Wicked Women and Other Stories

by Sally Walker Brinkmann

  * * * *

  Later that night, McCabe was gathering up a hoard of guns and ammo in a cabin near Spruce Pine Hollow. He’d had to use the truck, but a least this place was on the way to Ernie’s in Martinsburg. Just as he was getting ready to drag the haul boldly out the front door, he saw headlights flash in the driveway.

  Shit! It was one thirty on a Wednesday night. What was this fool doing coming here now? He dropped the stuff and stumbled toward the rear of the house. Had to get outta there! The front door was opening as he slid through a back window. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw lights blaze on and heard the guy yelling. His pulse was racing by the time he made it back to where he’d left the pickup. Man! What shitty luck! That was the closest call he’d ever had! That is, he corrected himself, after Allison.

  * * * *

  The next day McCabe spent his time in Martinsburg bars. But the drinking didn’t seem to help. He didn’t even feel like seeing Diane. That close call in the cabin must have rattled him more than he’d realized. Well, he better look up Ernie and collect the money he had coming to him. Funny, he hadn’t been able to get Ernie on the phone all day.

  Just as he was paying up the bar bill, his cousin, Jake, walked in. “Hey, man, over here,” McCabe shouted a greeting.

  “Been looking for you,” Jake said as he sat down.

  “Good to see you, Jake,” McCabe said. “What’s up?”

  “Git me a Bud,” Jake hollered at the bargirl. He leaned back in the chair, but sure as hell didn’t look relaxed. “I’m glad I found you, Clint. This here’s the thing,” he sat forward, looking uneasy. “Well, the cops been by the house a couple of times. It’s like they’re on to something. They’re asking questions—about you, Clint.” Jake took a long pull from the beer mug. “Seems your buddy, Ernie, took a fall. He’s not the type to turn state’s evidence, is he?” A nervous grin belied the fear in Jake’s eyes.

  “Hell, I don’t know,” McCabe said. “Anything’s possible.” He almost said, how do you think your dad was sent up the last time? The whole family knew that Jason McCabe had been fingered by his best pal when he’d been indicted. So now he was a habitual criminal, in for life.

  “Well, I just wanted you to know,” Jake got up to leave. “Guess you better not come around the house no more, Clint,” he said hesitantly. “It ain’t a good idea. Take care of yourself.” Jake walked quickly toward the door.

  Damn if that don’t beat all, McCabe thought. Jake’s my closest relative and just about my only friend. So much for friendship! That wife of his is probably behind this, he concluded.

  * * * *

  It rained heavily for the next few days and McCabe spent his time in the trailer. When he was drinking, which was most of the time, he thought about Allison—about the kinda man she would want, the kinda man she could love. It sure as hell wasn’t him. But he could change. Hell, yes! No more thieving—that wasn’t working out too good anyway. No more cussing. No more drinking. No more chewing tobacco. No more smart-ass remarks.

  He decided that from now on he’d concentrate on polite conversation, like “Why, yes, I certainly enjoyed the evening.” He tried out the words a couple of times—no bad grammar, keep it real smooth. “The meal was delicious. So very kind of you to invite me.” He smiled, but tried to keep his expression cool.

  McCabe went over the phrases a few more times, trying out the gestures and expressions he’d seen Jim use on the video. After a few more shots of ‘Beam’, he thought he was doing pretty good. He smiled without showing his teeth, the way the tourists on the river tour had done. He kept his voice low and soft. “I’m so delighted you were able to stop by,” he intoned slowly.

  “Yes!” He hooted. “I done got it now! If Allison wants a new, improved McCabe—she’s got him!” Turning up the country beat on the radio, he two-stepped into the kitchen to find a new bottle of Jim Beam. Holding up the shot glass, he said, “To Preacher Jim. You see before you, Jim, a changed man!”

  When he came down off the drunk, McCabe brooded over the mess he was in. Ernie was gonna talk sooner or later—if he hadn’t already. But Ernie didn’t know where he was. Only Jake knew. And if Jake knew, Jan knew. Well, he was safe until somebody offered a reward. Jan was a greedy little bitch. She’d wait until then.

