Good Day In Hell

by J. D. Rhoades

  Now, everything had changed. Keller slid the cell phone into the slot of his hands-free system and hit a number on the speed dialer. There was the soft chirring of the ringer on the other end, then a gravelly male voice answered. “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Jones,” Keller said. “It’s Jack Keller.”

  “Keller,” Marie’s father growled, “how many times have I gotta tell you to call me Frank?”

  “Sorry, Frank,” Keller said. “Marie’s working, I guess.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “You wanna leave a message?” A loud metallic banging rose in the background, filling the car. “BEN!” Frank Jones shouted. “Cut it OUT! I’m on the PHONE!” The banging stopped.

  “Sounds like you’re pretty busy,” Keller said. “Thirty years I was a cop,” Frank said. “I handled drunks, dopeheads, thieves, about a thousand varieties of asshole…and the person that’s made me craziest is a freakin’ five-year-old.”

  “You can’t shoot him,” Keller said. “That’s what’s making you nuts.”

  “Yeah,” Frank said. “That’s gotta be it. Anyway…”

  “Just tell her I called. About this weekend.”

  “Okay,” Frank said. “You comin’ up?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Keller said.

  Frank’s voice turned cooler. “Okay,” he said. “Whatever.”

  Keller was about to say something, but the banging started up again. “BEN!” Frank hollered before coming back on the line. “Gotta go,” he said in a harried voice.

  “Thanks, Frank,” Keller said, but the line was dead.

  Shelby was standing over a plump woman in a shapeless flowered dress, on her knees in the parking lot. She had her hands over her face. As Shelby tried to put his hand on her shoulder, she dropped her hands, threw back her head, and screamed again. It was a wordless soul-tearing howl of anguish and despair and it made the hair on the back of Marie’s neck go up. Shelby yanked his hand back as if the woman had burned him.

  Marie holstered the gun and walked over. The woman’s screams had subsided to great convulsive sobs and she had covered her face with her hands again. Marie looked at Shelby.

  “Station owner’s wife,” he said.

  “Jesus Christ,” Marie said. “She scared the shit out of me.”

  A strange pained look flickered across Shelby’s face for a moment, then was gone. Marie hesitated for a moment, puzzled by the sudden tension between them. She broke it by asking, “The lady make an ID yet?” He gestured at her. “Looks like she’s doin’ one right now, doncha think?”

  She grimaced. “Yeah, but we’ve got to…ah, shit.” Marie knelt beside the woman and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Ma’am?” she said softly. “Ma’am, please, I need to ask you something.”

  The woman suddenly turned to Marie and grabbed her shoulders like a drowning person blindly pulling her rescuer under with her. Her pale face was wet with tears and her eyes red and swollen.

  “My boy,” she croaked. “Oh, God, oh, Jesus, did they kill my boy, too?” Her eyes unfocused and another wail seemed to be building deep inside her. Marie grabbed the woman’s shoulders in her own grip. A passerby might have thought they were wrestling. Marie shook the woman slightly. “Ma’am!” she barked. The woman came back briefly. “What boy, ma’am? Was your son here?”

  The woman nodded vigorously. “How old, ma’am?”

  Marie persisted. “How old is your son?”

  “Suhh…suh…sixteen,” the woman blubbered. Her eyes went away again. She buried her face back in her hands and began sobbing.

  Marie got up and looked at Shelby. “I haven’t found another body,” she said. “But there’s some drops of blood in the restroom. And some paper towels in the trash with blood on them. Like someone was trying to clean up.”

  Shelby gestured toward where the body lay. “No one tried to clean up in there. So maybe the victim got a few licks in on the guy that kilt him.”

  “Or,” Marie said, “maybe the kid’s…” She looked at the woman on the ground. “I’ll look around.” Shelby nodded. He bent down to the woman on the ground and began trying to raise her to her feet.

  Marie checked the back of the station. There was a narrow passageway between the back of the building and a tangle of kudzu vines that had overtaken and strangled a thicket of pine trees behind the station. The narrow path was littered with twelve-ounce plastic soda bottles and discarded food wrappers. Marie slowly made her way down the narrow passage. It was barely wide enough for her to get through. There was no sign of anything or anyone having gone into the woods. She came around the other side of the station where a Dumpster sat, its green paint flaked off to expose the metal beneath, showing cancerous patches of rust. She took a deep breath and held it before looking in. Nothing. She walked back around to the front. Shelby had gotten the woman into the backseat of his car and was crouched down on the pavement next to the car door, nodding at something she was saying. Marie walked into the repair bay.

  The lights were off and there were no cars in the bay for repairs. There was a door at the far end on which the word PARTS had been written with a marker on the bare wood. She opened the door and looked inside. She saw handmade wooden shelves filled with haphazardly stacked boxes of hoses, gaskets, fuses, and the like, but no body.

  She was closing the door when she noticed the safe. It was tucked away in a comer of the tiny storeroom. The door stood wide open. Marie walked over, crouched down, and looked inside. Empty. She bit her lip and thought for a moment. Then she got up and walked back toward the front of the station. As she passed by the workbench, a flash of pink caught her eye. It was a magazine. She picked it up and grimaced. A girl who looked barely out of high school was on the cover. She was naked. Marie’s lip curled in disgust. She moved as if to toss the magazine back onto the workbench. Then she saw the streak of blood on the cover. She put the magazine gently back down, as close to its original place as she could remember before walking back out into the sunlight. Shelby was coming her way. They met in the middle of the lot.

  “Nothing?” Shelby said. Marie shook her head.

  “So the boy was took,” Shelby said. The kidnapper beat him up, tried to get him cleaned up, and took him.”

  Marie kept her voice low. “Maybe, but there’s a safe in the storeroom. It’s open and looks like it’s been cleaned out.”

  “Kidnapping and robbery then.”

  “There’s more,” Marie said. “There’s a pomo magazine on the workbench. There’s blood on it, too.” Shelby looked startled for a moment, then looked away. My God, Marie thought, he’s blushing. After a moment, he looked back. “So the killer walked in on the victim readin’ a dirty magazine and they din’t like it.”

  “Or the kid was reading the magazine,” Marie said. “And that’s why he didn’t notice the killer coming in. Or killers. We can’t rule out more than one.”

  Shelby shook his head. “We need to call the SBI. Get a crime scene team in here. Meantime, we may have us a child kidnapped.”

  “Shelby, you need to consider something,” Marie said. “Maybe the kid did it.”

  Shelby looked pained. “Look,” Marie said. “I know it may be tough to think about, a child killing a parent…”

  “Stepparent,” Shelby said. “The mother said the victim weren’t the natural father.” He grimaced. “But yeah, I already thought of that. Don’t like to think that way, but it’s surely possible.” He looked at Marie. “But if that boy is kidnapped and we don’t treat it that way…”

  “Yeah,” Marie said. “You’re right. We’ll get crucified.” The uncomfortable look crossed Shelby’s face again. What is eating this guy? Marie wondered. “So,” she said after a moment. “You want to do an Amber Alert?”

  Shelby pondered this for a moment. Amber Alert would put a statewide media notification, like that for a tornado or other natural disaster, onto hundreds of participating TV and radio stations. For a child under thirteen, when there was a possibility of stranger abducti
on or imminent harm, Amber Alert was automatic. For disappearances of children older than that, potential abductions were considered on a case-by-case basis. “No,” Shelby said, “not yet. We’ll keep lookin’ at ever’thing.” He looked at Marie, up and down. “Jones,” he said.

  Marie shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “Yes, sir…I mean, yeah?”

  “My reg’lar partner’s out. He just had surgery. Prostate cancer.”

  Marie was startled by the sudden change in subject. “Sorry to hear it.”

  “He’ll be awright,” Shelby said. “They got it early. But he’ll be laid up for a while an’ I’m a little shorthanded right now. Y’want to work this one with me?”

  Would I? Marie thought. Work a murder, possible kidnapping? She had been waiting to sit for the sergeant’s exam before the death of her partner had derailed her career, and suddenly a whole new path had opened up for her. Her heart leaped for a moment. Then it came back to earth as she looked at the mother weeping in the back of Shelby’s car. She felt a momentary flash of shame.

  “Yeah,” she told Shelby. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  He nodded. “I’ll talk to the major and set it up.”

  Marie grimaced. “He’s not going to be happy with that. He’s a real bear about overtime.”

  Shelby gave her that snaggletoothed grin again. “He’ll get over it. He owes me.”

  “Okay,” she said. She took a business card out of her pocket and scribbled a number on it. “Here’s my cell number,” she said.

  “Good,” he said. His face turned serious. “But Jones, I want to ask you something.”

  “Okay,” Marie said, her eyes wary. Now the catch, she thought.

  “Could you not take the Lord’s name in vain in front of me?” Shelby asked.

  Marie was struck dumb for a moment. Shelby went on resolutely.

  “I know you get used to rough language in law enforcement,” he said. “Before I got saved, I was guilty of it myself. But I’d really appreciate it.”

  Marie finally found her voice. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry, I didn’t know—”

  Shelby waved it off. “I know. I don’t blame you for it, it’d just make it easier for us to work together, y’understand.”

  “Sure,” Marie said. “No problem. I mean, I’ll try … ”

  He nodded, looking satisfied. “That’s all any of us can do, Marie,” he said. His face lit up with a sudden idea. “Hey,” he said. “Whyn’t you come over for dinner tomorrow night? Barbara can make up some of her fried chicken. There’s plenty.”

  “Ahh … I was going to see my, ah, boyfriend tomorrow night.” Boyfriend. The word still felt strange to Marie.

  “Heck, bring him, too,” Shelby said. “Barbara always makes enough to feed a platoon.”

  She smiled. “He’s in Wilmington,” she said, “but maybe I could persuade him to come up.” “Six-thirty, then,” he said. “And come hungry.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  They loaded the weapons in the back of the cargo van. Laurel and Roy climbed in the front. Stan climbed into the cargo compartment through the sliding side doors. He noticed a pair of sleeping bags and a cooler shoved up against the back. He crawled over and propped his back against them. It was hard to see from there, and he couldn’t hear what Roy and Laurel were saying. He was left curled up in the back with his thoughts.

  Stan’s head throbbed with fear and confusion. He was still scared to death. He didn’t know what these people were planning to do with him. But Laurel actually seemed to like him.

  He stared, fascinated, at the blanket-covered guns on the floor. He could grab one of them, but he didn’t know whether there were any bullets in them. And Laurel still had the gun in her purse. The one that had killed his stepfather. A tremor went through him at that memory. He had hated and feared the man, but the thought of him lying dead on the floor of his service station made Stan feel sick to his stomach.

  He looked up toward the front. Laurel was saying something to Roy in the driver’s seat. She made a small gesture toward the back of the van and Stan realized she was talking about him. He felt sick again. Roy obviously regarded him as a possible liability. And Roy didn’t seem to have any more scruples about killing than Laurel did. Stan closed his eyes and prayed. He had had his doubts about God, especially when his stepfather had beaten him, but now he prayed for all he was worth.

  He heard a rustling sound next to him and opened his eyes. Laurel had climbed over the front seat and was sitting next to him. She was holding a joint in one hand. “Are you scared, Stan?” she said softly.

  Stan nodded, unable to speak.

  She put an arm around him. He felt the heat of her body as she shifted herself closer to him. She put the joint between her lips and lit it with her free hand. She took a long drag and held the smoke in before passing it to him. “‘Ere,” she said, her voice tight with the effort of holding in the smoke.

  He took the joint and inhaled deeply. There was an unfamiliar, sharp taste mixed in with the familiar taste of the pot. He grimaced and passed it back to her. She flipped it around and placed the lit end in her mouth, tightening her lips to hold the burning ash away from her tongue. She leaned toward him. He followed suit until their faces were inches apart. She began to exhale, slowly and evenly. He pursed his own lips and took in the steady stream of smoke that she forced out of the loosely twisted end of the joint. He shotgunned the smoke until he thought his lungs would burst, then pulled away. She flipped it out of her mouth and took her own turn. She leaned back over until her face was very close to his. “You don’t have to be afraid of us, Stan,” she whispered. “We’re all in this together now.”

  “I…I don’t know what you mean,” Stan said. His head was swimming with the buzz from the smoke.

  “Roy and I, we talked it over. He has his doubts, I won’t bullshit you. But we’ve got a little time to decide. To figure out if you want to be part of what we’re going to do.” She slid a hand down to the inside of his thigh. Stan jumped at the contact. He looked up at the front of the van. “Umm…aren’t you and him…”

  She glanced up front. Roy was still driving. He didn’t look back. “Oh, sure,” she said nonchalantly. “But he’s not jealous. We don’t live like that, Stan.” She began moving her hand slowly up and down his thigh. “See,” she said, “Roy taught me a secret. Everybody else pretends like there are rules. Don’t cheat on your taxes. Don’t beat up people smaller than you. Don’t…” Her face twisted. “Never mind. But see, Stan, no one ever followed those rules with us. They lie. They cheat. They…they mess around with people they ain’t supposed to. After a while, Roy realized that they weren’t really rules. They was just ways people used to get over on you. After that,” she reached for his belt, “the world made sense. For the first time, the world made sense.” Stan shook his head. The pot was hitting him harder than anything he’d ever smoked before. The edges for everything seemed fuzzy, indistinct. The walls of the van seemed to pulse and shimmer. He shook his head again. Laurel giggled at the look on his face.

  “Killer stuff, innit?” she said, her voice slurred with the effects of the drug. “We put a li’l something extra in.” He felt her hands undoing his belt buckle. Through the haze in his head, it felt like it was happening to someone else. Then as she slid her hand inside his jeans, Stan closed his eyes and it all came slamming back into his head. All the horniness he had felt back at the station, poring over the skin mag, spilled back into him. His own heartbeat was thudding in his ears.

  “Come on, Stan,” she said. “Let me show you what life can be like.”

  “I’m home,” Marie called out as she closed the door behind her.

  “Mommeeeee!” her son Ben cried out as he crashed into her knees.

  She picked him up and hugged him, grunting a little with the effort. “Hey, big boy!” she said as she kissed him. “You been good for Grandpa?”

  “He’s been a handful, that’s for damn sure,” her father said.

  Ben
put a hand over his mouth and gave her an exaggerated look of shock. He took his hand away from his mouth long enough to whisper, “Grandpa said a bad word.”

  Marie put Ben down. A sheepish look crossed her father’s round, lined face. “Sorry, kid,” he muttered.

  “Ben,” Marie said, “grandpas and mommies can say things that little boys can’t.”

  Ben set his lip defiantly. “That’s not fair,” he said.

  “Maybe, but that’s the way it is. Now go play, I need to talk to Grandpa.”

  “No fair,” Ben insisted, but he scurried off to his room. Marie hugged her father and kissed him on the cheek. He hugged her back, hard. Retirement had given him a considerable paunch, but his arms were still strong.

  “How was he really, Dad?” she said.

  He grinned. “No worse than usual, kid. How was work?”

  Marie unbuckled her gun belt and hung it up in the closet. “We caught a bad one today, Dad. Murder, maybe child abduction.”

  Her father walked back into the kitchen. “Tell me about it while I start these chops.” She followed him as he grabbed a pair of beers from the fridge. He handed her one and opened the other.

  She told him about it as he tended to the pork chops. Her father was a former cop himself, so he picked up the doubts and questions Marie had before she had even gotten to them.

  “You think the kid might’ve done his stepfather?” he asked bluntly.

  Marie grimaced. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s possible.”

  He grunted. “Tell me about this Shelby.”

  “He seems like a good guy. Pretty religious. Asked me not to take the name of the Lord in vain.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Ah, shit. I rode with one of those one time. Damn near bored my ass off. Hey, get the rice started, willya?”

  They worked together to prepare dinner, and gradually Marie started feeling normal again. She liked having her dad around. He had come down after her partner had been killed and kept delaying going back. Finally, he had offered to stay and take care of Ben while Marie was working.