by Thomas Laird
Details. You have to figure out all the details, all the angles. I don’t know how I could’ve overlooked the APB and the car thing, but it was stupid. I haven’t been stupid yet, but the ride could’ve been the killer. If I get far enough away from the city, I won’t have to worry about the goddam car. Not if I can get enough miles between us and Chicago. The trip back is a different thing. If they see me coming down the highway from the south, it’s going to look just a little suspicious.
If I make it home without a hitch, I can just say I bought a new car. But I’ll have to unload the Louisiana vehicle for an Illinois car as soon as I get back home. This thing’s getting more complicated, the more I go over those damn details.
So I’ll buy a junker in the bayou country, something for a few hundred. Then I’ll purchase something better when I get back to the city. I’ve got twelve thousand in cash with me in that oversized gym bag. I wanted to have some kind of stash in case things got screwed up. You have to plan for the worst case scenarios. Most criminals get caught because they’re just stupid, which means they don’t plan ahead.
But I’m feeling better about the transportation angle, now. They’ve got used car lots in the South like they’ve got pancake houses—they’re everywhere. No one will be looking for Louisiana license plates on the trip north, but when I get home they’ll stick out like a cow’s ass.
I have to hope I won’t get caught before I trade the piece of shit ride in.
There’s risk in everything. That’s part of the fun with this. I am smarter than the CPD. That’s why I’ve got Carrie strapped vertical in the passenger’s seat. Their manpower hours left her without surveillance, and I caught them in downtime. You just have to be patient.
It’s like cats. They’ll sit and wait forever before they spring and catch a bird or a mouse. That’s why they’re successful hunters.
That’s why they’re successful predators.
The drive south takes the same dozen hours as it did when I hauled my first wife here. And I find that sleazy motel and I get us a room. I look around the parking lot by the six small units, and I must be the only denizen of this dive.
I park the car so she won’t be visible to the old man who was half asleep at the sign-in desk. I think I woke him up. I gave him the twenty for a day’s lodgings, and then he appeared as if he was going to doze off before I got out the office door.
I undo the straps on Carrie. Her eyes are bugged out and wide. Then I carry her like a newlywed bride to the door of Number 6, the last door on the right.
When I get her and the gym bag inside, I turn the window air conditioner on because it’s tropical in here, and I stand in front of the blower for a minute while Carrie lies heaped on top of the double bed.
The place is just under the wire of being randy, but it’ll do until it gets dark.
I take off Carrie’s clothes, and even though the body is as ripe as ever, I can’t stand looking at her glaring eyes. I can’t do her like this. Semi-conscious is one thing but dead from the neck down isn’t working for me.
So I throw the sheet over her body, up to her neck.
“I’ll miss you, now and then,” I tell her.
I smile at her as lovingly as I can.
“Did you cancel the insurance policy?” I ask the stone-still body on the bed.
“Doesn’t matter, I suppose. I’ll find someone else soon enough.”
Her eyes are planted directly on me. Apparently she’s gained some movement, there, but the rest of her is frozen in place. It can’t be wearing off. The dealer told me this dose should be good for at least thirty-six hours. She’ll be a lump of delicious flesh for a long while to come, and then she will cease to exist, once the gators sniff her out on that dock.
No one likes to come out there on the pier. The kids are too frightened because of the local legends about teenaged lovers who had their little trysts interrupted by the jaws of those good old boys from the swamp. There was some hillbilly who owned the dock. I read about him in the papers. They gave him the Medal of Honor for some heroic shit he pulled in Vietnam.
I never wanted or accumulated any fruit salad or ribbons for the War. I just survived it. That was enough. I never made any bosom buddies out in the bush, either. You’re on your own in this goddam world—lesson number one. Job number one. Like the writer said: “One must survive.” All the rest is bullshit.
“Pretty soon,” I tell the focused eyes, “you’re going to be the main guest at a banquet. You’re going to be the main attraction and the guest of honor.”
I think I see a lone teardrop dribbling out of the corner of her eye.
“But for now, we’re going to wait. Think I’m going to go out and get some greasy gut-buster food at a fast food joint. I’d offer to get you something, but you wouldn’t be able to enjoy it, Carrie.”
Another droplet courses down her face.
“No one’s coming to save you, Carrie. They don’t even know you’re gone. Or even if they do, they have no clue where I took you. This is where Jennifer died, honey. Just outside, out there, a few miles from here. This is the end of the earth. There’s no heaven or hell. There’s certainly no heaven, and we got all the hell we need all around us. So just lie there and enjoy your last hours, sweetie.”
I leave her there, walk out the door, and then lock the entry.
I get in the car and it comes to me that I ought to dump my vehicle immediately. I shouldn’t wait until tomorrow.
I saw a used car dealership on the way here, back on the highway. So I head there first. When I arrive at the lot, I feel the sultry air greet me as I get out of my one-time ride. The salesman, who’s all by himself at this late hour in the afternoon, smiles and asks what he can do for me.
I see an old Ford that’s priced at $600.
“Will this thing get me a thousand more miles?” I ask the bald fat man with the threadbare gray suit and the red clown’s tie.
