“How are you feeling?”
She groaned around her gag.
“I’ll get you out of there. Sit tight. Be quiet. If you make noise, I’ll shoot you, okay?”
He placed the Beretta on the sink counter. Her bloodshot eyes followed the gun.
It took him a few minutes to get her out. She could hardly move, and when she finally stood her legs collapsed beneath her weight. Shep carried her through to the other room and dropped her on the bed.
She felt cold. She lay on the bed, shuddering.
“You really are sick, huh?”
She had told him her name was Penny Gregson, that she was nineteen years old, and that she had nothing to do with the people he was looking for. But he had known better than that. Something had scared her more than he had been able to, and she wasn’t going to talk.
When he had first brought her here she had complained of a headache and dizziness. Now, her skin was pallid, sweaty, cold to the touch. She was trembling. Her eyes were red. The skin of her neck was mottled, rising in a flaky rash.
“You don’t look so good.”
For the first time she looked at him. In a hoarse whisper, she said, “Take me to a hospital.”
“Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll drop you off downtown, and you can call for help.”
She kept looking at him, then her eyes glazed, and her head fell back to the bed.
He poured himself a drink from the bottle of Bacardi sitting on the counter, drank it in two swallows, then picked up Penny Gregson and tossed her over his shoulder.
He checked to make sure the parking lot was empty, then carried her out to the car. He tossed her into the rear seat, then went back and locked the room.
Traffic was light, rush hour over. Rain spattered the windshield as Shep approached downtown. He turned on the wipers. Because of the clouds, it was nearly dark outside. Street lights flickered on.
In the rear, Penny Gregson whimpered.
He took a downtown exit, and parked the car across from the old Milwaukee Road Depot, only a few blocks away from where he had interrogated Tony Browning.
The rain was coming down hard now, pounding on the roof of the car like a million tiny fists. When the road was momentarily clear, he got out and opened the back door. Penny Gregson lifted her head and groaned at him.
“Help me,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
Shep dragged her from the car, carried her across the sidewalk to a bus bench.
“You better call somebody, or you’re going to die,” he said.
Shep got back in the car. He turned on the lights, then made a U-turn and drove back along Washington. Two blocks away he turned left, then looped back and parked kitty-corner to where he’d dropped the girl off. He could see her, a dark shape on the bench.
He turned off the lights but kept the engine running.
Two hours later, Penny was still there, and the rain was still coming down.
Shep lit his umpteenth cigarette and blew the smoke out the window. Rain splashed his arm.
Well, the girl had been a waste of time. Used up. She had given him Tony Browning, but that was it. Now he had nothing. For a very brief moment he felt regret at having dispatched Browning so quickly. Another hour or so, and he might have broken the boy. Now he would have to start looking again, maybe even retrace his steps to Chicago. The prospect did not please him, and he swore softly as he exhaled smoke.
He crushed out his cigarette, wishing for something to drink, when the car lights appeared behind him. He sank low in the seat. The car, a late model sedan, passed him, stopped at the corner, then crossed. It slowed to a halt beside Penny Gregson on her bench.
The back door of the car opened. Lightning flickered. Three dark shapes became visible beyond the glass, then disappeared again, lost in shadow.
Penny stood, stumbled to the car, and got in. The door closed. The car drove off, slowly.
Shep blinked, not believing what he was seeing. The girl had not moved from the bench since he had dropped her off. No call for help had been made.
He started the car, turned on the lights, and followed.
The sedan never changed its speed. If the driver knew that Shep was behind him, he gave no indication, gave no sign of panic. Either stupid as a nail, or very, very smart, Shep realized. He had long ago learned not to underestimate those he hunted. He decided on very, very smart, and let himself drop back a little.
The sedan stayed away from the freeways, and instead took a bus route through downtown, crossing the river at Central, and heading west. Shep followed.
Fifteen minutes after picking up Penny Gregson, the sedan entered an old neighborhood of large, two-story wood-frame houses, tall trees, and ornamental street lamps. The heavy rain was knocking leaves from the trees. They fell in lazy spirals. Shep turned off his lights and moved closer. When the sedan came to a stop, he pulled over.
He watched as the doors opened, and Penny Gregson and three others came out. A woman, he saw. A fat man. Perhaps a child. He could not be sure. The four of them walked up to a house where a single light burned in an upstairs window. They entered the front door without knocking.
