Texas Strange

by West, Terry M.

  Spencer took away the cup when Luke was finished and he pulled a chair next to Luke’s bed. “What day is it, Luke?”

  “Wednesday,” Luke replied, feeling his senses return to him.

  “Who was the father of our country?”

  “Washington. I’m fine, Dr. Spencer,” Luke said, shifting upward and feeling a burst of pain on the back of his head.

  “You have a very nasty bump,” Dr. Spencer said, his kind, old face grimacing empathetically. “Don’t move around too much. You don’t have a concussion, but I’m keeping you here for overnight observation.”

  Luke settled back down, his normal pain coupled with the goose egg at the base of his skull.

  “I remember the routine,” Luke replied, shuddering from the agony.

  “You should be heading home tomorrow,” Dr. Spencer said, staring at a chart. “This was a most unfortunate incident, but I hope it will stress what I’ve been preaching. Seizures happen, sometimes. We’ll probably never know what the exact cause of this one was. But I’m afraid they may become more frequent, maybe more intense, if you don’t give your noggin a break.”

  “Don’t worry, doc,” Luke said, reassuringly. “I’m bowing out. I haven’t been that much of a help to this investigation, anyway.”

  “I’m damned glad to hear you say that, Luke,” Dr. Spencer said, patting Luke’s knee and rising. “Now, Tammy should be here at any time. Detective Harlson is lingering in the waiting room. He was very concerned about you. I’ll send him in for a moment, but I don’t want you exerting yourself, physically or mentally. Understood?”

  “Perfectly,” Luke replied. “Uh, doc, how about a pain killer?”

  “I hate to break this to you, Luke, but it will be two more hours before I can give you anything. Just relax. That’ll help more than you can know.”

  Dr. Spencer left the room, leaving Luke with the pain. A minute passed before he heard a light knock at the door. The knob turned and Harlson peeked into the room.

  “Hey, sport,” Harlson said, stepping into the room. “How are you doing?”

  “I’ll survive,” Luke replied.

  “Well, that’s good to know,” Harlson said, shutting the door and approaching Luke’s bed. “Thomas and Sally wanted to be here, but I told them there was no sense in all three of us waiting for you to come around. Now, you want to tell me what the hell happened out there?”

  “I saw the wolf,” Luke said, staring at his feet as he related the story. “I understand what happened to Bertha Hobbs, now. It was horrible. It was a vision of a giant wolf and it felt like it was ripping me apart.”

  “What do you make of it?” Harlson inquired, sitting down on the chair that Dr. Spencer had warmed.

  “Two things,” Luke said, damning the pain that he thought would surely drive him mad until a nurse came with his medication. “I think the killer believes himself to be a wolf, like Dr. Perez speculated.”

  “Okay,” Harlson said. “What’s the other thing?”

  “The psychic residue was negatively charged. It was like a defense mechanism.”

  “What do you mean?.”

  Luke searched for a comparison. “Okay, let’s say a house represents the face of the killer. To see the killer, I have to step inside the house. Now, let’s say a wolf is chained to the front porch, and it won't let me inside.”

  “To see the killer, you have to get past this wolf.”

  “Exactly. I saw what the Keepsake Killer did to the Dimitri couple. I’ll tell you this much- the guy’s a fucking animal. I wish I could have gotten something more tangible on him. I can confirm what the pathology boys will be telling you soon, but I can’t give you anything more on him.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Harlson said. “The commissioner wants you off of the case. He wanted me to thank you for your efforts.”

  “So I’m canned?”

  Harlson nodded. “The check is in the mail. Bottom line- no one wants your blood on their hands. Especially me.”

  “I understand. So, now that we’re not partners, you can answer a question for me. What do you have against psychics?”

  “My ex-wife ran off with one,” Harlson kidded. “I’m sure there’s something to it all. Hell, that business on the road today would convince anyone of that. I guess I have a hard time dealing with things I can’t touch, see or understand. I guess I’m a caveman stomping on a fire, you know?”

  “Yeah. Well,” Luke said, extending his hand. “Good luck on this case. You are going to need it.”

