Yeah, right.
Vic Harker, handyman.
About the only thing he could be counted on to build was a tension headache. That man never kept a promise in his life, unless it involved a drink.
The two-by-fours for the furniture, also stolen, leaned in a corner of the workshop, dried, split and useless for anything but kindling. There was plenty of paint, though. Yes sir, Vic was a good thief. He could’ve given stealing lessons to the Devil himself. There was enough paint for the kitchen. Hell, there was enough to paint the whole house red.
Why not?
Maybe she could even open a cathouse. She could call it Maddy Harker’s House of Pleasure.
Wait a minute.
She wasn’t Harker anymore, was she?
She could go back to using her maiden name, if she wanted, except she wasn’t a maiden anymore. Hell, she hadn’t been that when she’d first met Vic.
She rolled it around in her mind.
Maddy Cross.
Miss Maddy Cross.
Nope. She didn’t like it one bit. It made her feel small, like a little girl waiting to be punished.
Little Miss Maddy Cross.
To hell with that. She was Maddy Harker to the grave.
She pried the paint lid off with a rusted knife. She damn near opened her arm when the tip of the knife snapped. The paint looked good. She couldn’t wait to slap it on the kitchen.
She loved painting, maybe because her Daddy never did.
“Too poor to paint, too proud to whitewash,” was his favorite excuse.
She tapped the lid shut.
Then she found herself a brush, petrified from age and disuse. She beat it clean with a jug of turpentine. She carried the paint, brush and turpentine out of the barn. She paused by the stall and threw in another forkful of hay. She checked again for horse crap. King shifted his weight against her while she was checking. She pushed him with flat of her hand.
Usually that was all it took.
Except the big bastard didn’t budge.
Maddy panicked.
She felt King’s weight, his close animal heat pushing against her.
“No!”
She struggled. She felt the stallion’s long legs, the bones moving beneath the skin. She looked up. There, sitting atop the stallion like a king on his throne was old Bluedaddy.
“Hey, little Maddy,” he taunted. “Little Maddy Cross.”
“No, Daddy!”
“Why don’t you reach down and grab yourself a feel? The old boy’s got a pecker like a fence post.” Bluedaddy pushed closer, showing pretty good horsemanship for a blue tinged ghost.
“No, Daddy, no!”
She lost it.
She flailed wildly, not caring about the hooves that could break her bones. She flailed like a human thresher – no, daddy, no – until she was free, running from the barn with a can of paint clutched in one hand, out into the comforting daylight, when a pair of blue arms grabbed her hard and tight.
* 2 *
A half cup of liquid misery and a slab of pretty good pie later, Wendy Joe watched from the diner as Earl rolled out of the station house.
She finished her apple pie, just in case Earl forgot something.
When she felt safe, she crossed the street and back into the station house. She checked the radio. It wouldn’t do to start anything, if Wilfred was just around the corner.
“Chief Wilfred! This is Wendy Joe.”
There was nothing but static.
“Chief Wilfred? Pick up.”
Maybe the battery needed replacing?
She left the speaker cranked open, in case something came through.
Then she opened the drawer and took the doll out.
The door opened.
Damn.
“What you got there, Wendy Joe?”
It was Earl.
The buzz of the radio static had drowned the sound of his opening the office door.
Wendy Joe startled like she’d been caught playing with herself on office time.
“Damn,” she said, “I thought the Devil himself was coming to get me.”
“What you got there?” he repeated.
“Just a doll.”
“I can see that. What are you doing with it?”
“Are you running an interrogation?”
“Just asking, is all.”
“Well, it’s none of your damn business.”
She tried to return the doll to the drawer. Earl playfully caught her hand.
“I’m conducting an investigation,” he teased. “I heard tell of a ring of doll smugglers, operating out of Quebec City.”
“Look,” she said, thumping her fist on the desktop. “It’s just a doll. I collect them, okay?”
Earl held out a conciliatory palm.
“Easy, girl. I didn’t mean to ruffle your tail feathers.”
Wendy Joe forced a laugh.
“You ruffle my tail in your dreams.”
Earl grinned at that.
“Face it, girl,” he said. “It’s a matter of time before you succumb to the old Toad charm.”
“Macho bullshit bastard,” she fumed.
He grinned even harder. He knew she was kidding. He also knew he didn’t stand a hope in beggar’s hell of winning Wendy Joe’s heart. It still didn’t stop him from trying, though.
She glanced at the radio.
“Wilfred didn’t call in?” Earl asked.
“He won’t answer,” she replied. “I’ve called him a few times.”
“He’s alright. Just forgot how to use the radio, is all. You know how that old boy gets with his macho prehistoric thinking.”
“It isn’t just today,” Wendy Joe pointed out. “He hasn’t been all right for a while. Not since Emma left for her mother’s.”
Earl nodded.
He’d noticed the change, too.
“It’s like he’s been sleepwalking these days. You know what I mean? He grins and smiles like everything’s apple-pie and ice-cream dandy, but you get the feeling if you knocked too hard on the door, nobody would answer.”
