Picture Perfect

by Fern Michaels

  Cudge glared at Elva. She’d turned the tables on him. She made her question sound as though it was certain he’d have to order his last meal because he was definitely going to be convicted. “You’re dumb, Elva. You’d be so piss-ass scared you wouldn’t be able to eat a thing. And if you did, you’d puke your guts out.”

  “Maybe you’d be too scared to eat, but I wouldn’t.” That should settle him down for the time being, she thought. She had to think about the little boy and how to get him out of the pop-up. She wouldn’t mess up this time, not again. Poor little thing, he must be miserable, cooped up in there. I won’t let anything happen to you this time, BJ, she crooned to herself. This time I’ll make sure you’re safe. Don’t worry, BJ, I’m gonna take care of you. Somehow, I’ll make him let you go.

  Cudge didn’t like Elva’s wiseass answers. By now, she should have been a glob of putty, jabbering away at him to stop tormenting her. Stupid broad. Instead, she was sitting there in a dream world, smiling to herself. It was her smile that started to awaken his anger. Maybe she was thinking about Elvis Presley again. No, that wasn’t the usual dumb smile she had when she was dreaming about Elvis. This was more ominous. Maybe she was plotting his death, just the way he was planning hers—this very minute. Old Elva might be skinny as a pencil, but she was wiry and strong, like a bull terrier.

  He hated Elva and everyone else. But mostly, he hated that little bastard who was finking on him to the cops. If he’d had a gun, he would have killed the two of them on the spot. People like Elva and that brat kid could ruin a person’s life. He’d get out of this mess yet, and without Elva.

  Hours passed as Cudge concentrated on his driving. For Elva, it was impossible to think clearly with Cudge being so controlled at the wheel. The road map in her lap was nothing more than a blur. Her neck and shoulders were stiff with the effort she was making to sit straight in the jouncing truck seat. Her ankle throbbed painfully and her tooth was aching. She was sure of just one thing: she had to find a way to open the pop-up and set BJ free. Even if she died doing it. Once in a while God and the fates allowed you a second chance, and this was hers. She couldn’t flub up, not now. Maybe she should pray for a miracle. Or just pray. Did she remember how? Maybe there wasn’t a God after all. If there was a God, what was He thinking of, to allow BJ to be penned in the camper and her to be stuck with Cudge Balog? God was as make-believe as Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.

  Right now Cudge would have bet the remainder of Lenny’s bankroll that Elva was up to something. He didn’t like the ramrod stiffness of her back, nor the way she stared straight ahead. This silence was different from the times when she had her damned earphones on. “There’s a rest stop ahead at the next exit. I think we can get some eats. Elva, are you listening to me?”

  “I ain’t hungry.”

  “What do you mean, you ain’t hungry? You been busting me to stop and eat, and now you ain’t hungry. Why ain’t you hungry, Elva?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Because I ain’t.”

  “Well, I am, and we’re going to stop. We can get a carryout order. You go in and get it, and I’ll wait for you. We need to fill up the water bottles anyway. Make up your mind, we’re stopping.”

  Elva hoped her relief wasn’t evident. If she had learned anything at Cudge Balog’s knee, it was that to disagree would make him more determined. Just a little more playacting and maybe she could free BJ. “I can’t do it, Cudge. My foot hurts too bad, and I’ll be limping. Someone will remember that I limped. You have to be careful and use your head now.”

  “I got a bad feeling about you, Elva, like you’re planning something.”

  “Yeah, like what I’m gonna buy you for Christmas. What I said is the truth. If you want to be stupid, go ahead, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I didn’t ask you to kick me.”

  Cudge eased up on the gas pedal as he turned off at the exit sign. It was a Denny’s.

  “Where you gonna park this thing?” Elva asked quietly. “Maybe it would be best if you park right in front. That way no one will think it’s at all suspicious. It’s just a suggestion.” Now, if she was half as smart as she thought she was, Cudge would park at the end of the parking lot, away from all the families with their little kids. The last slot would be perfect. She could open the pop-up, scoop up BJ and run like hell.