“Sir, it’ll get you farther than a thousand. Them cars will run forever if you change the oil and the filter regalar.”
We talk price, and he comes down to $525. I go into my glove compartment and get the papers for the vehicle, and then we go into his dumpy little office, and the deal is done. It winds up I get the Ford and $300 in cash in trade for my old ride.
*
She’s waiting for me there, of course, when I get back to the motel.
It’s chilly in the room since the window air conditioner was turned on high, and miraculously it works. I would’ve guessed it would be blowing stale, hot air, by now.
My luck’s still running hot and true.
I have a sack of greasy burgers and fries and a soda pop in a carry-out cup.
“Want a sip?” I smile at her.
Not a blink. Just a stare.
No tears, anymore, though.
“It’ll be dark soon, and then it’ll be over. I got a long drive, tonight, so as soon as I eat, I’ll need to sleep.”
I finish the food quickly, and I drain the cup of pop. Then I pull her off the bed and leave her lying on the floor.
“You won’t need the mattress because you can’t feel anything below your eyes anyway, right?”
The eyes are still watching me, from down there.
“Night night, Carrie.”
I doze off quickly, and I have no dreams.
When I wake, it’s just eleven. I look out from behind the shades of the one window, and there’s still no one else in the parking lot. Just my new beater Ford is out there. The one with the life-saving Louisiana plates. I’ll need to ditch this clunker by late evening tomorrow, when I get back. There are lots in Berwyn that aren’t particular about a car’s origins, but I have legal papers for my newly acquired piece of crap.
“Soon, now,” I tell her. “It’ll all be over faster than you imagine. Hell, the shock’ll probably kill you, seeing one of those goddam things coming for you, and you’ll probably never feel the teeth that tear you all to hell, Carrie. You really should’ve been nice
r to me, sweetie.”
After I take everything off, I go into the shower and let some cool water cascade down on me. I soap up, and the desire hits me once again.
But I let it go because it’s time to haul my lovely bride out of here to get where we’re going.
Chapter 16
I receive the call at my desk around 10:30 P.M. It’s from Carrie Skotadi’s father, William. The man is hysterical because he can’t reach his daughter by phone—he’s out in Sacramento, California, and she’s supposed to be available at the Chicago telephone number at precisely ten at night, and when she doesn’t answer, her father knows there’s something definitely wrong.
I tell him I’ll look into it and return his call as soon as I know anything. My first move is to have Doc call the guys who were supposed to be keeping an eye on Carrie, and in ten minutes my partner succeeds in finding out that surveillance has been canceled on her because there’s just no money left to tail her.
“We better go look,” I tell Doc.
We race down to the parking lot and get into the Crown Vic, Doc driving, and we head for Skotadi’s wife’s apartment building.
“Don’t tell me you have a bad feeling about all this,” Gibron says.
There’s no sound of amusement in his voice.
We wake up the landlord, who lives on the third floor, and he opens the apartment for us.
The landlord waits out in the hall as we enter. There’s no one in the living room, and we head into the bedroom, guns drawn, just in case.
The bed’s disheveled, as if someone’s recently been in it. There looks to be body fluids on the sheets, probably semen. And there’s a bit of blood, as well.
“Where’s he taken her?” Doc asks no one in particular.
We figure he might’ve hauled Carrie out to his house, and we call for back-up to meet us there. Doc has no problem moving at high speed in late night traffic. The streets are loosening up with the sparse traffic, so we arrive at Skotadi’s home in twenty minutes.
The back-up squads, all three of them, have already got there, but they’ve left their lights off as instructed.
I walk up the several steps to the Vice detective’s door, and I knock loudly.
“Police! Open up!”
No answer. The door is locked, so I bring Doc into the act. He tells the uniforms to turn around and look elsewhere for a minute. Gibron takes out his pick from his magic B & E bag, and we’re inside in less than a minute. I tell the patrolmen to stay outside until they hear me call for them.
The house is empty, except there’s a dripping sound coming out of the john. Doc looks elsewhere, in the bedroom.
I leave to get my partner because I think I’m feeling something weird. I want to see if he feels it, too.
“What’s going on?” he asks me as he emerges from the bedroom.
“There was water dripping down out of the shower head, but I had the feeling someone was in there. I must be getting fried.”
“You having a moment, Jimmy?”
“I thought there was someone in that john, Doc.”
“Take it easy, buster. Take it slow.”
“I need a vacation.”
“I believe you.”
We search the house from the basement to the top floor. We even look into the attic with a flashlight.
We bring in the uniforms, and we all give the house a thorough scouring. We come up with nothing. There will be a crime scene specialist going over the bedroom here and the bedroom in Carrie’s apartment within the hour.
Doc and I go stand out by the car at the front curb. The uniforms have gone, and we’re waiting for the technicians to arrive.
“He’s taken her somewhere, of course,” I put out there lamely.
“He wouldn’t shit in the same spot twice,” Doc proffers.
“Louisiana, you mean?” I ask.
“He wouldn’t chance it twice. No.”
Then he gives me a very long and hard stare.
