by John Locke
“What?”
“Don’t take me back to Bobby!”
Jack says nothing, keeps driving, eyes straight ahead.
“If you know my husband at all, you know he’s a sick, sadistic bastard. He’s going to brutalize me for running away. He might very well kill me. And you’re delivering me to his doorstep. I thought I saw something in you, Jack. But if you take me back, you’re no better than him.”
“I don’t abuse women.”
“But you’ll willingly take me to a man who does! Bobby’s going to physically assault me in every sick and twisted way you can imagine. He’s going to rape me. Beat me. Punish me. Chain me to a wall. Deprive me of food, water, sleep. He’s going to humiliate me a hundred different ways till he breaks me down and destroys my will to live. He won’t stop till my last ounce of dignity is gone. And when he’s finally tired of abusing me, he’s going to…” her voice trails off in the air.
“He’s going to what?”
“I can’t say it.”
“Why not?”
“If you tell him I said it, he’ll kill you.”
Jack looks at her with curiosity. “You’d care if he kills me?”
“Of course I’d care!”
“Why?”
“Are you serious?”
She gives him a look that combines several emotions at once. Anger. Fear. Sadness…
She says, “You’re all I’ve got, Jack. You’re my only hope.”
She stares at him ten full minutes, but receives nothing in return. Finally she says, “I need you, Jack. He’ll kill me. You know he will.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says, “but you were desperate for money, right?”
“You know I was.”
“Couldn’t pay your rent, down to your last tank of gas.”
“That’s right.”
“And yet you paid a bouncer two hundred bucks to beat me up.”
“Jack! That was—”
“That was a spiteful thing to do. And you know why you did it? To punish me. So tell me again why I should care if your husband punishes you?”
Jill wants to explain Brutus the bouncer wasn’t going to repay her anyway, so it didn’t really cost her anything. But that wouldn’t change the fact she wanted to punish Jack for shafting her. She could try to explain her heart skipped a beat when she saw him enter the club Friday night, that she found him crazy handsome, and that just when it seemed he’d solved all her problems, he shit all over her by giving her newsprint instead of cash. But none of that matters, because even though it’s all true, she never intended to show up for the date. She was planning to take his money and run. And when he shafted her, she did, in fact, want to punish him.
But there’s a difference between her and Bobby when it comes to punishment.
Bobby won’t limit her beating to twenty seconds.
He’s going to torture her, then feed her to the wild hogs he keeps in a pen on the Blood River.
She notices the car slowing down.
“What are you doing?” she says.
“Pulling over.”
“Why?”
“We need gas,” Jack says.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“There are eight gas cans in the trunk. Forty gallons.”
“What are you talking about? This is my car. There are no gas cans in the trunk.”
“I switched them from my trunk to yours at the restaurant. While you were unconscious.”
Jack gets out, opens the trunk, starts filling the tank.
“Can I pee?” she hollers.
He drains the first tank and tosses it twenty feet into the field beside them. Then he circles the car, opens the door, and says, “Please don’t try anything stupid.”
Two sets of cuffs secure her wrists to the metal base of the headrest. Jack removes them, along with the belt binding her feet. He takes her by the hand, leads her ten yards into the field.
“Can you give me some privacy?” she says.
“It’s pitch black. I couldn’t see you if I tried.”
“Can you at least turn away?”
“Yeah, I can do that. But I’m keeping my hand on your head.”
“Why?”
“Just deal with it.”
She squats, pulls her pants down. He holds her in place, turns away. The sound of her peeing reminds him he’s due. When she’s done he says, “Sit tight.”
He unzips his pants, pees in the opposite direction.
“This is weird,” she says.
“Can’t be helped. Thanks for not trying to run.”
“Where would I go?”
“Still. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
He finishes, zips his fly. Sees two pick-up trucks pulling off the road. They come to a stop behind Jill’s car.
Jack crouches beside her. Whispers, “Keep quiet.”
“Promise you’ll let me go.”
“I can’t do that, Jill.”
She screams.
Four doors open, four men get out. One has a spotlight in his hands, the others, rifles. All are illuminated by the trucks’ headlights and flashers.
Jack assesses the situation. Four redneck deer hunters, three rifles, thirty feet away.
It takes two seconds for the spotlight to find them.
“That was a stupid thing to do,” Jack whispers.
“You gave me no choice,” Jill says.
“These guys are bad news.”
“Whatever happens, I’ll be better off.”
One of the hunters says, “Holy shit! Looky what we got here! I think my birthday done come early!”
Jill whispers, “Sorry Jack, but I can’t go back to La Pierre.” To the men she yells, “Please help me!”
“What’s goin’ on here, little lady?” one of the men calls out.
“This man kidnapped me. I fear for my life.”
“Kidnapped you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you think, boys?”
“I call first fuck!” one says.
“I call second!” says another.
