’d put her in. He’d like to know that. He wondered if he was strong enough to dig her up and see how she was doing down there all alone. Maybe he would someday. Yeah, he sure would. She was probably awfully lonely, even if she was still sleeping so peacefully while her soul went up to be with God.
After he had licked the dog all over her pretty little head and velvety ears, his nose finally stopped bleeding and he fell fast asleep. He slept for a long time, snuggling closer to the dogs. But then around dawn he was startled awake when his oldest brother came inside the barn. He was tall and strong and had a little beard. He was standing in the middle of the barn and looking into the dog pen at Punk. “You ain’t supposed to get no food today, got that, Punk? Pa said no food, no water, and you stay right where you are till he comes gets you out. And you better not, or he’ll whup you. He’ll whup you good.”
Punk didn’t say a word. His pa would whup him all right. His whip was hanging right there beside the loft steps, handy for when it was time for him to beat the killer dogs. He knew that from the last time he lost a fight. But he was relieved his big brother didn’t drag him out and throw him in the creek to wash off the dirt and sweat and the stink of the dogs. The water was spring fed, and so icy cold that he could barely stand to put his hand in it. Even now, in late August, it was that cold.
Still tensed with dread, he watched the bigger boy move down to the other end of the barn where his pa kept the Rottweilers and pit bulls. Pa usually made his oldest boy tie them up to a post every morning on a very short leash and whip them to make them mean. Punk couldn’t stand to see that whip hit those poor animals or hear their yelps of pain and fear, so he quickly pushed his way out of the plastic dog door and into the cool morning air. Banjo came outside with him, and they snuggled up together using the lean-to shelter that shielded them from the hot sun.
They stayed there, huddled together for a time, dozing and keeping each other company. Then Punk began to feel so hungry that he could barely stand it. His stomach was growling so much that he could hear it, and Banjo perked up her ears and cocked her head at the sound it made. He peeked out to see if Pa was around anywhere, and then he crawled back inside the barn and grabbed two handfuls of dog food that his brother had poured into the feeding dishes. He took it back to the shelter and shared the food with Banjo. When he got thirsty, he dipped water out of the trough the dogs used. Back inside the shelter, he fell asleep again, glad that nobody was bothering him.
“Hey, you, Punk, come on over here,” came a loud whisper from outside the fence.
Punk’s muscles tensed up, but then he saw that it was his twin brother. Pa called him Bone Breaker now. He had a big flaky biscuit and a red apple in his hands. “C’mon out, before I get caught, would ya? I stole you some breakfast. Hurry it up, c’mon! Pa’s gonna see me!”
Punk looked around for his pa, but he was nowhere to be seen. He scrambled out and grabbed the apple through the holes in the fence and took a giant bite. He ate it as fast as he could.
“How’s that nose feel? You oughta see it. It’s all swollen up and black and busted up good, and you know that your eyes are black as old Midnight, don’t ya?”
Old Midnight was his pa’s favorite pony, a beautiful and sleek animal that nobody got to ride except for Pa. “I figured I was messed up. I can’t hardly see nothin’ this mornin’. Everythin’s all blurry, and stuff.”
“Here’s some salve and stuff that Pa puts on my bruises. Don’t you tell him that I gave it to you, you hear me, Punk? He’ll tan my hide for helpin’ you.”
Nodding, Punk took the little metal jar and rubbed the greasy medicine around his eyes. It hurt to touch the swelled up parts.
“I have to call you Punk, you know,” Bone Breaker said. “Pa said so. All of us have to. And they’re all callin’ me Bones now, too, ’cause I broke that bone in Hardnose’s arm. Pa’s givin’ us all fightin’ names now.”
“Okay.” Punk looked at the only brother who had ever been nice to him. Bones was awfully brave to come out and defy their pa. “You did good last night. Thank you for comin’ in and beatin’ up that Hardnose kid for me.”
“No problem. I like to beat up kids like him. He acts all rough and rowdy until you hit him hard as you can in the face. Then he ain’t so tough no more.” Bones grinned, very pleased with himself.
“You’re real good at fightin’.”
“Yeah, I know.” Bones looked around. “I better git outta here ’fore Pa comes out. He’ll whup me, even if I won and broke that guy’s bone. He says he’s gonna whup you today, so be ready for it. And remember, don’t you yell and cry, or he’ll keep it up until you stop.”