  Harlson smiled softly and he shook Luke's hand.

  Luke felt the doom around Harlson again. But he preserved his smile. He forced the anxiety down deep as it was only intensifying the pain.

  “See you in the funny papers,” Harlson said, standing, turning and leaving the room.

  Luke had no time to digest the visit as Tammy stepped into the room, the concern on her face slowly melting as Luke smiled at her weakly.

  “Are you okay?” Tammy asked, perching in the chair and grasping Luke’s hand.

  “I’m fine,” Luke insisted.

  “What am I going to do with you?” Tammy said.

  “You’re going to have to put up with me being around more,” Luke said, drawing her close. “Because I’ve got all the time in the world on my hands now.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Harlson entered the precinct, bypassing his desk and heading straight for the conference room. A message had been relayed to him over the band that Lubin was waiting for him. Probably wants a status report on Glover, Harlson realized, wondering if Stuart had come up with any new evidence.

  He entered the conference room, spotting Thomas and Sally standing near the whiteboard.

  “William,” Lubin said, the etch of concern on his face as strong as it had been on 45. “How is Mr. Glover?”

  “He’ll be okay,” Harlson replied.

  “Does he recall anything?” Lane asked, visibly relieved.

  “Did you guys ever read the report on Bertha Hobbs?”

  Both agents nodded solemnly.

  “Luke fared better than she did, but he didn’t come up with anything except an image of a wolf that nearly killed him. He said the psychic residue was negatively charged. He called it a defense mechanism.”

  “Interesting,” Lane said. “I wonder if this means the killer is a clairvoyant.”

  “Luke didn’t mention anything about that,” Harlson replied sternly, his patience with mysticism exhausted. “He did say that the killer must envision himself as a wolf.”

  “That would corroborate with Evelyn’s theory,” Lubin said, thoughtfully.

  “Did Agent Stuart come up with anything?” Harlson asked hopefully.

  “He’s still working on it,” Lubin replied. “We should hear from him by morning.”

  “So, what do we do in the meantime?”

  “Are you up for a little night jaunt, detective?” Lubin asked.

  “What do you mean?” Harlson said.

  “Have a seat,” Lubin replied, motioning toward a map on the table. It showed Interstate 45 with murder sites flagged in patterns. “We have a lot of ground to cover by dusk.”

  ***

  Dreg stood on the porch of his den. The woods were gathering darkness sooner than the Interstate would. The sun was barely visible over the peak of trees and Dreg snarled, squatting to his haunches and arching his back. There would be a substantial portion of the moon this night. Yes sur. Le Loup would be out. But that annoying voice was telling Dreg to stay in his den.

  He tried to ignore the man voice in his head that was trying to reach him. The animal was rising up inside of him. The night would be fruitful. Le Loup would keep a bright watch. He would hunt like Le Loup this night. He would open prey and delight in the red. He would-

  No hunt tonight!

  “Leave me!” Dreg screamed, shaking his head.

  The voice would not stop. The warning continued.

  Stay in this night, yeh-heh? Cowboy-men be
on the trail soon. Be wise old wolf. No hunt tonight.

  “No man hunt, okay,” Dreg gave in. He heard the nocturnal animals in the nearby woods begin to applaud nightfall. “But Dreg still hunt, yeh-heh?”

  Dreg threw back his head, a howl escaping from him. He pulled at the sweaty tank top he wore and his pale face contorted as if his features were about to warp and change. His shoulders tensed up and he drew the cooling night air deep into his lungs. He jumped from the porch and he landed squarely on his heels several feet from his den. He quickly glanced to his right, his long hair sweeping across his shoulders. He sniffed at the air, leaning his head in the direction of the scent. His lips curled back and a deep rumbling echoed from the pit of his stomach and through his razor sharp teeth. He quieted down, his attention drawn to something moving about in the growth.

