The Listener

by Robert McCammon

  Ludenmere cut the engine. He reached on the seat between them for the flashlight he’d brought. He peered into the rearview mirror. No sign of another car yet. He said tersely, “All right, let’s get to it.” He switched the light on and gave it to Curtis. They got out of the car as another streak of lightning flamed across the sky, and the following crack of thunder was as sharp as a whipstrike.

  Ludenmere leaned into the backseat and picked up the money box. The cardboard box with that much cash in it weighed over twenty pounds, though the container itself was only a little larger than a Stetson hatbox. It held twenty-three hundred fifties, three thousand twenties and four thousand tens, the denominations stacked together and secured with thick rubber bands. Curtis followed Ludenmere out onto the pier, which they’d seen by daylight was warped downward in the middle and had a thin wooden railing. A length of rope dangled from the left side into the black water, and off on the right were broken and mollusk-encrusted pilings where an older pier must have once stood before a squall had taken it under.

  Curtis kept the light aimed at their feet as they reached the end of the pier and Ludenmere set the money box down. The spaces between the boards glinted with the dark and briny-smelling lake, which was being stirred into motion by the approaching storm. Waves had begun to slap the muddy shore. Curtis felt the raw wind pushing at his back. It shrilled past his ears as he and Ludenmere faced the road. Lightning lit up the woods and flamed over the lake, and the thunder cracked and boomed to wake the sleepers in Kenner’s cemetery.

  They waited, watchful for the lights of another car.

  ****

  “Blowin’ up a rain out there,” said Donnie. “Hear that thunder? Me, I kinda like storms. You like storms, kid? Or do they scare you some?”

  Little Jack didn’t answer; he kept his face angled toward the floor.

  “When I was about your age I saw what was left of a fella got struck by lightnin’, out in a cow pasture,” Donnie went on, swinging the oil lamp slowly back and forth. “Turned coal black, his whole body was. Clothes blown right off. Face was burned to the skull, and he was just lyin’ there with a death grin on his mouth. Know what me and my buddies did? We knocked his teeth out with a stick. He had three silvers in there. I took ’em and got some money for ’em later on, ’nuff to buy a pack of rubbers. You ever see anythin’ like that, kid?”

  Her cheeks burning, Nilla squinted up into the light. “Why don’t you leave us alone? You’re going to get what you’re after soon enough.”

  “Just askin’, sugarlips. Bet I’ve seen some nasty things you kids never dreamed of in your worst nightmares.”

  “Go scare yourself and look in a mirror,” Little Jack said suddenly, with acidic heat. “Stop it!” he growled at Nilla when his sister shot a warning elbow into his ribs.

  Donnie laughed quietly, but there was no humor in it. When his false laughter was done, he aimed the lamp at Hartley. “How you doin’, ol’ One Eye? You ain’t sayin’ much.”

  “Nothin’ to say,” came the answer.

  “I reckon not. Now this kid here…he’s got a mouth on him. Just lets them insults fly out like he could take ’em back if he wanted to. That’s a real bad habit of yours, kid. You know that?” He swatted Little Jack in the head with the pillow, but it was only a gentle nudge. “Speak when spoken to,” he said, and swatted him with the pillow again, just a little harder.

  ****

  Curtis and Ludenmere saw the headlights coming. “Jesus Christ,” said Ludenmere bitterly. “That’s my own damned car!”

  The Oldsmobile turned so that the headlights aimed down the length of the pier and directly upon the two men, all but blinding them in the glare. Then the car stopped and the engine was cut; the headlights remained on but no one got out.

  “Come on, come on,” Ludenmere said under his breath. He lifted both arms in recognition and to show he was holding no weapon. Curtis also lifted both arms, pointing the flashlight’s beam skyward. Still there was no reaction from the car. “We’ve got your money!” Ludenmere shouted, but was nearly drowned out by the following roll of thunder. “It’s all there!” He put a foot against the cardboard box.

  The car’s driver got out, followed by the passenger. Sure enough, the driver—a slim figure, maybe the woman? Curtis thought—walked to the Pierce-Arrow, turned on a flashlight and peered into the backseat. The light then went searching in the woods on the left and toward the cabins on the right. The second figure paused to shield the bull’s-eye lantern from the wind with his body and touch a match to the wick. He aimed the focused and magnified beam around in a slow circle. When the two kidnappers were satisfied, they approached the pier but neither Curtis nor Ludenmere could tell much about them in the glare. The two stopped midway out.