“Never do the obvious. He knows how we think,” I say.
“That son of a bitch.”
*
“That’s ridiculous,” the Captain laughs. “You want a plane to head down to Louisiana to see if Skotadi is dumping his second wife in the same swamp. That’s absurd.”
The Captain’s cheeks are enflamed. We have upset him, and neither Doc nor I care much.
“Well, hell’s bells! You got any idea what it costs to use that small jet airplane?”
“A lot?” I ask.
He’s not amused.
“This woman’s life might be in jeopardy,” I add.
“So, did you call your friends at the Louisiana State Police?” he asks us.
“Sure. Five minutes ago.”
It’s now 11:58 P.M.
“Then they’ll take care of it,” the Boss tells us.
“It is our case, sir,” I remind him.
“So drive down tonight.”
“It takes twelve hours, Captain,” Doc informs him.
“Shit,” the Boss mutters.
He looks at both of us.
“There’s going to be a major doo-doo storm when we find Skotadi and his old lady in some suburban motel, re-kindling their marital life. Guess who’s going to be the recipient of all that fertilizer, gentlemen.”
“We are.”
He glares at me.
“After I have my turn, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Doc grins.
The Boss isn’t grinning back at either of us.
*
The flight down will take just shy of two hours. We board the small Lear jet at 12:30 A.M. The Captain does know how to expedite, when he feels the need.
We’ve got ninety minutes or so to burn in the plane, but neither of us can grab some zees. We’re too wound up.
“We’re going to get there too late, Jimmy.”
“I have the same feeling,” I reply.
“How’s your love life, Jimmy?”
“I’m all chafed up.”
“I’m so sorry I asked,” Doc counters.
Chapter 17
Leonard has another bout with insomnia. It’s 11:25, and he can’t fall off, but Joellen is snoring in her very soft, feminine purr. If he listens to her, sometimes, it puts him asleep, but not tonight.
All this stuff on his plate: The police academy, the baby, the big award and meeting with the President of the United States. The book deal that’s going to get them a down payment on a new house. All of it seems too good to be true, and Tare wonders if he’s beginning to hear footsteps behind him. That’s an old football legend that when you’re wide open and tearing down the field to score an unopposed touchdown, there’s got to be a safety or a line-backer coming up right behind you to kick the hell out of you and foil all that glory.
Is it too good to be true? Happy endings? Are they just the way movies and fairy tales always end?
Leonard rolls over.
“Are you still awake, baby?” Joellen murmurs.
“Yeah. It’s all right. Go on back to sleep.”
“Anything I can do?” she smiles blearily as she rolls over to him.
“No, no. It’s not that.”
“Don’t you want me anymore?” she laughs. “I’m getting big as a heifer.”
“Don’t be silly. I have to get up and get to the Academy in a few hours.”
“When you get your insomnia, Leonard, it doesn’t do much good to try and count sheep. Maybe you ought to go out and get it over with.”
“Get what over with?”
“You know exactly what I’m saying, Leonard Tare. The only thing that gives you rest is to go out into that swamp and mess with the critters. Even when you’re a policeman, that’ll be the only thing that calms your nerves. So why don’t you just get dressed and go out there and be done with it.”
“I don’t want to leave you alone, Joellen.”
“You made damn certain I’ll never be alone already.”
She pats her belly and smiles.
“But I got responsibilities…”
“You’re responsible not to go off the deep end on the two of us, me and the baby.”
“Joellen.”
“Why’re you wasting your breath and your time? If you get back by three or so, at least you can snooze for three hours before you need to get up for that Academy. Right?”
“There’s no arguing with you.”
“I’m glad you figured it out, Leonard.”
He rose from his side of the bed and then he grabbed his clothes out of the closet and got dressed. He wore his cammies, his cammie hat, and his rubber boots.
He bent over and kissed Joellen goodnight. He told her before that there was never going to be goodbye kisses from him. He was always going to come home to the two of them.
He drove down the highway, and as he did, his mind cleared away like the fog on the swamp when the sun got high enough to burn it off. He could get his mind right, out here, late at night. Or early morning, depending on how you looked at it.
He saw their eyes as they ran across the highway that led out to his property. Red eyes, mostly. Things that came alive way after it got dark. He hoped they wouldn’t dart in front of his truck. Leonard didn’t care to create roadkill, the stuff that fed several of the coonasses in this county. He killed enough animals intentionally without having the desire to accidentally run over others. He killed to support himself, but there was no joy in the slaughter.
He was going to be a daddy, he reckoned. That meant he’d have to become a bit more civilized than he had been, up to this point in his life. All he’d ever known was the backwoods and the bayou—things with cold blood and warm blood. Things in these woods and creatures in foreign jungles. Predators and prey. It was one big cycle that demanded you survive. Those had been the rules of Leonard’s existence.
But now there was a little one on the way, and it meant that his time as a semi-savage was coming to a close. There would be school for the child. He would meet the teachers, go to his or her games and events. There would be shopping with Joellen. He hated stores and malls, but his antipathy toward all that was coming to an end because it was part of his wife’s life and so now he would learn to accommodate someone other than himself.
