The Devil's Right Hand

by J. D. Rhoades

  You think it’s your job to rescue the world, she had said. So now you’ve found yourself another damsel in distress. He sighed and shook his head. He walked back out into the living room and stretched out on the couch.

  It was dark when he awoke. He sat up, checked his watch. 11:30. He heard the sound of the shower running. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. His back felt cramped from sleeping on the couch. He hadn’t realized how tired he was.

  After a few minutes, she came out into the living room. She was dressed in a short white silk robe that belted at the waist. Her hair was still wet from the shower. She sat on the recliner. They looked at each other for a while, neither one speaking.

  “Hey,” she said finally.

  “Hey,” he said. “Sleep good?”

  She smiled. “Yeah. I, uh…I guess I needed that.”

  “It’s a start. Some things take a while to get over.”

  “You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been there.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “I know.”

  “You get over it?”

  He shook his head. “No. Not yet.”

  “And it’s been how long?”

  “Ten years”.

  Marie shook her head. “Jesus.” They were silent for a minute. She turned to him. “Look, um, Keller, the way I acted…”

  “Don’t worry about it. You needed to let it go.”

  “Did you ever lose it like that?”

  “No.” he grimaced. “It’s probably why I’m still so fucked up.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “But anyway, that’s not what I meant. Not the crying. The--the other thing.”

  He looked away and cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about that, either," he said. “Stress reaction. Happens a lot to people who…”

  “I don’t act like that, Keller,” she interrupted. “Ever.”

  “I didn’t think so,” he said. “Like I said. Stress.”

  She looked down for a second, then back at him. “What I want to know is--damn it!” She shook her head angrily.

  “You want to know why I didn’t take you up on it.”

  She bit her lip. “It’s not like I wanted you to--I mean I did at the time, but I’m not--I mean…” She looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re not queer or anything, are you?”

  He barked out a laugh. “I think you know better,” he said. “You had a pretty good grip on the evidence.” Her face reddened with embarrassment and Keller immediately felt contrite. “Look,” he said. “You know how confused you are right now? Imagine how you’d feel if we had done it.”

  This time it was her turn to laugh. “Okay,” she said. “Point taken.” She gave him a crooked smile. “A regular Sir Galahad, you are.”

  He shook his head. “It would have been unfair. Like you say, you weren’t yourself. I’d only want it if…” he stopped.

  “What?” she said.

  “Nothing.”

  She stood up and walked over to stand in front of him. “You’d only want to make love to me if I was myself, is that want you were going to say?” she said softly.

  He looked into her eyes. His mouth felt dry. “Yeah.”

  She looked uncertain for a moment, then took a deep breath. “So what about now?”

  He could only nod.

  “That may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she said. She reached up and unbelted the robe. She was naked underneath. She moved forward and seated herself across his lap, straddling his hips.

  “I’m feeling a lot better now,” she whispered as she kissed him. He hesitated for a moment, then kissed her back, his hands sliding around her to caress up and down her back. She moaned deep in her throat. This time, there was no hysteria, no pain in the sound. She reached down to undo his belt. He raised his hips slightly as she hooked her thumbs into his waistband and yanked his jeans and underwear down to his knees. She moved further up on him as he grasped her buttocks in his hands and pulled her down. She gasped as they fit together. “Go slow,” she whispered. “Please--go slow.” He did as she asked, entering her slowly, gasping at the feel of her inner muscles gripping him. She threw her head back for a second and groaned as she slid further down onto him. Then they were joined together, fitting like puzzle pieces. She opened her eyes to look into his as they began to move.

  They took it slowly for a long time, each trying to prolong the exquisite sensations as long as possible. Then control fell away from both of them and they moved faster, their gasps and moans filling the room. He buried his face in her shoulder and clutched her to him tightly as she screamed in climax. He groaned and came as well, feeling as if he was emptying himself into her, all the rage and pain and fear leaving him in one long rush.

  They stayed like that for a long while, him still buried deep inside her, her head on his shoulder. Then she looked up. She opened her mouth to say something, but he stopped it with a kiss. They got up and walked together into the bedroom.