Punk nodded, but inside he trembled with fear. He had gotten whuppings before, and it really hurt. Pa always used the whip that he used on his fighting dogs. So he went back inside the shelter and gave Banjo half his biscuit, and then he hid there for the rest of the day, hoping his pa would forget about him. But his pa didn’t forget about him.
Just when the sun was almost all the way down and it was hard to see anything in the gray light, his pa called out his name from outside the dog pen. Punk cringed down in the straw and held his breath.
“You better come out here, you little sissy punk, or I’ll take the hide right off you!” Pa was yelling now, loud and scary. All the dogs got real restless and started barking and howling, afraid, too.
Punk crept out the dog door and stood beside it in the dusk. He began shaking all over, like the leaves on the oak trees around the dog pens. He was terrified. His pa did all kinds of bad things to his boys, and especially to Punk.
“Git over here. Now!”
Swallowing hard, Punk obeyed and walked slowly to the end of the dog run where his pa stood waiting with the whip. He was slapping it in his open palm, hard enough to make a clapping sound. He always did that when he was waiting to punish somebody. Punk moved up to him and stared down at the ground.
“You know why I’m doin’ this to you, boy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why then?”
“’Cause I lost that fight.”
“No. Because you are a sissy little punk coward, that’s why. And I’m gonna beat you until you show me some backbone like my other boys do. Give me your hands.”
Punk held them out, and Pa tied them to the fence post. Then he hit him once very hard on the back. Punk clamped his jaw, trying not to scream, like Bones had told him. But it hurt. It hurt him so bad.
“Good boy,” said Pa. “Now you’re bein’ a man and takin’ it like you oughta.”
The crop came down hard again, this time at his waist. He bit his lip until it nearly bled. But tears came out of his eyes, and he tried to wipe them on his shirt before Pa could see them.
“You cryin’ now, that what you doin’, you sniveling little pig.”
When his pa raised the crop again, little Banjo inched closer and started growling at him. When she bared her teeth, Pa laughed. “Hell, lookee look, that damn little pup has more courage than you do. At least, she’s got some guts.”
But then Pa brought the whip down on Banjo’s back as hard as he could, and the little beagle fell on her side, bawling with pain. Horrified, Punk didn’t even think about it, he just turned as far as he could on the ropes and kicked his pa’s legs as hard as he could. He kept it up, too, yelling cuss words at him until Pa stepped back out of his reach. Pa started laughing.
“Okay, now. That’s more like it, kid. Showin’ a little spunk now, aren’t you, boy? That’s what you gotta do, show me some grit and I’ll leave you be. Maybe I oughta beat that little puppy there every time you turn coward. Maybe that’s what’ll light a fire under you and get you as tough as the rest of us. Nothin’ else’s done it.”
Punk said nothing, just ground his teet
h together so he wouldn’t cry. But inside he was angry, so angry that he could barely stand it. He wanted to grab that whip and beat his father in the face with it. But Pa was untying his hands. Then he turned around and walked off toward the house without another word. Punk fell to his knees and grabbed up Banjo and held her tightly against his chest, licking the little dog’s face, comforting her just like Banjo had comforted him the night before. That’s when Punk decided that Pa wasn’t never gonna hit Banjo again, never. Even if he had to beat some other kid to death in a fight, Pa wasn’t ever going to whip poor little Banjo again.
Chapter Three
By the time Claire and Bud arrived at the medical examiner’s office late the next morning, the rest of the team had already assembled around the corpse. Fortunately, the forecasters had been wrong and the storm front had not materialized, at least not directly over the lake. Outside, the sun was actually bright and shining and making the mountains of snow sparkle in the balmy nineteen-degree weather. Not a lot of melting going on, however, and that was unfortunate. As they entered the autopsy room where Buck still had the victim’s body warming under heat lamps, the first thing Claire noticed was the ultra-serious expressions on her colleagues’ faces. The second thing she noted were the x-rays on the light boxes attached to the back wall.
Buck saw her repulsed reaction. “That’s right. Every damn bone in his body is either broken or cracked or chipped. Some have pierced through the skin, causing severe compound fractures. This poor man endured a beating like none other that I’ve seen or heard of in all the many years I’ve worked here.”
Bud moved closer and stared at the x-rays. “So he didn’t fall, I take it? He was just dumped down there?”
“Some of the damage could’ve come from the fall, I reckon. There are lots of cuts and abrasions and bruises. But certainly not to this degree, and certainly not incurred by that kind of fall. The skull is fractured in three different places. If I had to guess, I’d say an aluminum baseball bat or a piece of pipe, maybe even a tire iron or crowbar, something on that order.”