  He froze, hunched over the earth, all senses directed at his quarry. A raccoon moved near the trees and Dreg ate up the distance between him and his prey in five bounds. He plunged into the brush, snarling madly and biting the animal’s life away before the startled creature had a chance to flee or defend itself. The raccoon shrieked as Dreg drove his teeth into the nape of its neck. It struggled for a pitiful second until Dreg lifted it off of the ground and jerked his head, breaking the raccoon’s neck.

  Dreg gazed up and saw the eye of Le Loup already above in the gray sky. He howled triumphantly, dragging the prey into the open. The lifeblood of the animal on his tongue drove Dreg into a frenzy.

  He feasted.

  ***

  Ricky Lee stretched out across the front seat of his car. He was parked at a rest area on Interstate 45. The night was beginning to blanket the Highway, and Ricky Lee glowed inside, his excitement growing stronger as the light faded from the sky.

  He was a good two hours from Houston. The rest area lights sparked on, brightening the dirty, mason buildings that were set up as restrooms. It made no sense to Ricky Lee. He was in the middle of no man’s land, and the state had seen fit to erect a shithouse every fifty miles or so.

  Go in the fucking woods, for Christ’s sake. Conserve a little aqua. Jesus, he thought.

  A white Corvette parked behind his car. Ricky Lee watched in his rear view mirror as a buxom woman in shorts and a halter top emerged from the vehicle and made her way to the restroom.

  The big-boned brunette wore sunglasses, though it was becoming quite dark, so Ricky Lee invested no serious inspection on her. The eyes were what got him going and the shades were drawn.

  Besides, the only thing he was killing at the moment was time.

  He had heard about the Keepsake Killer’s recent party on the car radio earlier in the day. He wanted to make sure the smoke was cleared before he made his move. He would cruise in, see how heavy the heat was, and gradually pull back far enough to put his own mark on this macabre masterpiece.

  Oh, yeah, he thought, downing the lukewarm beer that had been resting on his dashboard. It’s going to be one crazy summer.

  CHAPTER 25

  Lorrie shook awake.

  “Easy now,” Shaw said softly, stroking her sweaty brow. “You were having a bad dream.”

  They were in Shaw’s darkened living room. Lorrie was stretched out on the sofa, her head on Shaw’s lap. His parents were out and the world was pitch black beyond the living room windows.

  “What time is it?” Lorrie asked groggily.

  “Nine-thirty,” Shaw replied. “I hope you got your nap in, babe. You’ve been asleep for two hours. You’ll be up all night now and we start our pilgrimage tomorrow.”

  “I couldn’t help it,” Lorrie said, sitting up. “I was just so tired.”

  “So, what were you tossing and turning over?” Shaw asked, picking up the remote and tuning the volume to the television set down.

  “I had a dream about the kids in elementary school teasing me again,” Lorrie said, snuggling close to Shaw. “Then, I dreamt that I was in a forest and some wild animal was chasing me. I could feel it behind me, breathing down my neck, but every time I looked around, it was gone.”

  “It was me,” Shaw said, clutching at Lorrie’s breasts. “The horny monster of Bellaire, stalking another victim.”

  “Stop it,” Lorrie complained, frowning and pushing Shaw away. “It was a really scary dream. And you weren’t even around to protect me.”

  “Oh, come on,” Shaw said, flabbergasted. “Are you mad at me because I didn’t show up in your dream and save you from the monster?”

  “Yes,” Lorrie said, with a mock pout. “You don’t love me.”

  “Sure I do,” Shaw said, tickling Lorrie’s ribs. “I’m just scared shitless of monsters.”

  He gave Lorrie a toothy smile that made her grin, though she was still a little pissed at him.

  "Why are we moving the schedule up on our pilgrimage?" Lorrie complained. "I thought we weren’t going until next week.”

  “My old man was ragging on me today about helping him out at the dealership. Fuck that noise. I’m not spending my vacation that way. So, we’ll slip away tomorrow morning before he tries to drag me downtown.”

  “He’ll freak, Shaw. Maybe we should just cancel it. Your dad will probably call the cops on us or something.”