  “Hey,” Raymond called through the curtain. “Hey!”

  The cop outside poked his head in the door. “Yeah?”

  Raymond lifted his hand. The chain on the handcuff jingled as his arm reached the limit of its tether. “Ain’t I s’posed to get a phone call if I’m under arrest?”

  The cop gave him a nasty grin. “Doesn’t look like there’s a phone in your room here.”

  “I want to talk to a lawyer. You keep me from doin’ it, my civil rights are violated. Maybe you even have to let me go. You think about that.”

  The cop’s smile vanished. He withdrew into the corridor. Raymond could hear the crackle of the cop’s handheld radio and a few muttered words. He lay back against the pillow and waited. His gut ached like a bad tooth, but he had carefully stashed his painkillers. After about a half hour, a young black guy came in, dressed in the blue coverall of the maintenance staff. He was carrying a white plastic phone in one hand. Without a word, he plugged the phone into a wall jack behind the bed and placed the phone on the bedside table. “You dial 9 to get a outside line,” he mumbled. He didn’t look at Raymond as he left.

  The cop stuck his head back in. “You got fifteen minutes to make your phone call. Then I’m coming back in and unplugging it. You ain’t going to spend the whole night calling 900 numbers on the county’s dime.”

  “I don’t want you listenin’ at the door,” Raymond said. “Move off down the hall.”

  The cop’s face reddened. “Listen, you son of a bitch, You ain’t givin’ me orders.”

  “I got a right to talk to my lawyer in private.” He showed the cuff again. “I ain’t goin’ nowheres with this thing on.”

  The cop’s jaw worked for a moment. “I’ll be right down the hall,” he said. “Don’t try anything.” He backed out into the hall again.

  After he was sure the guy was gone, Raymond picked up the phone. He dialed a number he knew by heart, but it wasn’t a lawyer that he called.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Fuck,” DeWayne said.

  He was looking at the back end of the Crown Vic, which stuck halfway out of a ditch at the side of a two-lane country road. Too many beers, too little sleep, and DeWayne had drifted off behind the wheel. His first warning of any danger was the sound of the car’s tires ripping through the soft grass and earth of the shoulder. By then it was to late to keep the car out of the ditch. He had sat there for a few moments, too stunned and dazed to realize what had happened. Then he clambered out of the car, toting the paper sack containing the remaining beers and the rest of his cigarettes. He stuffed the pistol inside the bag.

  “God damn it!” DeWayne fumed. “What the fuck am I s’posed to do now?” A soft glow over the nearest hill rapidly brightened, then resolved into a pair of headlights. DeWayne briefly considered hiding in the woods, then realized that it was too late for that. The car slowed as it approached. DeWayne tucked the bag tighter into his armpit and waved. The car stopped in the oppos
ite lane.

  It was a metallic blue Trans Am with tinted windows. As DeWayne approached, he could hear the pulse of rap music from inside, loud enough that DeWayne could feel the pounding of the bass in his chest, even with the windows rolled up. As the driver’s side window came down, the music got even louder. DeWayne couldn’t see the driver clearly, beyond a glimpse of blonde hair and a pale blur of face in the green glow of the instrument panel.

  “Need help?” a female voice called over the beat.

  “Yeah,” DeWayne said. “My car…a deer ran in the road. I ran into the ditch. I need a lift.”

  “Hop in.” DeWayne ran around to the passenger side and got in. The interior was as dimly lit and smoky as a nightclub. He smelled the sweet reek of pot smoke as he closed the door. A joint smoldered in the ashtray.

  “Whatcha got in the bag?” said the girl behind the wheel. She was a skinny blonde who looked no more than eighteen or nineteen. Her blonde hair was cut short and framed her pale face. Her slightly receding chin and pronounced overbite robbed her of any prettiness she might have had. Still, DeWayne thought, not a bad body, although he would have liked a little more in the tit department. She was dressed in a thin tank top and denim shorts.