“He’ll come around,” Wendy Joe said.
“You think? I’m not so sure. Something’s wrong. Something big. I think maybe Emma left him. You know, for good. Only he isn’t letting on. I think he goes home at night and rattles around the empty house, pretending she’s coming back.”
“Earl, you’re paranoid.”
“You think?”
He looked away.
“I don’t know about that,” he finished.
Nobody said anything for a heartbeat or so.
Finally Earl spoke.
“You didn’t do anything crazy, did you girl?”
“What you mean by that?”
“I mean, voodoo and such.”
“What would I know about voodoo?”
“I’ve heard tales. How you conjure. How you make potions.”
“What you trying to say, Earl?”
“That isn’t a voodoo doll, is it?”
Wendy Joe laughed, just a little too loudly.
“A voodoo doll? Earl, you been staying up way too late. You’ve got to get yourself some sleep, boy.”
Earl nodded.
“I know. It sounds about as likely as a double-decker outhouse. I just can’t shake the feeling I got, is all.”
Wendy Joe looked away.
Earl stared at her hard.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Dead wrong. This is just a little therapy, is all. Acting out, is all. I pretend hard enough, it takes my mind off my troubles.”
Earl’s forehead knotted so tight his eyebrows met.
“Therapy? Are you seeing a shrink?”
“I’m seeing a doctor,” she let on.
“Witch doctor, maybe.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
Earl shook his head.
“Wendy Joe, you’re just so full of shit it’s a wonder you don’t draw flies.”
Wendy Joe slid ou
t a long slow sigh. She was a lousy liar. Her momma always told her that. She couldn’t keep a secret if she swallowed it.
“Right as rain, Earl Toad,” she finally said. “You’re as right as falling rain.”
She stared him in the eyes.
“So what are you going to do about it?”
* 3 *
Maddy shrieked in anger and terror as the blue-clad arms enfolded her. She swung the paint can backwards and up, nearly caving her own skull in.
She felt the can dent into something meaty.
“Blue-balled Jethuth,” a voice groaned behind her as the arms let go.
Damn it. I’ve gone and killed somebody.
Again.
She turned and saw Marvin Pusser sprawled in the dirt, the letters in his bag spilled like a badly shuffled deck of cards.
“Jethuth, roaring-eyed Jethuth,” he lisped while he swore.
His lower lip was split wide open. She must have caught him in the mouth. Either that or this wasn’t Marvin’s first beating of the day. She didn’t feel sorry. He was an asshole, plain and simple, and all you did with assholes was wipe them off and flush the remains away.
“Jethuth.”
“It’s a little early for praying, isn’t it?”
He took ten minutes to pick up and sort the mail he’d spilled, pausing only to rub the welt rising on his skull and to mutter another indignant plea to thweet Jethuth.
“What the hell did you do that for?” he finally asked.
“You frightened me,” Maddy answered. “You’re lucky the paint can didn’t open.”
He rubbed his skull, looking for sympathy.
“You could have killed me.”
She laughed out loud. She wasn’t about to give him an ounce of whatever compassion he was looking for.
Marvin stared in disbelief.
“Sorry,” she begrudged, not sure why she had to be.
He took her reply as an apology.
“I’ve got thome mail for you, Maddy.”
“It’s the wrong day for mail. Even if it wasn’t, you can leave it in the box.”
“That ain’t friendly. I like to give my job a personal touch.”
I’ll bet, Maddy thought, as he handed her a handful of envelopes.
“A few bills. A letter from your aunt. A letter from Publishers Clearing House. It says here you might already have won ten million dollars.”
“I guess I don’t need to bother reading any of this shit,” Maddy said. “Did you make sure to edit out any misspellings while you were at it?”
She dropped the letters into the dirt.
“That’s desecrating the mail,” Marvin pointed out. “That’s a criminal offence for sure.”
“It ain’t the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Maddy replied. “Besides, you delivered it already. It’s my property now.”
She spat between his feet.
“Are you leaving?” she asked.
“Depends,” Marvin answered. “Is your husband around?”
The hint was blatant.
“Vic?” Maddy said, with a barely-hidden giggle. “Do you want me to dig him up for you?”
She knew she ought to shut up, but hell, teasing Marvin was way too fun.
Marvin coughed loudly, like she’d caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. His fear was as obvious as his hint. Vic was good for one thing, dead or not. He was a bad man on a good day and Marvin knew it.
“Well, this mail ain’t going to deliver itself,” Marvin said. “See you later.”
It was the "see you later" that did it.
Suddenly his leaving wasn’t good enough for her. She swung the paint bucket hard against the other side of his skull, putting all of her resentment behind the swing. Not nearly as hard as she’d hit Vic, but hard enough.
SMUK!
This time the can opened.
Red paint splattered Marvin’s face, down his shoulders and into his mail sack. He hit the ground and lay there, staring up stupidly.
“I warned you, didn’t I?”
“What the hell?”
He couldn’t believe that she had found the nerve to hit him.
Twice.
The truth was Maddy couldn’t believe it herself. It was like she’d become some other person since killing Vic.
