No Such Creature

by Giles Blunt

  “Where you been?” Zig said. “I’m starving. Sitting here listening to the Jeopardy meister in there.” He slipped his shoes on and started tying the laces.

  “Wait’ll you hear,” Stu said. “I got some real interesting news.”

  “Fine. Let’s go eat. There’s an A amp;W down the road. I got a sudden yearning for a root beer.”

  “Great idea,” Stu said. “A little root beer sounds good about now.” Thinking, Root beer?

  A voice called from the bathroom: “Hey, bring me something back too, okay? No onions.”

  “She ripped off the whole thing?” Zig said, wiping mustard off his mouth. They were sitting at a table in the A amp;W. Place was pretty deserted this time of night. “This girl totally wiped him out?”

  “Totally.”

  “Man, that guy should retire.”

  “Exactly what I said,” Stu said.

  “You sure he wasn’t playing you?”

  “No way.”

  “Because if Max figured out you were following him, he coulda invented this whole scenario just to put us off the scent. He’s old, but he’s no idiot.”

  Stu took a slug of root beer. It was a lot sweeter than he remembered it. “No way, boss. He was completely hammered, crying in his beer. Had the kid with him, and the kid was smart enough to try and shut him up, but he wouldn’t listen. Poor bastard’s got no clue where the girl is.”

  “Yeah, but we do,” Zig said, and pulled out his cellphone. “Lemme call Clem.”

  Before he could dial, the phone rang in his hand.

  “We’re at the A amp;W just down from the motel,” Zig said into the phone. “Where the fuck are you?” He shook his head, listening. “Tell me you haven’t lost the girl.”

  Stu watched the corners of Zig’s mouth turn white.

  “Well, that’s just great, Clem. Nice one … I don’t give a shit. Come to the fucking A amp;W.” Zig put the phone back in his pocket. “I don’t believe it. Asshole lost the girl.”

  “We’ll find her again,” Stu said. “Let’s see what he has to say.”

  Clem came in a few minutes later and ordered a burger from the counter. He brought it over to the table, in a surprisingly good mood considering the shit he was in with Zig. Zig hadn’t said a word since the phone call, replying to Stu’s attempts to cheer him up with grunts and sneers.

  “There’s something weird going on with this chick,” Clem said as he sat down with a burger and a Coke the size of a bucket.

  “Exactly,” Zig said. “So why the fuck aren’t you on her tail like I told you?”

  “I hadda make a choice,” Clem said, taking a huge bite out of his burger. His words came out garbled and smelling of dill. “There’s some guy following her. Big guy in a green Chevy Blazer.”

  “Really?” Zig said. “Green, huh. That’s fascinating.”

  “No, listen. She leaves the trailer park in a cab, no one following her except me. I tail her to some dame’s place in a fancy neighbourhood: wraparound porch, driveway a mile long-you know those kinds of places? Anyways, I tail them while they shop in practically every store in Dallas. I tail them back to the fucking mansion. Couple of minutes later, this guy rolls into the driveway in the green Chev. I didn’t think anything of it at the time-figured he’s married to the older dame, big deal.

  “Okay. Cab arrives and picks up the girl. I follow her to the trailer park, then to a Ford dealership. By now I’m thinking no way she’s connected to Max and the kid, ’cause she’s got her suitcases with her and she’s buying a car. Then this guy pulls up behind me and he’s watching her. There’s no other customers in the dealership. Same big guy, same green Blazer-Nevada plates, too, I notice.”

  “So what?” Zig said. “What do we care where he’s from?”

  “Lemme finish.” Clem took a chomp out of his burger, sucked some Coke from his straw, and chewed his way through the story. “Guy drives away, right? I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except for what happened later. Chick buys a bright red Mustang. I follow her. She drives outta town, not far, and checks in at the Red Roof out on 80. Ugliest part of Dallas you ever saw.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just tell the fucking story.”

  “So I’m parked in the gas station across the highway, I’m wondering how long I’m gonna be sitting there, when the guy shows up again. Third time.”

  “The guy in the Blazer?” Stu said.

