The Devils Punchbowl pc-3

by Greg Iles

She turns away again, but this time, emboldened by her frankness, Walt reaches out and lays a fingertip on her scalloped collarbone. When she turns this time, he thinks he sees a flash of annoyance, but then the submissive smile of the Orient he remembers from so long ago returns. “Yes, Zhaybee?”

  “What do I call you?”

  Her smile broadens. “So sorry. I forgot. I am Ming.”

  “Ming?”

  “Ming. Like the vase, yes?”

  “I won'’t forget.”

  “Bye for now.”

  Walt watches her lithe form glide across the carpet until she slips into the mass of fat American bodies crowding the slot machines.

  “I guess you’re dumping me now, huh?” Nancy says petulantly from behind him.

  Walt turns, takes in the genuine hurt in her face, and tries to let her down easy. “We’'ve had a good run, Nancy. Haven’t we?”

  “What’s so great about her?”

  What’s not?

  Walt wonders.

  “She’s too damn skinny,” Nancy says, “too skinny by half. Nothing to hold on to when you get in the saddle.”

  Walt gives her a patient smile.

  “Course I guess that doesn’'t matter, since you can’t saddle up anymore.”

  Despite the venom in her voice, Walt takes out his wallet and peels off $500 of Penn’s money.

  “We had a good run, honey. Will you take some advice from an old man?”

  “That'’s the only kind of vice I don'’t like,” Nancy says, her face hard again.

  “Ad

  vice.”

  Walt holds her eye, forcing her to see him straight.

  “Okay, okay, let’s hear it.”

  “It’s nothing you haven'’t heard before. But I want you to listen this time. Find another line of work.”

  “Great. Thanks, granddad. You know how hard it is in this town to find a job that pays what I make on my back?”

  “Find a new town. Girls don'’t live long in this racket.”

  For a few brief seconds Nancy looks back at him without affect, completely vulnerable, almost hopeful, but then a dealer calls a win, and she blinks, and the walls go back up, her eyes as opaque as plaster marbles.

  “Take care, Nancy. And thanks. You brought me luck.”

  CHAPTER

  47

  Caitlin has no idea how long she’s been locked in the car trunk when the vehicle finally stops. As soon as she woke up, she found a taillight with her foot and kicked it out, but though she stuck her hand through the hole and waved it wildly, no one stopped the car.

  Two doors open and close, then the trunk pops open. Someone lifts the lid. She hears gruff commands—the accents Irish. Powerful hands seize her and lift her out of the trunk, letting her feet dangle to the ground. Fear is loose in her like a wild thing, but she keeps telling herself that if they meant to kill her, they could have done it before now. She’s glad they'’re holding her up. With the hood over her head, it’s difficult to maintain balance.

  “I'm holding a Taser,” says a voice. “Try to run, I'’ll juice you. You won'’t like it. I can tell you from experience.”

  They march her forward at a rapid clip, then stop. There’s a jangle of keys. Suddenly she hears panting. A barrage of barking erupts close to her, and she hears heavy bodies slamming into a Cyclone fence. All at once she remembers Linda’s note, about Quinn feeding Ben Li to dogs.

  “Get ’em back!” shouts an Irishman. “Goddamn it, go! Use bait if you have to.”

  One man lets go of Caitlin, but the yammering dogs keep hitting the fence. Caitlin wants to speak, but duct tape holds her jaw immo

  bile. After about a minute, the dogs race away and slam into what must be a different fence. There’s a metallic rattle, then the sound of an opening gate.

  The man drags her through, then opens a door and leads her into a closed space that stinks of urine, old food, and dirty animals. She smells alcohol too, rubbing alcohol, plus other medical odors she can’t identify. The floor feels like bare cement. They march her twenty steps, then stop and open another door with a key. This sounds like a real door, not a gate. Someone shoves her between the shoulder blades, driving her into the room. She almost stumbles, but keeps her feet long enough to collide with a wall opposite the door.

  “We’re going to take the hood off. Be still, or you get the juice. Nod if you understand.”

  Caitlin nods once.