  “Maybe that’s what you would do, but it ain’t what I’m gonna do. I’m parking at the end of the lot. There ain’t enough cars around to lose ourselves in the crowd. We don’t need to be noticed. You keep your yap shut, and do what I tell you when I tell you. You got that?”

  “Does that mean you’re going in for the food? I told you I can’t walk. Look at how swollen my ankle is. I think you broke a bone or something.”

  “You’re walking, Elva, and I’m gonna be right behind you. And I don’t want to hear any more of your crap about someone noticing you either. Ain’t nobody gonna pay any attention to you.”

  “Oh, yeah, what about those two guys?” Elva said, pointing toward the entrance.

  Cudge’s eyes followed her finger. Two troopers in tight gray pants and the inevitable polished sunglasses were just getting out of an unmarked car. His features tightened. One hand curled into a fist. The two men walked slowly through the entrance. There were booths alongside the long row of windows. Would the troopers sit at the counter or take a booth? Either way, he had to make some kind of move. If they sat down in one of the window booths, they had a clear view of the entire parking lot. Should he go in alone, as Elva had suggested, and take out the food, or should he drag Elva with him? Christ, what should he do? It was the smirk on Elva’s face that forced his decision. She wouldn’t dare try anything. “You’re coming with me. We’ll eat inside. Act like we didn’t do nothin’ and everything will be all right.”

  Elva squared her shoulders. “We didn’t do anything; you did it.” She felt more powerful at that moment than she had ever felt in her life. “Ain’t you afraid I’ll spill my guts to those cops? I could, you know. Just remember that, Cudge. You should have killed me back at the campground when you had the chance.”

  Cudge’s pent-up rage swelled and his eyes rolled back. Elva watched him, neither afraid nor relieved. Nothing mattered to her anymore, except freeing the little boy who looked like BJ.

  “Okay, okay. You stay here and watch the rig. Make sure no one comes nosing around.” Each word was slow and distinct, spoken with great effort. He had to close the gate now, before it was too late. A loud sigh escaped Cudge’s lips. What he had to do was convince Elva he was going to take care of her.

  “I been thinking, Elva, about what you just said, that I was gonna kill you. You’re wrong. I wasn’t gonna kill you. You ain’t never done anything bad to me like Lenny did. Jesus, Elva, you’re all I live for. Look what you’ve done for me so far. Without you, my ass would be in jail. I ain’t never gonna forget that. I mean it, and as soon as we get out of this mess, I’m gonna bankroll this wad and take you to the Poconos, to that lodge where they have heart-shaped bathtubs. I was even thinking of marrying you. I don’t expect you to believe me, but it’s what I want and I think it’ll work. What do you say, honey?”

  “I ain’t as dumb as you think I am, Cudge. I know wives can’t testify against their husbands. I ain’t ready to get married, and if I never see a heart-shaped bathtub, I’ll live. You can’t snow me anymore, Cudge, so forget it. If you’re gonna get the eats, get ’em. Them troopers must be wondering what you’re doing just sitting here. Most people either go to the bathroom or the restaurant when they stop at a place like this. You’re gonna look suspicious if you don’t get moving.”

  Cudge knew she was right. If she was telling the truth and she couldn’t walk, then he was safe. “Okay, I’m going in. You get out and stretch your legs like everyone else. Hop around on one foot and stay put. Don’t you have to go to the bathroom?” he asked as he suddenly remembered that she hadn’t gone when they’d stopped for gas.

  “I don’t have to go. I didn’
t drink any Kool-Aid today.”

  “You better be here when I get back, Elva.”

  Elva nodded. She would be here, but the kid wouldn’t. There was no point in fooling herself—there was no way she could walk, much less run, with her swollen ankle.

  “While you’re getting the food, I’ll open the pop-up and get out the water bottles to save time.”

  “Like hell you will. I can just see you cranking it the wrong way and bam!—one pop-up shot to hell. You know you can’t do nothin’ right. I’ll do it when I get back. If you even think of trying to open my rig, your neck is gonna look like your foot. Now, you get out and we’ll talk a minute and then I’ll walk real slow into the restaurant, and you damn well better act like you know what the hell you’re doing.”