Shep moved closer. As he did so, the upstairs light went out. The house was completely dark.
Shep turned off the engine and watched. He watched for an hour. The house remained dark.
This was a surprise. A big surprise, and he wasn’t ready for it. Four in the car, possibly more in the house. A major payoff. Maybe he’d hit Grand Central for these bastards. Maybe even the one who’d done Jeff. Waiting for him.
In the trunk he had an assortment of firearms, including a fully automatic Uzi, and three Canadian Armed Forces grenades bought at a very high price from a dealer in Chicago. He could make a splash if he went in now. Surprise the hell out of them.
Or blow everything.
In his mind, Jeff’s voice goaded him. Get ‘em, Shep. Get ‘em for me. Look what they did to me! Just look what those freaks did to me!
Shuddering, Shep closed his eyes, squeezed them tight, until the voice faded.
Reluctantly, he started the car, then pulled out into the street. He memorized the address as he drove away. This was something he needed to think through.
Evan was in the kitchen when Bonnie got up. He was looking through the fridge with a perplexed look on his face.
“Sorry, not much in there,” she said.
He closed the fridge and sat at the table.
“I’m hungry,” he said.
“Me too. We’ve got to go out and get groceries, so why don’t we have breakfast at the mall?”
He shrugged. “I guess.”
“How’s the hand?”
“Sore. Itchy.”
“I’ll pick up some dressings for that, too, and some hydrogen peroxide.”
Evan hid the hand behind his back.
“Just give me a minute to get dressed, and then we’ll go.”
The morning was fresh, cool, wonderful. Last night’s rain had taken the dust and the humidity out of the air. Both would return later in the day, but for now the sky was a mixture of bright blue sky, and high white clouds. A cool breeze caressed the city.
They stopped at a Perkins on the way to the mall. Evan ordered a plate of pancakes and Canadian bacon. Bonnie ordered bacon and eggs, a carafe of coffee, and juice.
Well, Evan seemed better today. More relaxed. As he ate his pancakes, picking little pieces off each one, he smiled at her. But they did not talk. Bonnie did not know what to say to him. She had so much she wanted to say, and yet it didn’t seem like the right time. Things to explain to him, about herself. Things he had a right to know.
She was into her second cup of coffee when she realized that Evan had stopped eating and was slowly surveying the restaurant.
“What is it?”
He shook his head. His eyes moved from table to table, from face to face. He looked frightened.
“Who are you looking for?”
He looked down at his
plate and sighed. “Nobody.”
But as they left the restaurant, he peered over his shoulder, face white, as if afraid they were being followed.
At the mall, they took their own sweet time walking around. This early in the morning it was fairly quiet. At a camera store, Evan fiddled with a telescope on display.
“I’ve got one of these,” he said.
“If you want, we can go and get it.”
He shook his head adamantly and left the store. Bonnie followed.
“Evan, why don’t you want to go home?”
He shrugged.
“Did something happen there?”
“I don’t remember.”
They rode the escalator to the upper level. Evan peered through the window of a computer store, then walked away. Again, he seemed watchful. Bonnie couldn’t help herself, and was soon looking over her shoulder.
It was only as they reached the escalator for going down that she realized she had seen the same face at least three times. Once downstairs, once up here, and once … where?
She shook her head, angry. Evan had made her paranoid.
“Would you mind telling me what we’re looking for?”
“Nothing.”
They stepped onto the escalator. Bonnie glanced over her shoulder for the round, sweating face she had seen. It was gone. A large man, fat, with a slightly open mouth. Had he been mentally challenged? Maybe. She certainly shouldn’t have been staring at him.
Downstairs, she took Evan by the arm and led him to a bench. She sat him down.
“Evan, tell me what you’re looking for, what you’re frightened about, or we’re going to sit here for the rest of the day. I mean it.”
Tears welled in his eyes, and she felt instantly guilty.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Nothing.”
Bonnie took a deep breath. She made herself calm down. She was overreacting, and she was making Evan nervous. Of course the boy was acting strangely. His father was missing, he’d lost a finger in a car accident, and he was stuck with a mother who had abandoned him as a baby. And now she was questioning him like he was a criminal.