  During his waking hours, McCabe tried to reason things out calmly. But when he slept, he always dreamed the same dream. The gates of Regional Jail were opening, and Uncle Jason was waiting there to greet him. He awoke in a cold sweat. By the end of the week McCabe had come to a decision. He’d have to leave Morgan County—the thing he had never wanted to do. But he couldn’t go without seeing Allison again.

  * * * *

  The next morning dawned clear and mild, a freak kind of day that sometimes came to the hills in November. Moving to the lookout, McCabe spotted the red cloth waving from Allison’s flagpole. She was back and she wanted to see him. This was great! Fifteen minutes later, he was at her front door. The door jerked open and she almost dragged him inside.

  “McCabe!” she said. “Thank God you’re all right!” Grabbing up the local newspaper from atop a pile of luggage, she shoved it at him. “Look at the headline.”

  VICTIM OFFERS $1000 REWARD FOR BANDIT!

  McCabe read the words slowly. Well, this was it. He was as good as behind bars as soon as Jan McCabe saw this. Too risky to go back to the trailer for anything now—time was out!

  “Well, actually, I’d already decided to change my evil ways, starting about now,” he said. “I’m glad you’re back, Allison. I wanted to say good bye.”

  “Good bye? Where are you going to go? Where can you go?” She seemed alarmed. “Where will you be safe? Who will help you?”

  “No idea,” he answered, smiling at her. “But it sure is good to see you again.” Could it be possible that she was really concerned for him?

  “Sit down, McCabe,” she ordered. “We need to talk.” They sat facing each other across the kitchen table. “Listen, I’m flying out of Baltimore-Washington International Airport tonight—for Columbia, South America—for Jim’s mission. I finally got all my papers in order.” She paused; her dark eyes studied him as if she was trying to fit things together. “Do you want to come with me?” she asked. “You’re a Jack of all Trades. You could be very useful there. It’s the break you need. How about it?”

  “How about it!” he whooped. “Lady, you got yourself a traveling companion!” He grabbed her face across the table and planted a quick, but solid kiss on her lips. “Just to seal the bargain.” He grinned at her. She must like him a little bit. Shit! That was enough for him.

  “Just to seal the bargain,” she said, but she grinned.

  “Wait a minute,” he said slowly. He’d known this was too good to be true. “What about the airline ticket? And I don’t have no passport or nothing—not much money. How can I…”

  Allison cut him off. “We could pull it off if you wouldn’t mind traveling as the Reverend James Whitehead. He left some of his clothes here, but the best thing is that his passport, visa, ticket, everything is right here!” She looked elated. McCabe shot her a puzzled look.

  “You see,” she continued, “Jim thought he had lost all of his papers and his ticket. We looked everywhere, but he finally had to get duplicates at the last minute. The Church Board helped him. They put the pressure on and rushed everything through.”

  She stopped to smile encouragingly, as though all this was too much to be believed. “Anyway, I found all the original papers a couple of weeks ago. They had fallen behind a slat in an old dresser drawer. I’ve checked the dates and everything is still good. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s the craziest damn scheme I’ve ever heard! How can I pass for Jim? What about his passport picture, for one thing?”

  Allison pulled a pile of papers from the kitchen drawer. “Here’s Jim’s passport photograph.” A dark-eyed, dark-haired, handsome young man stared back at them. She looked carefully at McCabe. “It’s not imposs
ible,” she concluded. “Jim is about your age, and about your height and weight. It’s a good thing you shaved off that moustache, although it did look good.”

  “You thought it looked good?” McCabe was unreasonably happy. Maybe, just maybe, his luck was beginning to turn.

  “You’d need to wear a hat, maybe dark glasses, and—yes, I’ve got it!” She got up and ran out of the room. In a few minutes she returned with a high, round clerical collar. “This will do it, for sure!” she said triumphantly.

  Thirty minutes later Allison was racing through the house closing everything down. “Hey, McCabe, could you check the window locks in the back of the house?” She called as she tried doors and checked locks in the huge living area. “We should get started.”

  “Sure thing,” he answered. “Wouldn’t want no real crook to git in!”

  “Oh my God, McCabe!” he heard Allison wail. “It’s that policeman again. Stay back there. I’ll get rid of him.”