  Cudge stretched luxuriously, as if he had all the time in the world. He worked first one leg and then the other. He hitched up his jeans and threw back his shoulders like a man who was bone tired from traveling all day. Walking to the back of the rig, he thumped on the pop-up. It was his, all his. The one thing in his whole stinking life that was his alone. No one was going to take it away from him, and no skinny bag of bones was going to crank it open and screw it up. “You stay right here, Elva. I’m gonna be watching from the restaurant.”

  Davey woke with a start. The trailer wasn’t moving anymore. He squirmed around, trying to get comfortable. Why had they stopped? Was it nighttime? Where was the woman? Would she let him out? He was about to shout when he heard the man’s voice. He had to be quiet and not make a sound. He had to act the way he did in the hospital and be brave. Be quiet and still. No matter how scared he was. One, two, three strikes and you’re out! His dad often said that. This was his third time. If the woman didn’t get him free, he was out. His dad had never said what happened when you were out. But Davey thought he knew. He was tired, almost too tired to care. He frowned in the darkness. It was a different kind of “almost.”

  As soon as Cudge entered the restaurant, Elva made her way to the back of the rig. “Little boy, can you hear me?”

  “I hear you. Let me out of here! I can’t move. Please let me out.”

  “I’m gonna let you out soon as I can. Can you be quiet for just a little longer? I know you must be hungry, but I can’t do anything about it right now. Cudge just went inside to get some food. I think he’s going to open the pop-up, and you gotta be ready to run. Do you think you can run? Little boy, can you run?”

  Davey’s thoughts were jumbled. He knew he couldn’t run. He was too tired and too weak. But he had to say yes or she wouldn’t help him. “Yes,” he said loudly.

  “Good. There’s two cops here, and if you run inside the restaurant, they’ll take you back home. But you have to be quick. Real quick. Are you okay? You ain’t sick or anything are you, little boy?”

  Davey thought a minute. “I’m almost sick. I didn’t get my shot today.”

  “What shot?” Elva asked fearfully.

  “I’m a hemophiliac.”

  “You mean you bleed?” Elva asked in horror.

  “I used to, but now I get shots. Please, can’t you let me out before he comes back?”

  “You have to trust me, little boy. I’m gonna help you.” If the kid didn’t get his shots, he might die. She would be just as guilty as Cudge this time around. He was just a kid, a little boy like BJ. She had to do something. The hell with what Cudge said. What did she care if the cranks fell apart? Her hand was on the crank ready to turn when Cudge walked through the doorway. Behind him were the two troopers. Elva froze. “Little boy, something’s wrong. Be real quiet.”

  “Here we go, honey. Food at last,” Cudge shouted with false gaiety. Elva stared at him. Didn’t he see the troopers behind him?

  Suddenly a voice shouted. “Sir, sir, the cashier wants to see you.” Cudge ignored the voice. Elva gagged and her face drained of all color. As if in slow motion, she watched one of the troopers put a hand on Cudge’s shoulder. “Hey, mister, you deaf or somethin’? The cashier wants you back inside.”

  Cudge turned slowly and stared at the two troopers. His brain was swelling, every instinct prepared him to fight, to defend himself. The very sight of a uniform could do this to him, but to have the trooper speak to him—touch him! A hoof cut into the soft tissue of his brain. A hulking, dark shape shouldered the restraining gate. Only a superhuman effort quelled the restlessness of the beast and held him behind the gate. “Me?” he asked stupidly.

  “Yes, you. The cashier wants you back inside.”

  The trooper’s partner smirked as Cudge turned and walked back into the restaurant. “They’re all alike, those campers. A couple of days on the road and they’re in another world. Kind of airless around here, isn’t it?” His fingers worked at his collar.

  “I thought it was me,” the first trooper said quietly. “You ever hear about the Santa Ana winds? They say they make people do crazy things, kinda like a full moon.” He laughed sheepishly. “Come on, let’s get it in gear and hit the road. I got a date tonight that would set your hair on end. She’s got the biggest knockers on the East Coast.”

  “Seeing is believing,” the second trooper grinned. “I don’t take a cop’s word for anything. Everyone knows you can’t trust a cop.”