  “He won’t do shit. I’m going to leave him a note and he’ll sit here and fume for a couple of weeks until we get back. Then he’ll threaten to throw me out. Mom will talk to him and he’ll give me the thin ice lecture, and everything will be back to normal. No sweat. I know my parents. All talk and no action. And, if Dad does throws me out, he knows I’ll just sleep in the alley next to his dealership where all of his friends and employees will see me.”

  “That would really get him,” Lorrie agreed.

  “Yep,” Shaw said, grinning triumphantly. He had all of the bases covered. “My dad is too proud to deal with that.”

  “I told my mother this afternoon,” Lorrie said, gazing at the television.

  “Did she give you a hassle?”

  “No,” Lorrie said, feeling a pang of sorrow that she instantly bit away. “She said that it was fine.”

  “When are you going to introduce me to your mother?” Shaw asked suspiciously. “We’ve been going together for nearly a year and I’ve never met her.”

  “She’s really busy,” Lorrie insisted. “She works double shifts. I’ve told you that before. Besides, who I see is none of her business.”

  “Are you sure you’re not ashamed of me or something?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Lorrie said, rising and heading to the bathroom. “I just don’t think you would get along with her.”

  “Yeah,” Shaw called after her. “The way you describe her, nobody’s perfect for her little girl.”

  Lorrie stepped into the bathroom. She closed the door and rested against it. She closed her eyes and envisioned her mother, sitting in the squalor of their apartment, her dispassionate eyes fixed upon the silver glow of the television.

  Lorrie cried.

  CHAPTER 26

  Harlson and Lubin drove down the dark expanse of Interstate 45. Harlson glanced over at Lubin, who was brooding quietly. The detective wondered what was up. Sally was five miles ahead of them on 45. Lubin had checked in with her over the wire every ten minutes. He looked as if he was about to pick up the mike and call her again.

  “Hey, what are you fretting over?” Harlson remarked. “You can practically hear her breath over the wire. Why the mother hen routine?”

  Lubin nodded and sighed. “You’re absolutely right, William. Sally has been in the field for over a year now. I shouldn’t be so concerned. I just wish we could keep her in sight. It would alleviate my concern somewhat.”

  “Thomas, old pal,” Harlson said, patting the dashboard. “I’ve got a monster under this hood. I can catch up to her in seconds, if I have to. You know, the way you’re wringing your hands there, a person would almost swear that you were sweet on Agent Lane.”

  “I give Agent Lane the same concern I would give any agent who was tryin
g to attract the attention of a redoubtable psycho like the Keepsake Killer,” Lubin said, strictly.

  “Whoa, take it easy,” Harlson replied. “I didn’t mean to raise your hackles. I was just joking around.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lubin said. “In retrospect, I wish we had brought back-up. Then maybe-”

  “Then maybe we would be tripping over an entourage under Captain Fowler’s command,” Harlson interjected. “Like Sally said, the three of us stand a better chance at catching this guy because of our low profile, if nothing else. If we had started requisitioning back-up, trust me, Fowler would have tried to make a media circus out of this. He lives for that shit. He’s screwed up covert operations before. We’re doing the right thing.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Lubin replied.

  But he still looked worried. And Harlson didn't need Lucas Glover by his side to know why Lubin was so distressed.

  ***

  Sally Lane lived for sub rosa operations. She had been a fan of intrigue long before her decision to join the Bureau. Behavioral science was a long and laborious function, relying on deduction and mental prowess. She was a bibliognost and there wasn’t much that was terra incognita for her. But to be out in the field, relying on her instinct and training to subdue a killer- this was the reason she had gone into law enforcement.

  Of course, at Thomas’ behest, she was little more than a scout. She wasn’t allowed to actively engage the killer without confirmation from Thomas. This angered her, not being able to act of her own volition. Thomas knew she would not move without his blessing, as she was Argus-eyed for procedure and regulations. She was a canonical agent who would never flagrantly deviate from the system.

  She drove a blue mustang and she wore a floral dress to give the appearance, perhaps, of a young woman on a night errand. Her revolver was safely tucked in a loud, purple handbag.

  In the distance, Sally spotted the hazards of a vehicle pulled to the side of the road.