  He heard a car door slam. Well, if you think something’s too good to be true, then it’s too good to be true, he thought sadly. They were so close!

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he heard the deep-voiced cop say, “we have reason to believe he may be in your area.” McCabe couldn’t make out Allison’s low reply. “So you’re leaving then—Washington, D.C.? Mighty dangerous down there in the city. You take care!”

  McCabe moved closer. “Yes, today, soon,” Allison said. “My brother, er, the Reverend, and I are going to serve at a church center. So, I guess I’ll never know whether you catch this guy or not. Well, good luck, Officer Rollins.”

  “Ah, Ma’am, hold on a minute.” Oh shit, McCabe moaned. “Since you all are leaving,” the cop continued, “you wouldn’t mind if we set up our command post here in your driveway, would you? It’s kinda a central location.”

  There was a long silence. “Of course not, Officer,” Allison finally said. McCabe took one last look in the bedroom mirror. Yeah, he’d have to do. Adjusting the tight, round, clerical collar, he slammed the borrowed leather bush hat down on his head. The dark suit was a pretty good fit.

  He walked confidently down the hall. “Guess we had better load the car, Sis,” he said loudly, nodding to the cop as he carefully picked up several of the waiting suitcases.

  “Have a good trip, Reverend,” the cop said as McCabe strode out to the car. Allison followed with the remaining luggage. She looked nervous as hell. He knew that they better get out quick.

  “Thank you, Officer, that’s very kind of you.” McCabe smiled his practiced, cool, tight-lipped smile. “My sister tells me you’ve had some problems here. I wish you the best of luck.” He smiled again. “Oh, and thank you so much for looking in on my sister so often during this, ah, this crisis.” He shot the cop a hard look. Lecherous bastard!

  Leaning over, McCabe carefully placed the luggage in the trunk. Then, taking his time, he bent down and brushed a thin coating of dust from his boots. Waving in what he hoped was a friendly manner, he got into the driver’s seat and slowly pulled away up the drive.

  Puzzled, the cop looked after the departing car. Something bothered him about that guy, that preacher. About twenty minutes later, his backup arrived.

  “Where’s the good-looking ­woman you was bragging about, Rollins?” the second cop asked.

  “She just left with her brother, the Reverend. She’s moved out.” He looked at his fellow officer uneasily. Something was still bothering him about the couple, about the preacher. “Where’s this McCabe supposed to be now?” he asked.

  According to the informant, he’s somewhere in this here immediate area. But hell, sonuvabitch could be anywheres.”

  Officer Rollins pounded his fist down on the hood of the patrol car. “He ain’t just anywheres. I’ll bet you a month’s pay he’s on his way to Washington, D.C. with that poor, scared girl as his hostage. Reverend, my ass!” His face had turned crimson.

  “Now I know what was wrong with the guy!” Rollins wagged his finger at the other cop. “In the first place, how many reverends wear hand-tooled cowboy boots? Eh? Answer me that! And all that fancy talk of his still couldn’t cover up his ‘twang.’ Yeah, you just don’t pick that up! It’s bred in the bone! That bastard!

  “And in the second place,” Rollins continued, “how many preachers swagger around with a can a Skoal in their back pockets? That’s the clincher! When he leaned over to put the luggage in the trunk, I’m real sure I saw the round outline of a Skoal can—you know it’s real hard to mistake. Fancy preacher’s suit and all, but damn if he wasn’t carrying chewing tobacco. Cocky sonuvabitch too! Mean look in his eye. He ain’t no reverend!”

  The other officer was already on the car radio, “He’ll never make it over the state line,” he said. “A road bock should do it!”

  “I bet he’s heading for the Potomac River Bridge at Hancock and I-70. It’s the fastest way to D.C.,” Rollins said. “That’s where we’ll nab him.”

  * * * *

  “Yaa-hooo!” McCabe shouted as he turned the Honda onto the hard-topped road and headed toward town. “We done done it, baby!” Reaching over, he slapped Allison’s knee. “We’re home free. Dumb-ass cop don’t know which end is up!”

  Shakily, Allison nodded. “You laid it on a little thick, didn’t you, Reverend?” McCabe grinned the old grin, totally pleased with himself.