“I’ll go third, then,” says a third.
First guy says, “Guess you’re fourth on the list, Clem.”
Clem says, “Well, I’m willin’ to fuck the girl while waitin’ my turn.”
Jack and Jill look at each other.
The first hunter yells, “Stand up, put your hands in the air.”
Jack types some keys on his cell phone.
“You’re making a phone call?” Jill whispers.
“Shield your eyes,” Jack says.
One of the men fires a shot that hisses into the grass five feet from Jack’s position.
“Now!” he yells. “Hands in the—”
His words are drowned out by the explosion, as Jill’s trunk becomes a fireball. Jack pulls a gun from his ankle holster and shoots two of the men before they can react. The other two are human torches, running into the field, screaming, falling down, rolling on the ground. Jack grabs Jill by the wrist and takes her where the men are on the ground, writhing in pain.
He stands over them, empties his gun.
Jill screams.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says.
“Fuck that,” she says. “You blew up my car?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“I wired it earlier. Just in case.”
“When did you have time to do that?”
“It’s just a blasting cap and plastic explosive. And a receiver.”
“You couldn’t possibly have known this would happen.”
“No. But it was my insurance in case Bobby decided to kill me.”
“Why would he kill you?”
“For doing this.”
He takes her in his arms and kisses her. She tries to pull away, yells, “Stop it!”
As the flame from the car crackles and roars in the background, Jack releases his grip.
“I thoug
ht it’s what you wanted,” he says.
“I was willing to make an investment in you,” she says. “And still am. But only if you promise to let me go.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
He sighs. “Because we can’t run away together unless you’re divorced or Bobby’s dead. He’s got too many resources. He’d find us.”
“You’ve thought about it. About us running away together.”
“I’ve thought about nothing else for the better part of a month.”
“Then let’s do it! It’s the only way. He’ll never give me a divorce.”
Jack says nothing.
Jill says, “You have thought about something else. You’ve thought about killing him.”
“It crossed my mind.”
“Uncross it, Jack. He’s got an army of security people, and the house is a fortress.”
“I had a nice diversion planned.”
“The car bomb?”
“Uh huh.”
“Wouldn’t have worked.”
“Probably not. Doesn’t matter. I watched you day and night for weeks, Jill. Watched and wanted you till I ached. In my head I created this dream where you and I could be together. I dreamed we’d kill Bobby, take what money we could find, run away to my safe place.”
“What safe place?”
“I’ve got a lake house in a little town called Willow Lake, in the Ozarks. My retirement spot.”
“You’re awfully young to be thinking about retirement.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it while waiting to grow old.”
“Then why don’t we just go there?”
“When we got together for dinner tonight you made it clear your interest in me was zero.”
“Because you shafted me, Jack.”
“We’ve been through this already. The bottom line is you don’t give a shit about me. You just want to get away.”
“Not true,” she says. “Look. I won’t pretend I love you, and the truth is I didn’t even like you till just now, when I saw how you handled this situation. But I’m willing to give you a chance. Forget trying to kill Bobby. That’s suicide. But I’m willing to go with you to your safe place right now. No promises, but I’ll give it an honest try. How about it?”
“I guess for you it’s better than being with Bobby.”
“Much better. Let’s do it, Jack. Run away to your place. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“How?”
She moves closer, finds his lips.
As they kiss, she grabs his hand, slides it under her bra, falls on her back. He leans over her, exposes her breasts. He can’t see them, but his hands and mouth have no problem finding them. Her nipples feel longer and harder than they could possibly be, and to his joy he hears her pulling her pants down. He slides lower, kisses her stomach. Slides his body lower still, so he can reach her sweet spot. Feels his foot touch one of the dead, smoldering rednecks, and kicks the corpse out of his way.
“Let’s escape, Jack,” she says. “You and me. We’ll start a new life. Say you’ll do it!”
“I’ll do it.”
“Oh, thank God!” she says.
He moves upward, kisses her lips. Starts unzipping his pants, says, “Shit!”
“You came already?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“We’ve got company.”
She tilts her head, sees the flashing lights of a police car as it pulls off the road and comes to a stop in front of Jill’s burning car.
“Let me handle this,” she says.
“Okay.”
Jack and Jill adjust their clothing, and meet the state trooper as he comes around the front of his car. Jill moves forward and tells him she and Jack stopped to put gas in their car, and the two trucks pulled up and four men got out with rifles and threatened to rape them.
“They threatened to rape both of you?” he says.
“Mostly him,” she says.
She tells him Jack fired a warning shot that must have hit the gas cans in the trunk, causing them to blow up. “Then Jack shot the men,” she says. “In self-defense.”
He nods.
“Does that make sense?” she says.
He nods again.
“Do you need to take down our statements or anything?”
He shakes his head, no.
“There are four bodies here, officer. But everything that happened was self-defense.”