  The black hood is whipped off her head, and blinding fluorescent light stabs her eyes. After a few seconds, she realizes it’s just a cheap bulb, and her vision clears. One man stands in front of her, wearing a balaclava mask. His lips show through the mask; they look bright red, filled with blood. His eyes are gray and hungry.

  “Take off your clothes,” he says.

  “What?”

  “Get ’em off!”

  “No.”

  He jabs the Taser at her. “You do it or I do. It’ll hurt less if you do it.”

  “Why do you want my clothes?”

  “Fuckin’ hell, you mouthy cunt. Do what I tell ya!”

  Caitlin pulls her T-shirt over her head, then slides her jeans down and steps out of them.

  “Panties too. Everything.”

  With a hiss of anger, she pulls down the panties and tosses them at his feet.

  “Not bad,” he says, his voice muffled by the hood. “A little skinny for my taste, but, damn, you’re a thoroughbred, aren'’t you?”

  “What do you think this is going to accomplish?”

  “Ah well, that’s up to your boyfriend, I reckon. You too. Lucky for you, he’s got something we need. But let’s see how coop erative you can be, eh? You shave it a little close down there, don'’t ya? I like it natural.”

  It takes a supreme act of will, but Caitlin turns and faces the wall. A barred window is set in it, but the bars don'’t look strong enough to hold a determined prisoner. She expects to feel the bite of the Taser at any moment, but all she hears is a closing door.

  She starts to turn, but then the door opens again, just wide enough for a head. “Hey, I like that side too. Better than the front, I think. I'’ll be seein’ ya, princess. Oh, yeah. Lots to look forward to.”

  This time when the door closes, a key turns in the lock, a heavy bolt shoots home, and muted steps go down the corridor.

  Caitlin turns slowly in place, taking in every detail of the room. It’s a simple square with plywood walls, a concrete floor, and a low ceiling that looks like the underside of a tin roof. A plastic dog bowl sits on the floor, filled with water. A pail stands beside it, empty, and she realizes that this is to be her toilet. A door slams somewhere, and the walls of her cell vibrate.

  “Well, this is what you get,” she says aloud, walking forward and testing the bars with a steady pull. The bars aren'’t set in the window, but screwed over it. She could have them off in a couple of hours.

  It can’t be that easy,

  she thinks. Then she remembers the dogs.

  “Fuck,” she whispers, realizing her situation at last. The bars weren’t put here to hold a human in this room, but a dog.

  I can use my wonderful opposable thumb to get the bars off, but the dogs are outside, hoping I'’ll drop through that window like food through a chute.

  The sound of an engine reaches her, and after a grinding of gears, it slowly recedes into silence. Thinking they’ve left her alone, Caitlin nearly jumps out of her skin when something bumps the wall to her left. At first she thinks it’s a dog, but then the sound comes again, a steady tapping against the plywood, low down on the wall. She drops into a crouch and puts her cheek against the wood.

  “Is someone there?”

  Three slow taps respond.

  “Who are you?” Caitlin asks.

  “Who are

  you?”

  “Caitlin Masters.”

  There’s silence for a few moments. Then a muffled female voice says, “Penn Cage’s old girlfriend?”

  “Yes! Tell me your name.”

  There’s a long pause. Then the voice says, “Are you for real?”

  “What do you mean?”

&
nbsp; “You could be with them. Helping them. Quinn.”

  “My God, no! They just kidnapped me. I’'ve been looking for Linda Church. Is that you, Linda?”

  “You tell me the rest first. Why would they kidnap you?”

  “Penn got your note—from that Pentecostal girl. He thought you’d got away safe, but I wasn'’t sure. I wanted to find you. I never stopped looking for you, Linda. I traced that girl from the Oneness church. And then the preacher, Simpson.”

  Caitlin hears soft whimpering. “I want to believe you.”

  “Linda, is it really you? Please tell me. What can it hurt? They already know you’re here. They

  put

  you here.”

  “I guess. I can’t think right anymore. I'm sick. My leg’s infected.”

  Caitlin remembers this from the note. She’d forgotten it, assuming that Linda had got medical care by now. “Do you have fever?”