  “Yeah, right,” the first trooper said with a grin as he climbed behind the wheel. The car came to life just as Cudge hit the parking lot. “Would you believe they shortchanged me?” he said, holding out his palm with thirty-seven cents in it for proof.

  The trooper stared at the change for a full second. His eyes behind the polished glasses were cold. He nodded curtly and switched from park to reverse. Cudge stood back respectfully and watched till the yellow Plymouth left the parking lot.

  “Close your mouth, Elva, and get in the truck.”

  “What about the water bottles? We ain’t even got a drop. We need the water. You crank open the top and I’ll get the bottles. You’ll have to fill them though.”

  “Christ, you’re stupid. Two cops just left here. We were eyeball to eyeball, and you want to hang around here to get water? We ain’t opening that pop-up till we make camp. When the shit hits the fan, those guys are gonna remember me. Now, get your ass in that truck and let’s move!”

  As Elva started to hobble back to the truck, a noisy family got out of a maroon station wagon close by. Seven children squealed and shouted as they romped about the parking lot, trying to catch a frisky, fuzzy-looking dog. Cudge and Elva were suddenly surrounded by yelling kids and a barking dog. “C’mere, Bizzy. Good girl. C’mon, we got some popcorn for you.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Cudge shouted to be heard above the noise. “Get that damn dog out of here and get him out now! All of you get out of here. I want to start this rig up and I’m running late.”

  “Bizzy is just sniffing your pop-up, mister. You got something in there she likes. She’s not hurting anything. See, she’s just trying to get in to see what you got,” a boy in tattered overalls grinned.

  “Well, I ain’t got nothin’ in here for your dog, so get her out of here.”

  “We can’t catch her,” a little girl with pigtails complained. “She’s fast, mister. Her mother’s name was Flash; that’s why we picked her from the litter.”

  “I don’t give a damn what her mother’s name was. Get her out of here!”

  “Kids, kids, what’s going on here? Where’s the dog?” The kids’ mother approached, gathering her children into a close group like baby chicks. Her eyes flicked over them as if taking a habitual head count. Her work-worn hands pushed back frizzy hair from her forehead. “Hey, Max, you better get your butt out here and settle this. These people want to get on their way and your kids are holding up the works. Max, you hear me?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I hear you. I been listening to you all the way from Milwaukee. What’s wrong this time?” a bear of a man demanded as he climbed from the dust-streaked station wagon.

  “There isn’t any problem,” Cudge said patiently. “We just want you to get yo
ur dog, Flash, out of here so we can be on our way.”

  “Name’s Bizzy. Flash was her mother,” the girl with the pigtails chirped.

  “What you carrying in that pop-up, mister, that attracts our dog? She usually ain’t interested in other people and their belongings. Kind of a mind-your-own-business mutt, if you know what I mean,” the man said.

  “Just get that dog out of here. We’re running behind schedule now.”

  Max LeRoy stared at Cudge in a way that said he didn’t like what he saw. “Bizzy, up,” he commanded in a sharp, clear voice. The little dog leaped in midair to land in his arms. He nodded curtly to Cudge and, without so much as a word, the kids backed off, allowing Cudge and Elva to enter the pickup. It was Mrs. LeRoy who memorized the license plate, without realizing what she was doing.

  Elva sighed heavily. She felt like an old newspaper that had been cut up to paper-train a new pup. How much more could she take? And the kid—how much more could he take? What if he started to bleed back there, all alone, and then died on her? Please, God, don’t let anything happen to the little boy. I don’t care about me, just don’t let anything happen to him. I know that I was thinking before that there wasn’t a God, but you must be real or Cudge would have found him by now. I don’t need a miracle, just a diversion of some kind. You can’t let him die, he’s just a little boy, hardly more than a baby? Elva choked back a tear. She knew God did let little boys die; he’d let BJ die.

  “What are you doing, Elva? Tell me you ain’t talking to yourself. Please tell me you ain’t.”

  “Okay, I ain’t talking to myself. I was praying.”

  Cudge’s eyes widened. His head bobbed up and down. “It figures,” was all he said.