  “Got some beers,” DeWayne said. “Want one?”

  Her pale blue eyes showed a muted flicker of interest. She was stoned out of her mind, DeWayne realized. This night was looking better and better. “Sure,” she said.

  He reached into the bag and fumbled for a full can. The condensation on the cold beers, however, had rendered the bag as flimsy as tissue. It ruptured and spilled its contents onto the floorboard. DeWayne swore as he fumbled among the cans and cartons.

  “Hey,” the girl said. “Is that a gun?”

  DeWayne picked up the pistol and pointed it at her. “Yeah,” he said. “Don’t try anything. Just drive.”

  The girl showed no reaction. “You a bank robber or something?”

  Jesus, DeWayne thought. Was she simple-minded? “Or something, yeah. Now--”

  “Cool,” the girl said. “I never partied with no outlaw before.” She smiled, showing her buck teeth. “You got any money? I know where we can get some rocks if you got some cash.”

  “I got a little,” DeWayne admitted.

  “Awesome,” she said. She put the car in gear. “I’m Debbie,” she said as she pulled off.

  DeWayne blurted out the first name he could think of. “I’m Leonard--ah, Lenny,” he said.

  “You wanna party, Lenny?” she said. She picked up the joint form the ashtray, tried to puff on it. It had gone out.

  “Honey, I love to party,” DeWayne grinned. He took the joint from her fingers and put it between his lips. He punched the cigarette lighter.

  “Awesome,” she said again.

  Keller awoke with the morning sun streaming through the bedroom blinds. Marie was lying on her side next to him. He slipped an arm around her. She murmured something and snuggled back against him. He lay like that with her for a few moments before the pressure in his bladder became too demanding.

  When he came back from the bathroom, she was sitting up in the bed, blinking. She looked up at him and an expression of surprise flitted across her face. Then she smiled, a little shyly.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She looked at the clock. “Wow,” she said. “I never sleep this late.”

  He sat down next to her on the bed and put his arm around her. He tried to kiss her on the mouth, but she turned her head slightly and caught it on her cheek. She turned back to him, put a finger over her lips. “Dragon breath,” she explained. “Not you,” she added hastily, “Me.”

  He laughed. “I don’t mind.” He kissed her again, this time on the mouth. “Mmmmm,” she said. She broke the kiss. “Thanks for last night,” she whispered. “And thanks for staying. It--well, let’s just say it’s been a while.”

  “I could tell.”

  She pulled away and pulled the sheet around her defensively. “What,” she said, looking down at the floor, “You’re saying I’m out of practice? It wasn’t good?” She gave a short, abrupt laugh. “I didn’t hear any complaints.”

  “No, no,” he pulled her close again. “But it was like you were making up for lost time.”

  She thought that over for a moment. “I’m trying to decide if that was a compliment.”

  “It was.”

  She smiled and relaxed against him again. She reached up and kissed him on the chin. “Maybe you just better quit talking. It’s not your strong point.” She turned to him and let the sheet fall. “Besides, I have some more lost time to make up for.”

  Afterwards, they lay together in a tangle of limbs and sweaty sheets. Marie stretched like a cat and smiled. “Hungry?”

  “Yeah,” he replied.

  She jumped up and threw her robe on. “Wait here,” she said. “I’ll whip something up.”

  “Breakfast in bed?” Keller said.

  She laughed. “Not hardly. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

  Keller lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. He had almost drifted back into sleep when he heard a sound, a rattle and buzz that sounded oddly familiar. As he struggled to place the noise, it came again. It sounded as if some huge insect was buzzing against the floor. Keller sat up and looked over the edge of the bed. His jeans lay in a heap on the floor, his belt still drawn through the loops. It was his cell phone in its holster on one of the loops that was vibrating with its silent ring. Keller considered not answering. Then he sighed. He plucked the phone from the holster and flipped it open. “Keller,” he said.

  “Where are you?” Angela’s voice sounded tense. Keller fumbled over his answer, but she cut him off. “Never mind,” she said. “The Highway Patrol found your car.”