He nods.
“You believe me, don’t you?”
He nods again.
“So is that it? We’re free to go? Why aren’t you saying anything?”
He raises his chin, indicating Jack. She turns, sees him aiming his gun at the policeman’s head.
“How long have you been holding a gun on him?” Jill asks.
“From the moment you stepped in front of me.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s no way he’s going to allow this to sit without calling for backup, checking the scene, taking us to the station, getting all in our business.”
“You can’t just shoot him. He’s a cop.”
“I’m not going to shoot unless he forces me.”
“What happens next?”
“I’m going to tell him what’s really going on.”
“What’s wrong with my story?”
“Tell her,” he says to the cop.
“Gas tanks don’t explode from gunshots, Miss. That only happens on TV.”
“And?” Jack says.
“And you’ve identified yourself as a witness to a quadruple homicide. And implicated your friend here, as the killer.”
Jack says, “We’re lucky he didn’t see the bodies before getting out of the car. Otherwise he would’ve radioed for help.”
“Actually, I did call it in,” the policeman says.
“Then you’ll need to radio again.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I’m Jack Tallow. This is Jill DiPiese, Bobby DiPiese’s wife. He hired me to find her, bring her back.”
Jill says, “I don’t believe you’re doing this. What about our plans—”
Jack puts his fingers to his lips and says, “It’s the only way.”
He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a card, hands it to the officer. Then he gets his cell phone out, presses a button on it, waits a moment, and says, “Mr. Dee, this is Jack Tallow. We’ve got a situation.”
Bobby DiPiese’s gone by the name Bobby Dee for so long, he can barely remember how to spell his surname. Four hours ago he was happy as a priest with two peckers when he heard Tallow had found his wife, and was bringing her in.
“Call me two minutes before you get here,” he said. “We’ll open the garage door. You’ll pull in, we’ll shut the door behind you. And keep quiet. I don’t want anyone to know about this business with Jill.”
Now Tallow’s calling from south of Kentwood, saying they pulled over to put some gas in the car and had to kill four rednecks and set Jill’s car on fire. Worse, he had to tell a state trooper he was bringing Jill in, which totally fucks up Bobby’s plans for dealing with his errant wife. Unless…
“Who’s the trooper?” he asks.
He hears Jack say, “What’s your name?”
The cop says, “Henry Gauthiereaux.”
Bobby smiles.
Jack says, “Did you hear him, Mr. Dee?”
“I heard. Put Officer Hank on the phone.”
Jack and Jill sit tight as the arrangements are worked out between Bobby and Officer Hank.
“Would you have shot him?” Jill whispers.
“No way. I was bluffing,” he whispers back.
“Because he’s a state trooper?”
“Because I was out of bullets.”
She can’t tell if he’s kidding.
Officer Hank looks at Jack, hands him the phone, says, “Your turn.”
Jack puts the phone to his ear. Bobby says, “Grab one of the pickup trucks and haul a
ss out of there. Officer Hank’s gonna wait at the scene. His story is he saw flames, drove up to investigate, found a car on fire, a parked pickup truck, and four dead men. End of story. He’ll let the crime scene investigators draw the conclusions.”
“Sounds good.”
Bobby says, “Three people know Jill’s been found. You, me, and Officer Hank, who’s gonna retire a wealthy man if he keeps his mouth shut.”
“Okay,” Jack says. “I’m on my way.”
“With Jill, of course.”
“Of course.”
Jack clicks the phone off, takes a step toward Jill, and all hell breaks loose.
“Hit the ground and cover up!” Jack yells, as a dozen shots ring out, simultaneously.
“Jesus!” Jill shouts.
“Who’s shooting?” Officer Hank yells.
“I don’t know!” Jack shouts.
But he does know. The flames in Jill’s car have found his ammunition.
When the shots finally stop, Jill calls out, “Are you all right?”
“I’m good,” Jack says. “You?”
“Yes. Is it over?”
“I think so.”
He gets up, notices Officer Hank’s chest bleeding in two places.
“Shit.”
“What now?” Jill says.
“Officer Hank’s dead.”
“Check to make sure.”
Jack clicks his cell phone on so he can use the screen light to illuminate Hank’s face. When he puts it close, he jumps back, startled to find Hank very much alive.
“Get the fuck out of here!” Hank hisses.
“You need help,” Jack says.
“I’ll be fine. Now drive away, before you fuck up my retirement.”
“Okay. Good luck.”
“Fuck you both.”
“Wait a minute!” Jill says. “You’re taking me to Bobby? After what just happened between us?”
They’re in one of the pickups, thirty miles north of Hammond, ninety miles from Bobby’s plantation outside La Pierre, Louisiana. Jack’s driving, Jill’s in the front seat.
“He’ll kill me!” she says.
“I won’t let that happen.”
“He tortures people in the basement.”