  As they neared Hancock, he begin to worry. If, just if, something went really wrong, the bridge might be checked. Better not chance it. He swung the car off Route 522 onto Sand Mine Road. This way he could take back roads over to the Potomac River and check things out.

  Fifteen minutes later, he edged the car along a narrow path near the Potomac. “Wait here, be right back,” he told Allison. “Damn! Cops crawling all over the bridge,” McCabe growled as he peered upriver from his vantage point on the shore. Well, they only had one choice now. And he’d thought his luck had turned!

  He hurried back to the car. “Better change them high-heeled shoes,” he told Allison. “We got some boating to do.”

  Quickly, they loaded the luggage in the flat-bottomed boat and McCabe pushed off from shore. “I keep this here boat for when I need to make an emergency type run over to Hancock to see a guy I know—and when I sure as hell don’t wanta see nobody else!” The current caught them, and with McCabe pulling strongly on the oars, they soon reached the Maryland side of the river.

  “Are we safe over here?” Allison looked nervous.

  “Safer than on the West Virginia side, but no—we ain’t safe yet. The Maryland cops are most likely cooperating.” They lifted the suitcases out of the boat and started walking up toward town.

  “I know a guy here, done business with him. He’ll give us a lift to the airport,” McCabe assured her. “Just as long as we stay away from the main roads, we should be O.K.”

  Yeah, he thought, he’ll give us a lift if I part with the last of my cash. That shithead dealer wouldn’t help his own mother out for nothing.

  * * * *

  “That friend of yours gave me the creeps,” Allison said as they lugged the baggage up to the airline counter.

  “Yeah, he ain’t exactly your Boy Scout type, that’s for sure!” He’d been ready to punch the guy out long before they got to BWI because of the way he’d been looking at Allison.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll never see his ugly face again.” They picked up their baggage claim checks and boarding passes and went in search of coffee and sandwiches. He slipped his arm around Allison’s waist as they strolled through the crowded airport. She looked up at him questioningly. “It’s just the brotherly thing to do,” he assured her.

  McCabe didn’t really breathe easy until the big jet was taxiing down the runway. There had always been the chance that the West Virginia cop could have figured out who he was. That dumb sonuvabitch could have decided that he’d kidnapped Allison and taken her over the state line. Maybe they’d even found the Honda by now. Hell, they probably thought he’d done her in—drown
ed her in the Potomac!

  He shot a worried look at Allison. “I’m glad we got away before the cops got started checking airports.” She nodded, a relieved look at her eyes. But no sense borrowing trouble, McCabe decided as he sipped whiskey and water and watched the high cloud banks glide by. Well, let ’em stew! He and Allison were on their way! His luck had turned at last!

  “McCabe,” Allison said, “don’t you think that drinking whiskey is a bit un-reverend like?” She gave him a look of mild accusation.

  Startled, he set down the drink.

  “I guess I should have mentioned this before,” she continued, “but, ah, well—I didn’t know how you’d take it.” She glanced at him uneasily. “At the mission, we, ah, I mean all the missionary staff, have to set an example. You know what I mean—no drinking, no smoking, no, ah, improper language, no immoral life styles. You understand,” she said with a somewhat apologetic look in her large dark eyes. “I just thought I should give you some warning since I kind of kidnapped you.”

  “Understand—warning—kidnapped! That’s a laugh!” McCabe sputtered, his ‘civilized’ act disintegrating. “Do you mean to tell me that this here is my last glass of whiskey? Do you mean to tell me that you waited ’til you got me 30,000 foot up and then laid down the law?” He said indignantly, totally forgetting his own recent resolutions. “Well, I think now that YOU owe ME! What do you think of that?”

  Allison smiled. Looking at her, McCabe decided he liked what he saw in her smile. “I guess you’re right. I do owe you,” she said. “After all, if we’re going to be together at the mission, sooner or later we’ll have to be man and wife. I accept your proposal, McCabe.”

  A slow grin, the old McCabe grin, spread over his face. “Proposal—I’m glad you put it that way. I doubt I’d have ever gotten up the nerve to say it half so good. I accept.”

  Two stewardesses in the rear of the plane watched the young couple locked in a long embrace. “Isn’t that the Reverend and his ‘sister’?” one asked.