  “Same guy.” Clem nodded, wiping his mouth. “So, way I figure it, I got two choices: stick with the girl, or follow this guy and find out who the fuck he is.”

  “What do I care who he is?” Zig said.

  “He could be a cop,” Stu pointed out. “Or he could be working with Max, maybe. Somebody we missed.”

  “I don’t think so,” Clem said. “I followed him to the Hyatt Regency. Room 3114. I don’t think any cop is gonna be staying at the Hyatt Regency while he’s on the job.”

  “And the girl’s still at the Red Roof?”

  “Okay.” Here Clem swallowed a huge bolus of burger and washed it down. “There we got a problem. I went straight back from the Hyatt, but when I get to the Red Roof the Mustang’s gone.”

  “That doesn’t mean she checked out,” Stu said.

  “I went into the office, asked around. I made it look like I just had the hots for the chick. Not hard to believe. Guy behind the counter gives me a smirk and says, ‘You’re too late, pal. She checked out.’”

  “You lost her,” Zig said, very quiet.

  “Well, yeah, but who the fuck expects her to check into a motel and check out an hour later? I mean, what is that about?”

  “Maybe she saw the Blazer guy,” Stu said. “Recognized his car and got spooked.”

  “Whatever,” Clem said. “Anyways, why’s it such a problem? It’s Max and the kid we care about, right?”

  “As it turns out,” Zig said, “we care about the girl. Deeply. Why don’t we finish this conversation in the car, I’m a little sick of these A amp;W colours.”

  The three of them headed out to Zig’s car, Clem still clutching his gigantic Coke, and Stu with a burger wrapped in foil.

  “Christ,” Zig said. “I can’t believe you bought a burger for Mister Wizard.”

  “Guy hasn’t eaten all day. Don’t see why he should starve.”

  “Hate to see food go to waste, though,” Zig said. “We ain’t gonna be needing him anymore.”

  Clem got in the back seat. “So why are we interested in the girl all of a sudden?”

  “Because she’s got the score,” Zig said, still very quiet. “She ripped off the old man.”

  Clem let the straw drop out of his mouth. Coke descended slowly down the tube.

  “You’re shitting me.”

  Zig eased his automatic out of his jacket. “Why, no, Clem, I’m not.”

  “Maybe it’s not so bad, boss,” Stu put in, eyeing the gun. “This Blazer guy seems to know exactly where the chick is all the time. He’s right on her. We should have a talk with him.”

  “Did I ask your opinion?”

  “No, just let’s think this through.”

  “I already have.”

  Zig turned, and the noise in the confined space of the car was deafening. The bullet went through Clem’s Coke, exploding it, and into his chest. He slumped to one side, and Zig put another one into his head.

  “Jesus Christ,” Stu said. “The fuck you doing, boss?”

  “You want some too? Is that it?” Zig pressed the automatic into his rib cage.

  “No, I’m just a little fucking nonplussed is all.”

  “I knew I should’ve never worked with a loser like that. The fucker.” Zig put his gun away.

  “Great, boss. Now what do we do with him?”

  “Them, not him. You’re gonna take the Jeopardy genius over to that goddamn construction site we saw under the expressway and have him dig a grave. And make sure it’s big enough for two. They’ll lay that expressway over them and no one’ll ever know they’re down there
in Hoffatown.”

  Owen got Max back to the Rocket and left him crashed out on the bed. He lay on his own bunk, trying to read The Magus, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Sabrina. He wasn’t angry so much as bewildered. Bewildered? That did not seem the right word for the pain that was hovering inside his chest just now.

  Max woke up a short time later, groaning theatrically and massaging his temples. He continued his lamentations over a pot of tea in the dining alcove. Owen was about to turn the light out when Max pounded a meaty fist on the table. “Of course!” he bellowed. “The very man.”

  “Max,” Owen said, “it’s time to go to sleep.”

  Max slapped the table smartly with both hands. “All those hotels we talked to, all those desk clerks, not one of them remarked, ‘Isn’t that funny? Someone else was asking after this girl just two hours ago.’ Not one of them said that.”

  “Why would they?”