  “You were told to come alone,” the woman said. “Don’t take orders too well, do you? Who’s the nigger?”

  “My driver.”

  “That’s bullshit. Your driver’s with us right this minute.”

  “My new driver,” said Ludenmere.

  “You too rich to drive your own fuckin’ car? Boy, keep that light upturned! Hear?” The woman’s voice had sharpened, because Curtis had started to bring his hand with the flashlight down. Her attention returned to Ludenmere. “Well, you’ve been a pretty good boy otherwise. We’re gonna come out now and get the box. You two stay real still and this’ll all be over in about five minutes.”

  “Hold it!” The note of command in Ludenmere’s voice stopped the kidnappers in their tracks. “I want my children back tonight. You take the money and go to hell with it, but I’m goin’ home with my children.”

  There was an uncertain pause. Curtis smelled ozone in the air. The lightning flashed so close that for a brief instant he and Ludenmere could nearly make out the features of the man and woman, and more importantly they saw the gleam of metal in her right hand that could only be a pistol; then the thunder crashed again with ear-cracking force.

  “You’re out of tune,” the woman said. “No go on that one.”

  “When do I get them, then?”

  “We’ll let you know. First thing is, we count the bills and make sure you haven’t shorted us.”

  “Nope,” said Ludenmere.

  “What?”

  “I said…nope. You’re takin’ me to my children and handin’ ’em over as soon as you put your hands on this box. I haven’t shorted you. That would be pretty damn stupid, wouldn’t it?”

  “What’s stupid,” the woman said, “is you standin’ there arguin’ with me and Hartley’s .45. Now that is real fuckin’ stupid.”

  Ludenmere ignored her. Curtis felt sweat running down his sides under his arms. He could smell the rain coming; it wasn’t too far away now, rolling toward them across the lake. Ludenmere said, “I want everybody freed tonight…my children, Hartley and Detective Parr. Hear me?”

  “Ha,” she replied tonelessly. “Hear him, Detective Parr?”

  Curtis saw the silent man shift his weight. Then the man said, “I hear.”

  It took a few more seconds, but suddenly Ludenmere staggered and grabbed hold of Curtis’s shoulder to keep himself from falling.

  “He gets it now,” the man said to the woman, with what sounded to Curtis like a smug satisfaction that was evil to the core.

  ****

  Donnie had put the oil lamp down on the floor, and with the next crash of thunder he swung the pillow hard against Little Jack’s head.

  “Leave him alone,” Hartley said, but quietly.

  “I ain’t botherin’ him much. Am I, kid?” The following strike with the pillow made Little Jack say, “Ow! That hurt!”

  “Leave us all alone!” Nilla cried out.

  “Well now,” Donnie answered in an easy voice, his eyes glinting in the lamplight, “there you go again, you rich kids tryin’ to rob me of all my fun.”

  And as soon as he’d pronounced the last word, he swung the pillow with seemingly tremendous strength at Little Jack’s head, and followed that
up by leaping behind the pillow upon the boy. He pinned Little Jack’s head and face down on the floor and put all his weight on the boy’s skull. Little Jack thrashed and gave a muffled cry, his legs kicked wildly, and Nilla in her start of terror screamed out a message to her listener.

  ****

  “My God,” Ludenmere breathed, as the wind swept past Curtis and him and the lightning crackled through the clouds. “Oh my God…no.”

  “Yes indeed,” the woman said. “Played you good and proper, didn’t we? Now…we’re comin’ for that money, and you might be real used to gettin’ your own way, but I’d advise you to—”

  Suddenly Curtis couldn’t hear her.

  In his head was the frantic scream of :Curtis! Donnie’s hurting Little Jack!:

  “Little Jack!” he said urgently to Ludenmere. He didn’t know how else to put it but, “Nilla says he’s gettin’ hurt!”

  Ludenmere trembled. His face had bleached to fish-belly gray. He shouted at the kidnappers, “My boy’s gettin’ hurt! Goddamn you, you’re takin’ me to my—”

  He started toward them, took two steps, and the woman shot him.