It felt damn good.
“Clean yourself up if you want to,” she told him. “There’s thinner in the barn. From now on, you slide the mail in the mailbox where it’s supposed to go. You bother me again and I’ll give you more of the same.”
Then she high-tailed it, laughing to herself at how things worked out. She got as far as the house, when she saw Marvin’s van.
Now there, she thought, is an accident just waiting to happen.
She couldn’t wait.
* 4 *
Things happened to Wilfred all at once.
The Mercury squealed around the corner like a stunt-double road hog from out of the last Smokey and the Bandit rip-off. Wilfred barreled after him carefully, not wanting to run any bystanders over. The siren switch he’d installed was too far from the steering wheel to risk sounding it. He honked the horn, grabbed the gearshift, slowed for the curve, and kept on shouting.
“Bang! Bang-bang!”
Then everything went bang.
Wilfred felt the pavement slip beneath his tires. He fought for control but it was too late. He tried to downshift, but the stick betrayed him.
Goddamn it.
He didn’t even have time to say goodbye to Emma or find out why she’d gone and done it.
He slid into reverse, still fighting for the appropriate gear, and backed his Thunderbird through the hardware store front window.
CHAPTER 11
Fast Food
* 1 *
“Whee!”
Maddy ran down the dirt road, just as free as a kite in a high summer breeze. She felt raised up and born again, just like Lazarus. Her day had been lively, so far. She had fed the dog, concussed the mailman, and hayed the horses full for the day.
The morning was hers and she knew just what she was going to do with it. Yes sir. For the first time since Jesus wore diapers, Maddy was taking herself to lunch. She heard the church bells singing about resurrection and she believed in what they were selling.
She had started out walking for Benson’s Truck Stop, but before she knew it, her high spirits possessed her and she took off running like a lunatic child, her feet pelting like they were carrying her.
She felt as crazy as a waltzing pig.
Folks would think a devil was riding her soul.
To hell with what they thought.
She was free, damn it.
If she wanted to run clear to China, well she’d just do it. Besides, she wanted to put some distance between her and Marvin, before he found his van.
The church bell banged its angel call.
Christ has risen. Christ has risen.
“Hallelujah!” Maddy shouted.
She was insane with happiness. Christ may be rising up, but not all of hell’s loudest alarm clocks would wake up Vic Harker. She’d run to Benson’s, grab her dinner, go back home and scrub the last of his memory from her kitchen table. Then she’d paint the table whorehouse red and call herself free, but she’d need more paint.
She’d wasted one whole tin on Marvin Pusser’s skull bone, and the other bucket had somehow spilled across the pristine hood and windshield of Marvin’s cube van.
“Wheeeeeeeeee!”
She kept running, hungry as wildfire.
She was unstoppable, determined to dine in Crossfall’s finest greasy truck stop. She headed down the road, giggling all the way. She pointed her nose towards coffee and life. Birds sang in the trees, every happy song she’d ever dreamed off. She would have whistled back, but Vic broke her whistle tooth three years past. She grinned through the false one the denturist had plugged in to replace it and kept on running.
“Wheee.”
Just running, running free.
<
br /> Nothing could hold her back.
Her work boots clomped like soft hooves along the dirty straw-blown road. Up ahead she saw a car heading her way.
What the hell, she thought.
I haven’t done this since I was kid.
She stuck her thumb out to hook a ride. To hell with Benson’s and coffee, maybe the driver would be cute. She stood there, trying her best to look sexy and free, as the red Mercury pulled to the roadside.
Maddy was going to have herself some fun.
* 2 *
Wendy Joe stared at Earl, waiting for some kind of an answer.
“So what are you going to do about it?”
Earl shrugged.
“I don’t know,” he said, cocking his eye and looking her over. “It sure opens up some interesting possibilities, don’t it?”
She stared him right back.
“Are you going to blackmail me, Earl? Force me to have sex with you?”
“Force never come to mind,” he said with a quick grin. “Hell, Wendy Joe, I don’t want to blackmail you. But what are we going to do about this? I sure don’t imagine Wilfred would be anywhere close to tickled, finding you voodooing his soul.”
“The doll isn’t him.”
“Who is it, then? Me?”
“It’s her,” Maddy pronounced the pronoun like the tolling of a bell. “Emma. His wife. Who the hell did you think it was, the Pope?”
Earl nodded, understanding dawning over his features like a slow miracle.
“Hell. Makes a lot more sense, I guess. What with the hair and all. So how’s it work? Do you poke needles in it, and she goes away?”
Wendy Joe pushed her lips forward in a scowl.
“That’s movie talk,” she answered. “This is hoodoo. The doll calls the spirits, and they help us how they can.”
“How they can, or how they want to?”
She shrugged.
“I thought you needed fingernails and such?” Earl went on.
Wendy Joe puffed up proud.
“That was easy,” she said. “Hell, I own Crossfall’s only beauty salon, remember?”
“Ha,” Earl laughed. “I should have thought of that. I don’t go to many salons, what with my natural good looks and all.”
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