  “I'm burning up. But that’s not the worst part.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “He’s been doing it to me. Quinn.”

  “Doing it?”

  “Raping me. He started last night. He’s done it so much that I'm getting a UTI. It hurts so bad when I have to pee, and I shiver all over afterward.”

  “Did you tell Quinn that?”

  “He gave me some pills he said would help. Antibiotics. They’re for dogs, I think, but he said it’s all the same. But they'’re not helping. If it gets any worse, I don'’t know what I'’ll do. I stopped drinking water so I won'’t have to pee.”

  “You can’t do that, Linda. You have to drink. You’ll die if you don'’t.”

  “I'm going to die anyway. They’ll never let me out of here alive. He’s going to use me till he’s tired of me, then feed me to the dogs. He told me.”

  Fear and outrage rush through Caitlin in a flood. “That'’s not going to happen. Listen to me, Linda. We’re getting out of here!”

  “How? Does anybody know where you are?”

  Caitlin doesn’'t want to admit the truth, but she can’t bring herself to lie. “No.”

  “Then how are we going to get out? There’s dogs outside this kennel. Bulldogs and something else too. Big dogs. They don'’t even leave men to guard me most of the time. They don'’t have to. It’s twenty feet to the fence. Even if you could get out of here, they’d tear you to pieces before you got to it.”

  “Is that what this building is? A kennel?”

  “Uh-huh. You’re in a regular room like an office. But the rest of it’s just two lines of fenced stalls with an aisle between. There’s cats in one stall down by the door. That'’s it.”

  “That helps. The more I know, the better chance we have. I'’ll think of something. You just drink your water and try to stay strong. Maybe the antibiotics will start to work. I know the bladder infection hurts. I’'ve had those myself. But you listen to me, girl. We are

  getting out of here.

  Do you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Say it, Linda.”

  “We’re getting out.”

  “Say it like you believe it.”

  “I'm sorry. My throat hurts. Did they put a collar on you?”

  “What?”

  “A dog collar.”

  “No.”

  “They’ve got a dog collar on me, and it’s chained to a post. He only takes it off when he does it to me.”

  Jesus Christ.

  “If you’re going to do something, please do it quick.”

  Caitlin thinks frantically. “Are we by ourselves now? Did they really leave?”

  “I think so.”

  “I'm sure I can get these bars off the window.”

  “No! Don’t do that! You’ll draw the dogs. They could jump through that window if they tried.”

  “Okay, okay, I won'’t.” Caitlin looks around her cell again, then lifts her gaze to the cheap tin roof. “What about the roof? Do you

  care if I try to get part of that open? Then I could get up on top and see what’s out there.”

  After a brief silence, Linda says, “I guess that’s okay. Just don'’t fall off.”

  Caitlin flexes her hands, then takes hold of the window bars at shoulder height. With a mighty effort, she leans back and starts walking her feet up the wall, first to chest level, then past the window.

  Skinning the cat,

  they called it when she was a kid. Surprised she can still manage the maneuver, she keeps stretching and extending until her bare feet reach the edge of the low-lying ceiling, then begins kicking. By the fourth kick she’s put a dent in the tin, but soon she has to unwind and drop back to the floor, panting and rubbing her hands. She’s not sure how long she can keep it up, but she’s pretty sure a roofing nail has started to lift out of the two-by-four at the top of the wall.

  CHAPTER

  48

  Today will be Annie’s first day back at St. Stephen’s, and she seems a little uncertain as we coast down the long drive of the school. I'm not exactly at peace myself. Despite my cease-fire agreement with Jonathan Sands, I’'ve warned the headmaster and security guard to be on the lookout for strangers on the campus, and not to be shy about calling 911 if they see any. Chief Logan has prepped the dispatcher to send two squad cars to St. Stephen’s with sirens blaring if there’s even a hint of trouble.

  “Are you all right?” I ask, glancing over to the passenger seat. “You seem quiet.”

  “I had another dream.”

  “What about?” I ask, easing the car right, toward the middle school.

  “Caitlin again.”