  There were two quick shots. Ludenmere wheeled violently around and grabbed hold of Curtis. His momentum was carrying them both backward. A third shot sent a bullet zipping past Curtis’s right ear, and then he and Ludenmere crashed through the railing and hit the black water of Lake Pontchartrain.

  Twenty-One.

  “You will let him up.”

  Hartley had spoken it calmly, as Little Jack continued to thrash and fight with his head trapped beneath the pillow and Donnie’s weight; it had been spoken not with a threat or as a plea, but as a prediction and a certainty.

  Donnie grinned fiercely in the lamplight. Sweat sparkled on his reddened cheeks. He said, “Make—”

  He didn’t get out the rest of it, because Hartley was suddenly up on his knees. Hartley’s tape-bound hands swung toward Donnie’s face in a blur, from right to left. The ring on his little finger, with its pot metal Buck Rogers rocket ship jimmied open at a seam to form a ragged-edged cutter two millimeters thicker than the dime Hartley had used as a tool, tore across Donnie’s left cheek and that side of his nose, and from the ghastly slash in Donnie’s flesh the scarlet blood spattered the far wall.

  Instantly Hartley’s prediction came true. Donnie gave a high shriek like a wounded animal and fell back off Little Jack, colliding with Nilla who scrabbled away from him with frantic speed. Her message sent in a scream to Curtis was still caught in her brain like a banner of fire. Little Jack rolled out from under the pillow, gasping for air. In his convulsion Donnie’s elbow knocked over the lantern; its glass cracked but the oil reservoir did not break open, and the burning wick continued to throw contorted shadows upon the walls.

  One of Donnie’s hands went to his gashed face. The other pulled the knife out from his waistband, and just that fast Donnie caught his backward motion and propelled himself toward Hartley. Before Hartley could avoid the blade it sank into his left side, turned on a rib, then was wrenched out and stabbed again into the man’s lower belly. All Hartley could see was Donnie’s teeth right in his face, but Nilla saw the knife’s bloody blade glint in the light. It sank into Hartley’s left forearm, and then Nilla kicked into the backs of Donnie’s knees with both stockinged feet as hard as she could, throwing him off balance and bringing from him a howl of pain. Hartley fell back against the wall and swung once more with the cutter at Donnie’s face, but at that instant the younger man’s head had begun to turn toward Nilla and so the jagged edge of the Buck Rogers rocket ship hit him on the left side of his throat under the ear. It carved across the flesh in a brutal blur, the force of the blow breaking Hartley’s little finger with a noise like a snapping twig.

  Donnie gave a sound that was not a shriek or a scream, but rather a gasp of surprise.

  His eyes blinked as he stared at Hartley.

  Then the blood sprayed out in a fan-shaped arc from the cut carotid artery, leaping higher with the beats of Donnie’s heart. He dropped the knife and clutched at his throat, the fingers working as if to seal the wound with pressure alone. His eyes were wide with terror in his gory face. The blood was fountaining out. Donnie whimpered and spun around like a wild beast trying to find a way out of a trap. He tripped over Nilla and crashed against the wall, leaving there his scrawled crimson signature. In his panicked madness he had lost his bearings, though the door was only eight feet behind him. He staggered past Little Jack, who was huddled on the floor still gasping for breath. His bloody hands scrabbled at the walls as if trying to claw himself out, as he threw gruesome plumes in every direction.

  ****

  As Ginger ran to the end of the pier with Pearly behind her, a streak of lightning shot past so close they could hear the air sizzle, and then with the next earth-shattering crack of thunder the heavens opened up, the rain slamming them in their faces as the storm came off the lake with a moan of wind and crash of waves against the pilings.

  They were drenched in a matter of seconds. Ginger was probing the churning water around the pier’s end with her light. Pearly swept the bull’s-eye lantern’s beam across the waves.

  “There!” she shouted, and she fired a fourth bullet into the lake but Pearly couldn’t see what she was shooting at. The money box was at their feet. “We’ve got the cash!” he shouted at her through the wind’s roar, though she stood right at his side. “Let’s go!”

  “I hit him!” she shouted back, streams of rain running through her hair and down her face. “I know I hit that sonofabitch!”

  “Okay, okay! Let’s go!”