  “Out of surprise, if nothing else. And when I asked each one, flat out, if anyone else had been asking after her, not one of them said yes. Not one of them even blinked or looked the slightest bit nervous about the question.”

  “And you find this astonishing because …”

  “Because of Bill. Preacher Bill, aside from being an intellectually challenged Jesus freak, is obsessed with that thieving, ungrateful siren. Pathologically obsessed, according both to she who must not be named and to sober observation. He followed her to Tucson. He followed her to Dallas. He showed up at her aunt’s. So my question is, why isn’t Bill looking for her now?”

  “He probably is.”

  “Then why isn’t he asking around about her? Why isn’t Bill, born stalker and monomaniac, lurking in hotel lobbies? Why isn’t he howling outside our door? I’ll tell you why-because he already knows where she is.”

  “I don’t know, Max. He doesn’t seem all that smart to me.” “I warrant you, sir”-Max flapped his hands against the table in a series of tiny slaps-“Billy Bob Bonehead knows exactly where the tigress hides.”

  The one named Stu hadn’t driven very far when he pulled over into a parking lot. From what Roscoe had seen so far, Stu was the comparatively sane one of the three, but he was agitated now-sweating heavily, cursing every other car, and driving off the shoulder and back on, over the white line and back, though the car didn’t smell of alcohol. And now they were sitting in the parking lot of an insurance company, closed at this hour. There were no other cars in the lot. It was raining again, and Roscoe wondered if this would be the last time he would hear that sound, fat drops exploding on metal.

  “Okay,” Stu said, “I’m gonna let you eat your burger now.”

  “My hands are cuffed behind my back, Stu. Why don’t you take the cuffs off for a second-or at least put ’em in front?”

  “No way. I’ll feed it to you.”

  He unwrapped the foil from the burger, and the smell of fried meat billowed through the car. He held the burger in front of Roscoe’s face, and Roscoe took a big bite. These guys hadn’t been too regular about feeding him, so it was definitely the finest burger of his life. This was a good sign, wasn’t it? They wouldn’t buy him a burger if they were planning to kill him, right?

  “You want some root beer? I got you a root beer.”

  “Root beer. Sure. What’s going on, Stu?”

  Stu didn’t answer. He held out the paper cup and straw, and Roscoe took a long sip. The ice had melted, making the root beer watery, but it tasted as good to him as champagne. For the next few minutes Roscoe couldn’t do anything but eat and drink.

  “Man,” he said when it was done, “I give that burger a ten out of ten. Thank you.”

  “Sit back now.”

  Stu started the car again and pulled out into the traffic.

  “Where we going, Stu?”

  “I told you. The train station. Ship you home.”

  “You’re going the wrong way. I’ve been to Dallas before. I know where the train station is.”

  “We’re going to the suburban one. Less crowded.”

  “Uh-huh. Stu, are you aware there is root beer all over your back seat? Blood, too. Looks like someone had a hell of an accident back here.”

  “That’s right. Someone had a hell of an accident.”

  They passed turnoffs for Plano and Rockwall. Roscoe hitched forward a little on the seat.

  “Where’s Clem, Stu?”

  “Who knows? Took the day off.”

  “Took the day off, huh? He know people in Dallas?”

  “Search me. I don’t know Clem that well.”

  “No? You seemed to get along pretty good. I figured you two for-well, not old buddies exactly-but long-time colleagues, so to speak.”

  “We’ve known each other awhile.”

  “So would this be Clem’s blood on the back seat here?”

  “Stop talking.”

  They drove another ten minutes, then Stu exited onto a boulevard that ran under an expressway. It was down to one lane owing to construction. He veered around a ROAD CLOSED sign and pulled off onto an undeveloped area that was just scrub grass and sandy soil. He switched off the car, and there was only the clatter and hiss of the expressway overhead.

  Stu got out and took a shovel out of the trunk. He opened the back door. “Okay, Jeopardy. Now we dig.”

  “You expect me to dig my own grave?”

  “Don’t panic. It’s not for you.”

  “Why am I here, if it’s not for me? What happened to the train station?”

  “It’s not for you, I said. It’s for Clem.”

  “Uh-huh. Zig killed him?”

  “Just get out and start digging.”

  “Start digging or you’ll what? Frankly, Stu, I don’t see a lot of downside if I just sit right here in this car. What’re you gonna do, shoot me?”

  Stu looked off in the distance and sighed. “I knew you were gonna say something like that.” He folded his arms and looked up at the sky-or where the sky would have been if they weren’t underneath an expressway. The overhead traffic sounded like a waterfall.

  “Anyway, how am I supposed to dig with my hands cuffed behind my back?”

  “I’ll cuff ’em in front.”

  “And then I come at you with the shovel. Bash you over the head.”

  “And I shoot you. Okay, fine. You’re right. That doesn’t work either.” Stu leaned on the shovel, thinking. “I could shoot you in the balls.”

  “You think that’s going to improve my digging? Anyway, I don’t think you’re like that. It was Zig and Clem took my toes. No, no. You want a grave dug, pal, you’re gonna dig it yourself. I’ll just sit right here and watch.”

  “Fuck,” Stu said. He flung his jacket into the car and started digging. Even though the expressway afforded some protection, a stiff wind had come up and was blowing rain all over him, though not enough to soften the ground. He soon started cursing.

  “So what’d he kill him for?”

  “Who you talking about?”

  “Why’d Zig kill Clem?”

  “You said that. I never said he did.”

  “You said the grave was for Clem. Why’d he kill him?”

  “Because Clem did something he shouldn’t have. Zig doesn’t like people who don’t listen.”

  “So what’d Clem do that he shouldn’t have?”

  “What do you care?”

  “I don’t-but you should. You’re the one gotta work with the guy. What’d Clem do that got him the death sentence?”

  “He was supposed to keep an eye on a certain party, and he didn’t do it.” Stu’s words came out between jabs of his shovel. “And now we don’t know where that party happens to be. I recognize it may seem like an overreaction.”

  “Oh, no, Stu. Anybody’d do the same.”

  “I admit Zig can be unreasonable.”

  “Well, here’s a question for you-not trivial, for once. Here’s a guy shoots someone he works with for making a mistake. And here’s you. You saw him do it. What possible reason c
ould Zig have for letting you live?”

  “He respects me. He didn’t respect Clem.”

  “Uh-huh. It seems pretty clear you don’t need me anymore. Which means you know where Max’s score is, or you know who knows. Are you betting your personal well-being on the notion that Zig can’t wait to share that money with you?”

  “I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to sweet-talk me.”

  “Yes, I am. But that doesn’t make what I say any less true.”

  “So you think I should let you go. On the possibility that Zig’s gonna kill me.”

  “More than a possibility, Stu. Stop digging, for God’s sake. You and I have been around the block. We know how people work. Right away I figured you three guys out. You tell me if I’m wrong. There’s you: tough guy, get-ahead guy, but not a berserker, not a thug. Right?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Then there’s Clem. Not the smartest guy in the world. A follower. Kinda scared. He’ll do stuff he knows is wrong, real wrong, if it keeps him in good with the boss. Might even kill, if push comes to shove. Right?”

  “Yeah, I’d say that pretty much covers Clem.”

  “And Zig. Zig is a fucking psycho. Zig does not care how far he has to go to get what he wants. Knew it the minute you guys grabbed me. There’s no connecting with that guy. He’s missing whatever it is makes one human being recognize another. That’s why he formed the Subtractors. That’s why he works this way.”

  “Subtractors?” Stu laughed and started digging again. “That’s a good one. You thought we were the goddamn Subtractors?”

  “I can’t imagine what gave me that idea.”

  “We’re not the Subtractors. The Subtractors are just a legend, man. The Subtractors are just a scary story.”

  “Tell that to my fucking feet, Stu.”

  “Naw, Zig just liked the legend, that’s all. Everybody’s heard about this mythical gang-why not live off their reputation? Act like you’re this invincible force of darkness, who’s to know?”

  “So if you’re not the Subtractors, what’s the deal with Zig’s nipples? Being chained up in a bathroom, I got to see more than I wanted.”