  I glance at Annie, but she keeps her eyes focused forward. “Was it bad or good?”

  “Bad.”

  “Will you tell me what it was?”

  Her face tightens with indecision, but then she says, “I dreamed Mom was alive again.”

  This surprises me, since Annie was only four when Sarah died and has few clear memories of her. “What happened in it?”

  “I don'’t want to say. It was creepy.”

  “Everybody has creepy dreams sometimes.”

  “Well, we went to visit Mom’s grave, like we’ve done before, but Mom was

  with

  us. And the thing is the creepy thing ”

  “It’s all right, baby.”

  “

  Caitlin

  was the one who was gone. In Mom’s grave. And Mom was with us, looking down at the stone.”

  Sensing that Annie is really disturbed, I pull onto the grassy shoulder of the driveway and put the Saab in park. Cars loaded with children glide past, then slow and empty their charges at the door of the middle school.

  “Maybe you dreamed that because of the talk we had last night. What do you think?”

  “I don'’t know. It’s just that the last time I dreamed about Caitlin, me and Gram ended up having to hide out of town.”

  I pat her knee, then squeeze it reassuringly. “That didn't have anything to do with your dream. That was something to do with my work.”

  She looks skeptically at me for a while. “Did you talk to her about what we said last night?”

  “A little bit. We’re going to talk some more today, I think.”

  “You think? Or you know?”

  “We’re not sure yet. Sometimes big things like this take a little time to work out.”

  She looks down at the glove box and nods with quick assertiveness, as though she knows her voice will crack if she speaks while looking at me. “Did you tell her I wanted her to be my mom?”

  “Did you want me to?”

  “Did you?”

  I sigh in resignation, knowing she can outlast me at this game. “No. I didn't.”

  “Good. I'm worried it might scare her.”

  “No, no. Why would you think that?”

  “Well, she’s going to want her own babies and stuff. She may not want to think of herself as my mom.”

  Annie’s fear of rejection brings tears to my eyes. I squeeze her hand. “I'’ll tell you a secret. I think Caitlin’s always wanted to be your mom.”

  Annie looks up at me and blinks three times, her eyes wide and vulnerable. “Really?”

 
“She’s tried to do all the things Mom would have done, if she’d lived. I think Caitlin worries that you’ll think she’s trying to take Mom’s place.”

  Annie’s mouth falls open. “But I don'’t think that!”

  As perceptive as she is sometimes, it surprises me that Annie doesn’'t see the relationship of her dream to what’s happening in our lives. “Well, that’s the hard part about these kinds of situations. People are scared to say what they really feel, and sometimes they wait too long to do it.”

  “Have you done that? Waited too long?”

  “I don'’t know. I don'’t think so. I think we’re going to get everything worked out.”

  Looking up, I see no more cars at the door. One of the teachers looks up the hill at us and gives a friendly wave.

  “You’re going to be late, baby.”

  She takes my hand and squeezes it. “It doesn’'t matter, Dad.”

  “No. I guess it doesn’'t.”

  “Let’s go,” she says brightly, as though everything has been resolved. “Like Gram says, ‘One way or another, everything’s going to be fine.’”

  I laugh and drive down to the door of the school. Annie leans over and kisses my cheek, then lifts her backpack from the floor. When I start to speak, she presses her finger to my lips.

  “You don'’t have to tell me not to worry, or not to talk about any of this. I know how things work.”

  With that, she smiles, gets out, and disappears through the door of the school I loved as a child, the school that made me what I am, the school that my daughter will soon be leaving forever.

  CHAPTER

  49

  Caitlin hunches naked on the balls of her bloody feet, listening to Linda’s chain rattle. She can tell by the sound that the chain is heavy, the kind with big, bright links that farmers use to tie tractors to flatbed trailers. Some people, Caitlin knows now, use them to strengthen fighting dogs, by making them drag the chains around every minute of their lives, as Linda must do now. Linda sleeps fitfully in her fever, moving frequently, shifting the dog collar that holds her to the chain.

  Caitlin has not slept. She feels as though she’s awakened in some nightmare version of

  The Count of Monte Cristo,