  She seemed to Pearly hesitant to just take the money and leave, which made the most sense to him; she was still scanning the water with her light, the pistol outstretched to find a target. He set his lantern down atop the box and picked it up. “Ginger, let’s get out of here!” he urged. “Now!”

  At last she lowered the gun and the light. Silently she turned toward the two cars parked at the foot of the pier, and Pearly followed her through the blowing rain. At the Oldsmobile he put the box into the backseat, told her he was driving, and was surprised when she got into the passenger side without a word. He started the engine, switched on the windshield wipers, backed the car up to find a place to turn around, and then headed again toward Sawmill Road.

  “Damn!” he said. “I’m wet to the bone!”

  She didn’t answer. She held the gun in her lap, nearly cradling it as one would hold an infant.

  “Two hundred and fifteen fuckin’ thousand!” Pearly crowed. “He didn’t short us, I know it! He wanted the kids, he didn’t give a shit about the money.” He drove on for another moment without speaking, and then he had to voice something that had occurred to him when the first shot had gone off. “You wanted to shoot him, didn’t you? To kill him, if you could?”

  There was no answer.

  “I figure…that’s why you didn’t just have him drop the box off and leave. You wanted him there so you could shoot him. Sure, he gave you an excuse by rushin’ you, but…was that what this was really about? Shootin’ a rich man whose name got in the papers? And the toppin’ on that cake was that he had two kids?”

  “Maybe that was part of it,” she said, staring straight ahead. “But it was most about takin’ the prize. And we did.”

  “Yeah, we sure as hell did.” He frowned, because through his nearly-intoxicated elation at being rich and about to head south of the border to a new life something else had jabbed him in the brain. “I heard that nigger say somethin’ about Little Jack just before Ludenmere went crazy. Did you hear what—”

  “Oh…shit!” she said. “I remember what I forgot! The prize. In the Cracker Jack box. Donnie got me so fouled up…I forgot to take the prize out of that fuckin’ box!”

  “So what?”

  “It could’ve been a little fork or scissors…somethin’ metal, somethin’ with a sharp edge. Shit!”

  “Hold on, now! So what if it was? You
think they can use—”

  “I think Donnie’s too stupid not to go in that room and taunt ’em. There’s no tellin’. Hit the gas, Pearly, get us there fast!”

  ****

  As the Olds pulled away, two figures who clung to each other staggered out of the waves and through the rain upon the muddy shore. Curtis was no master of swimming but knew enough to keep himself from drowning, even in the turbulent water and with his arm around Ludenmere; he figured it had been a blessing that the lake off the end of the pier was only about five feet deep and his long legs had found a purchase. He helped Ludenmere up into the relative shelter of the woods, and there in the pelting rain and under the windswept branches he eased the other man down against the trunk of a willow tree.

  “Oh my God,” Ludenmere said feebly. “Oh Jesus…oh my God.”

  The lightning kept flickering and by its illumination Curtis saw all the blood on the front of Ludenmere’s shirt, up on the right at the collarbone. Another shot must’ve grazed Ludenmere’s head on the right side because there was blood trickling down his forehead and, mixing with the rain, streaking out to make the man’s face a tormented mask.

  Curtis had to take a few breaths before he could speak. His heart was racing and he had started to shiver, not from the lake or the rain but from the terrifying experience of being shot at. He could still hear that bullet going past his head. All he could think to say was, “Are you hurt bad?”

  Ludenmere gave the worst curse that Curtis had ever heard in his life. The man probed at his collarbone with his left hand and uttered a second foul oath, but he sounded nearly worn-out. “Think the bone’s busted,” he said. “Can’t do much with my right arm. Damn it to Hell. That Parr…set me up. Bastard walked in my office and set me up.”

  “We’ve got to get on out of here,” Curtis said. “Get you to a doctor.”

  “My children.” For an instant Ludenmere’s voice cracked and became almost a sob. “What happened to Little Jack? Is he all right? Please…ask her.”

  “I will.” But Curtis found it was easier said than done. His mind was jangled and full of the noise of gunshots and the sizzle of his own hot coals of anger. He could not concentrate past the bad man’s evil declaration of He gets it now. :Nilla,: Curtis sent out, but he wasn’t sure if it was reaching her for all the static in his brain. :Nilla, what happened to Little Jack?: