by Greg Barth
“How about you step out of the car.”
“Step out? Why? What did I do?”
“You want the long list or the short list?”
“What do you mean?”
“For starters, you’re not who you say you are. Your name isn’t Marie. You’re Selena Carson, and when it comes to the shit I could haul you in for—and I do mean shit, not stuff—well, you’ve got the whole collection.”
I kept my hands on the wheel, but I lowered my head. At least now I knew what I was dealing with. I didn’t have to fear him finding out. He knew all along.
“Get out of the car, and I’ll take you to your friend.”
I turned off the engine. I quickly thought through my options. Didn’t take me long—there were none.
He opened the door for me, and I stepped out.
“I bet you already know the position,” he said.
I turned and faced the car, spread my feet apart, and put my hands on the roof of the vehicle. He did a quick frisk, perfunctory at best. He rubbed around my ankles, checked my pockets, around my waist, and that was it.
“Hands behind your back.”
I did as I was told. God, I hated handcuffs. He fastened my hands behind my back. He led me along the side of the road to his police cruiser. He opened the back door and helped me inside. He closed the door.
He got in the front of the car. I expected him to get on his radio, but he didn’t. Instead, he put the car in gear and pulled back out onto the road.
He continued driving up the mountain.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked.
He didn’t respond.
“You’re not taking me in? Where the hell are we going?”
“I told you,” he said. “I’m taking you to see your friend.”
“He’s not at the jail?”
The cop chuckled. “No, honey. He’s not at the jail.”
I sat back. “I see,” I said.
“You know, Selena? I was over at your daddy’s house the other day. And he had this video tape he’d made of you. We sat there and watched it on his TV, on his VCR, and I’ve just been ruined ever since. I can’t get you out of my mind. I bet I sat there with your dad and watched that tape until I was cross-eyed.” He turned his head and looked back at me. “My fucking prostate hadn’t worked so hard since I was nineteen. It was good practice for the workout it’s going to get today, that’s for sure.”
“How’s my daddy doing today, I wonder?”
He turned back to the road.
Very carefully, I pushed my fingers down into the waistband of my pants. I felt around with my fingertips until I found the key hooked to the elastic of my panties. I pulled the key out and very slowly made the smallest moves possible to get the key in a position where I could unlock the cuffs.
The switchbacks grew steeper and more frequent. With my hands behind my back, I was shifted around a good bit in the seat. This gave me good opportunity to mask my movements as I worked at the cuffs.
“You know that US Marshal you left in the back of the van?”
I didn’t answer him.
“Oh, I see. You know the Fifth Amendment, too, I guess. Well, they fired that US Marshal. And I hear he was a good man. I say ‘was’ because that fella shot himself a couple days ago. Ate his gun. Left behind a family. Sad to see somebody take advantage of a good man like that.”
After a couple of miles, we topped out and the road followed the ridgeline. I saw a “Virginia is for Lovers” sign. “We just left your jurisdiction,” I said.
“You should be a damn lawyer,” the deputy said. “With all your amendments and jurisdiction shit. The fact is, I wipe my ass with your constitution, girl. The law ain’t for the likes of you. Somebody does the shit you’ve done, there ain’t much out there to protect them. That’s the truth. This will be better for you, though. You don’t want to disappear in the system again, do you? I hear tell that’s a real bitch.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“I think you have a good idea where.”
“You’re taking me to Magnus.”
“That’s where you want to go, right? I mean, you killed your own daddy and all. I figure Magnus is next.”
“You know everything.”
He lowered his sunglasses and made eye contact with me through the rearview mirror. “You weren’t hard to find. I knew you’d be coming up this way. After that home movie I saw of you? I knew there was no way you wouldn’t be coming after the co-star.”
He made a turn onto a private road. I could see the flattened steps of the stripped off mountaintop ahead in the distance.
“You’re going to star in another home video today, girl. If they got VCR’s in hell, maybe your daddy’ll see it.”
I twisted the key in the handcuff lock.
T HIRTY-NINE
Ragus
RAGUS EXTRACTED THE tip of the cattle prod from the redneck’s face. A wisp of smoke rose from the bloody eye socket.
Ragus put the cattle prod aside and checked the man’s pockets for a key to the handcuffs or something that could remove the collar from his neck. He found neither, but he did find the .38 caliber revolver.
He hefted the pistol in his hand and flipped open the cylinder. Five of the six loads were in place. The owner wisely kept the hammer resting over the empty chamber. Ragus aligned the empty chamber and closed the cylinder.
He considered his options. With the four-inch barrel, there was no way he could blast himself free from the handcuffs. Even if he’d had been holding the snubnose model 10, it wouldn’t be wise to attempt it. At that range, the force of the bullet could do anything. He’d probably wind up breaking one or both of his wrists in the process.
He looked up at the pulley system fastened to the post above his head. Shooting the steel cable might be an option. Either that or firing into the mechanism itself. He could lay the cable down on the dirt, back away from it, take aim, and just maybe…
He heard movement by the open barn door and turned to see what was making the sound.
A man stood in the doorway.
“Well, look at you,” the man said. “Holy shit.” He walked into the barn. He pulled something from his jacket pocket.
Ragus raised the pistol.
“Now hold on there,” the man said. “I’m not armed. All I’ve got is this right here.” He held up a device that looked like a garage door opener. “Have you had a chance to read my little comic strip there on the post? You should take a look.”
“I’ve seen it,” Ragus said.
“Then you get it. If I push this button on top, boom. It’ll mess your hair up.”
Ragus kept the pistol on him. “How about you just unfasten this shit and let me go before I pull this trigger?”
The man chuckled. “Not going to happen. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Roman Knowles. We are about to have a reunion here of sorts, so neither of us should start blowing each other up.”
“What do you want with me?”
“Oh, we’re going to have a lot of fun with you, but first we’re going to wait for your little girlfriend to get here.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s on her way now. Coming with some friends of mine.”
Ragus knew he had limited time. He had to get free now, before anyone else arrived. If he was outnumbered, there would be no way.
Ragus stared down the gun barrel at Roman. He thumbed back the hammer on the revolver. It made a series of clicks as the cylinder aligned with a live round. “You get your fucking ass over here now. You get this collar off and you get these cuffs off, or I’ll shoot you through the head.”
Roman chuckled. He clicked a button on the control.
The machine mounted at the top of the post made a noise as gears began to turn inside. The steel cable tightened as it was drawn back up into the mechanism. Ragus was pulled backward. The collar tightened around his throat.
“Make it stop,” he said.
“Not
until you drop the gun,” Roman said.
“I’ll fucking shoot you.”
“Go ahead. You’ll still be dead.”
Ragus backed up until his back was against the post. The collar loosened with the slack, but the gears above his head continued to turn. The slack in the cable tightened and the collar pulled up hard against his throat again. Ragus couldn’t speak.
“You see who’s in charge?” Roman said. “Drop the gun. Drop it now, or you’ll drop it when you lose consciousness. Your call. But if you shoot me, then you’re dead too.”
Ragus held the pistol steady on Roman’s face with his cuffed hands. He felt pressure build in his face as his blood and oxygen were cut off. As the cable tightened further, he felt his feet leave the ground. His bare back and ass scraped against the rough post as he was hoisted higher.
Ragus’s field of vision was reduced as he began to lose consciousness. A black circle framed his vision. In the center was Roman’s face and the pistol barrel. He only had a few seconds of consciousness left.
Ragus squeezed the trigger. He saw Roman’s head jerk back. Roman slumped to the ground dead.
The machine was relentless. The gears turned, hoisted his body higher from the ground. The pressure on his neck and chin was unbearable.
Ragus raised the pistol over his head with both hands. He looked up at the mechanism above him. As his body was pulled higher up the post, the contraption was closer to him.
Black spots danced in Ragus’s vision. He lined the pistol’s front site with the machine that mercilessly spooled the cable. A tingling numbness spread through his body, along with an oddly pleasurable dizzy sensation as his world grew dark. With his last semi-conscious thought, he fired the remaining four rounds double-action style at the cable above his head.
And then there was darkness. A void of black and the sensation of falling.
In the darkness his fading mind registered the sound of other gunshots coming from outside the barn.
F ORTY
Selena
HE DROVE UP to the highest level of the abandoned strip mine. The view from the top was sublime. The morning air was cool and clear. I looked out across the mountains of Southwest Virginia as the deputy drove along the mountaintop.
I spied a house with a wraparound, covered porch in the distance. The cop drew up close to the house and parked the cruiser.
He got out and came around and opened my door. My hands were free, but I held them together in back as though they were still cuffed. Both handcuffs were attached to my left wrist.
He pulled me out by my elbow.
I stood by the car and looked around. A backhoe was parked down from the house, about half the distance to a barn that stood about two hundred yards in the distance.
A blue tick hound came down from the porch. He approached us and sniffed around at my shoes. He looked up like he expected something from me. I ignored him, because there wasn’t much else I could do.
“Come on. Right this way,” the deputy said. He tugged at my elbow. “Your friend’s down by the barn there.”
He pulled me along beside him as he followed the path.
By the sun’s height, I guessed it was about nine a.m. The grass along the path was still damp with dew. There was the distinct smell of spring in the air—flowers, pollen. Under other circumstances, it would have been a pleasant stroll.
A large dog on a chain came out from behind the corner of the barn in the distance. It barked when it saw us.
We came up close to the backhoe. A large mound of brown earth had been dug up and placed to the side of the machine’s bucket.
I stopped walking. “What’s going to happen to me?” I said.
The deputy shoved me forward. I stumbled to keep my footing, but I didn’t continue walking after I regained my balance.
“Please,” I said. “Just tell me.”
“What do you think is going to happen to you?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
He walked over to the backhoe. There was a hole dug there. “Come here,” he said.
I walked over. The hole was huge—about ten feet long, three feet wide, and easily eight feet deep.
I gasped.
There was a girl in the bottom of the hole. She looked very small. Fragile. Lonely. Her hair spread out behind her head, a matted thatch of long blonde clumps. Her mouth was open and filled with quicklime. Her eyes had dried and shrunk back into their sockets. Her face was white from the lime powder that had been shoveled on top of her. One of her arms had flipped back under her, the other lay by her side. She was naked.
There was an ugly wound on her neck.
“Oh my god,” I said.
“Yeah. You just hate to see something like this, don’t you? And look.” He gestured along the ground beside the backhoe. I could make out several vertical lines of disturbed dirt lining the pathway—graves that had long since been covered over.
“You won’t be resting alone. Getting kind of crowded here on this mountaintop. Lots of little skeletons down there.”
I looked up at him. He met my gaze.
“You going to cry?” he said. “I understand if you do. It’s no fun staring mortality in the face, is it? You go ahead. Have yourself a good cry. I can wait.”
I looked around, trying to find something, anything I could use as a weapon.
“Not a bad final resting place, all things considered.”
“I’m glad you like it,” I said.
A gunshot rang out loud. It came from the barn. I flinched but kept my hands together behind my back.
The deputy jumped. “Fuck,” he said. He looked toward the barn. He rested his hand on the butt of his automatic handgun.
Several more gunshots rang out.
I unclasped my hands fast, brought them around in front of me, and stepped up to him. In mid stride, I planted my rear foot firm. I put my hands on his arm and shoulder. Using all my weight, I shoved him hard.
“Shit!” he said and fell sideways into the deep hole.
I heard him hit the bottom of the pit with an audible crunch. I couldn’t tell if it was his body breaking, or the corpse of the poor girl under him.
“Ohhhhhhh, fuuuuuuck,” I heard him say from the hole. “I can’t fucking... Ow, fuck... my back. My goddamned back. Help. Fuck. Help me.”
“You go on,” I said. “Have a good cry. I can wait.” I reached for a cigarette pack from my pants pocket, but I didn’t have any.
“Ohhh, you fucking bitch. When I get out of here...”
“Nice place. Lots of little skeletons. You’ll love it,” I said.
I walked up and peered down into the hole. Big mistake. I felt something tug at my hair, and there was a loud snap by my ear. I saw him at the bottom of the hole, one leg twisted under him, a large lump on the side of his forehead. I saw the pistol in his hand pointed up at the rim of the hole and realized he was firing at me.
I jumped back. He fired two more rounds, but they passed harmlessly over my head.
I crouched down, looked over at the barn. Whatever had happened there was staying inside.
I needed a weapon. My best chance was getting something from the cop in the hole. I looked around to see what I could use. The tall mound of earth was piled up at the back side of the hole. I could get behind it...
I got down on all fours and crept to the other side of the hole. I moved around behind the mound of dug-up earth. I didn’t look down in the hole, guessed I was just over where his head was, if he hadn’t moved yet or started climbing out.
“Fuck,” I heard him mumble. “I can’t... I can’t fucking...”
A large rock rested precariously on top of the mound of earth. I came up behind it and shoved. It toppled and fell into the hole.
I heard a smack and a grunt. A sound like a fart, then nothing.
I stood and looked down into the hole. The rock rested on his face. He didn’t move. The pistol lay on his stomach, his fingers loose around the grip.
If I could get down into the hole, I could get it.
The grave was deep, well over my head, but the sides were narrow. It had been cut not much more than the width of the bucket of the backhoe. By putting my feet and hands against either side of the dirt wall, I scaled my way down into the hole.
It was like being inside of a freshly dug grave. It smelled of earth, of lime, and of decayed flesh.
The deputy wasn’t breathing. The heavy rock had crushed his skull.
I pulled his hand away from the pistol and picked it up. I was careful with it. I wasn’t familiar with handguns, and I didn’t want to shoot myself with it by accident.
I couldn’t figure the pistol out. In prison I’d heard that some guns used by police officers would only fire in their hands and not in someone else’s. I couldn’t remember how that worked.
I looked around. I knew from movies that cops sometimes carried guns in ankle holsters. These were used as a backup, or as a throwaway if they needed to plant a gun on someone. I checked both of his ankles, hoping for something simple like a revolver.
No revolver, but he did have a small knife on one ankle. I pulled it free from the sheath attached to his lower leg. The black t-handle fit in the palm of my hand. The short, double-edged blade extended between my fingers when I made a fist around it. Reminded me of the crude shank I used in the prison laundry.
I also took the side-handled baton from his belt. I knew how these worked.
I tucked the weapons behind my belt. The last thing I did was take his keys and remove the handcuffs from my left wrist. I tossed his keys back by his side. I still had my own key in my pants.
I fucking hate handcuffs.
I climbed my way out of the hole.
When I pulled myself up over the rim, the backhoe blocked my view of the barn.. I stood, brushed myself off, and resumed my walk down to the barn.
As I got closer, I saw a tall, thin man standing by the barn door. He wore a red flannel shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap. He had a long black beard braided in front. As I approached, he leaned to one side and spat a dark stream of tobacco juice.