  Keller sat up. “Where?”

  “In a ditch in Bladen County.”

  “Anybody in it?”

  “No,” Angela said. “But they did find a gym bag full of bloody clothes.”

  “Damn,” he said.

  “Keller, they’ll be testing those. They’re probably doing it now. And when they get a match on the blood--”

  “They’ll know I was at the Puryear house,” he said.

  “I’ve already gotten a call, Keller,” she said. “They want you to come down to the station and talk to them.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “A Fayetteville detective named Stacy.”

  “Yeah,” Keller said. “I’ll bet he wants to talk.”

  “What do I tell them, Jack?” she said.

  Keller looked around the room. He saw Marie’s uniform cap on the top of the dresser. Her badge lay next to it, glinting in the morning light that came through the blinds.

  “Tell them you don’t know where I am,” he said. “It’s the truth. And call McCaskill.”

  “I already did,” she replied. “He’s in court. I had to leave a message. Jack, if they think you’re running...”

  “I’m not running,” he said. “I just don’t want to talk to them right now. I’ll be fine.”

  Marie’s voice came from the other room. “Breakfast,” she called out. Keller gritted his teeth, wondering if Angela could hear. Her tone when she finally spoke made it clear that she had.

  “Yeah,” she said. “You’ll be fine.” He started to say something, but she had hung up. Keller shook his head and snapped the phone shut. He stood up and pulled his jeans on.

  Marie was seated at the table in the kitchen, a bowl of cereal in front of her. There was another bowl across the table from her. “It’s just corn flakes,” she said. “But the strawberries are fresh.” She smiled, a little apologetically. “I’m not much of a cook.”

  “This is good,” he said as he sat down.

  “Who were you talking to?” she asked. He started to say something, then he saw in his mind’s eye the golden badge sitting on Marie’s dresser.

  “Just checking in at work,” he said. “Seeing if there was
anything new on DeWayne Puryear.”

  “Was there?”

  “No.”

  Marie shook her head. “Don’t worry about him anymore, Keller,” she said. “He’s our problem now. He shot a cop.”

  Keller cocked an eyebrow at her. “Our problem? I thought you were suspended.”

  She looked down at her cereal. “Yeah. Well. You know how it is. Once a cop, always a cop.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

  She looked at him and sighed. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?” she said.

  “I need to find him,” he said.

  She got up and carried her cereal bowl to the sink. “Okay,” she said, not looking at him. “It wasn’t like I had anything to do in the next few days anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She turned back to him. She crossed her arms across her chest and looked at him levelly. “I mean I’ll help.”

  Keller was silent for a moment. The words stirred an unaccountable feeling of dread in him. I work alone, he wanted to say. What he did say was, “You don’t have to.”

  Her mouth was set in a hard line. “That son of a bitch shot my partner. I want his ass in custody as bad as you do.”

  Keller had no answer for that. “So where do we start?” she said after a long pause.

  He thought for a minute. “The sister,” he said. “She’s the only family connection we have.”

  Marie nodded. “She was held for a while, charged with harboring a fugitive. I heard she made bail.”

  Keller stood up and carried his bowl to the sink. “We’ll start with her house, then.”

  What this Debbie lacked in looks, DeWayne thought, she made up in enthusiasm, at least once he had used some of his dwindling money supply to get her a supply of rocks. He lay back on the bed, feeling as if all of the fluid had been drained from his body. Debbie sat at the other end of the bed, naked. She was preparing another hit of the rock cocaine, using the pipe she had constructed out of a beer can. She had punched a hole down at one end and made a bowl out of tinfoil, taping the bowl in place with electrical tape. She lit up with a disposable plastic lighter, cranking the flame up all the way so it sputtered like a tiny flamethrower. Debbie applied the flame to the bowl and drew deeply on the smoke. She threw her head back, her eyes closed in ecstasy, and held the smoke in her lungs. DeWayne looked away, feeling a little queasy. He had never heard anyone say anything good about crack. It seemed to keep Debbie happy and horny, though, so he put up with it.