“Listen, I’m sorry. Come on. We’ll get the groceries, and then I’ll buy you an ice-cream cone, okay?”
“I feel sick.”
“Sick how?”
“Just sick.”
She felt his forehead. Cold, sweaty. He looked pale again.
“Groceries, then home. We’ll get you to bed. I’ll call a doctor.”
The boy swallowed hard.
“You can sit in the car while I shop, if you want.”
He shook his head. Bonnie stood and held out her hand. He stood, but would not take it. He walked on.
She was not ready for this. She had no experience at being a mother.
Frustrated, she walked after him and took his hand. He didn’t pull away.
She rushed the groceries, picking up many things she did not need, or want, simply to entertain Evan. But the boy was not interested. He kept looking over his shoulder, and soon, again, Bonnie was doing the same.
In the parking lot, as they walked to the car, Evan froze. A row of cars away, keeping pace with them, was the fat man. Or perhaps he was a very large boy. Bonnie couldn’t be sure. Definitely disabled, she realized. Saliva dribbled from the corners of his mouth.
Evan started to tremble.
Bonnie gripped his hand and pulled him along. At the car, she quickly loaded the groceries, then got in and started the engine. The man/boy was standing a few yards away, watching them.
“Jesus,” she whispered.
In the passenger seat, Evan was crying. For the first time, Bonnie felt fear. A knot in her stomach, reaching tendrils through her body.
She stepped on the gas, and squealed out of the parking space. In the rearview mirror she watched as the boy/man walked away, feet shuffling. Perhaps, she thought, he had been as frightened as she and Evan. To be stared at like that.
“Oh, God.”
But she was still trembling as she turned out of the parking lot and into traffic.
After getting Evan settled, Bonnie dug around in her purse until she found the card that Lieutenant Peterson had given her at the hospital. She sat at the kitchen table and dialed the number. After two operators, she finally got through.
“Miss Laine, how can I help you?”
“I don’t know if I should even be calling you,” Bonnie said, “but I don’t know what else to do.”
“Is it something to do with the boy?”
“I think so. I’m not sure.”
She told him about their shopping trip, about Evan’s strange behavior, and then, reluctantly, about her own feeling that they had been watched.
“Can you describe the man?”
“I don’t even know if he was a man, not really. Maybe a boy. I thought something was wrong with him. Mentally. And now that I think about it, I’m convinced he was harmless. You know, he thought we were looking at him, or something like that.”
“Even so, describe him.”
Bonnie did so. “Do you really think there’s anything to it?”
“Probably not. But we haven’t located your ex yet, and that’s strange. I don’t like the feel of all of this. Did you know that the Laws hadn’t seen either Harris or Evan in nearly a month? That’s unusual for them.”
Bonnie hadn’t known.
“Anyway, it’s good you called. Call again if you have any problem. Especially if Evan says something. Maybe he has an idea where his dad went.”
“He says he doesn’t know.”
“That’s what he told us. Do you believe him?”
That was a strange question, Bonnie thought. “Why would he lie?”
“To protect his father.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just a thought. What if Harris was drunk, or worse?”
“I won’t believe that. You don’t know Harris. No, that’s crazy.”
“Just a thought. Don’t be angry. And again, call if you need anything.”
When she hung up, she felt worse than she had before. Even the two beers in the fridge didn’t make her feel any better.
Chapter Four
Shep leaned his head out the car’s open window and let the hot afternoon breeze hit his face. Humidity high, too. A bad day to be stuck in the car. Sweat trickled down his neck. Another stakeout.
He watched the house on Empire Street, half a block away. Since he had arrived, before eight in the morning, there had been no activity. A few pedestrians passing on the street, walking to the bus stop. None of them had stared suspiciously at the house, which they would have done if it was considered some kind of shady joint. Whoever these freaks were, they were unobtrusive. The house was well maintained. Good paint job, clean yard, neat grass. Nothing to complain about.
What the hell were they doing in there?
A hunter’s greatest virtue is patience, he thought. Set up the blind and wait. The game will come to you.
He had stopped at a Donut Palace on the way into town and had bought himself a Thermos full of coffee. He poured himself the last of it, now lukewarm, and drank.
He thought about Jeff. He thought about Jeff seven years ago, back in Chicago. He’d been a great kid. A great kid brother.
Even when he’d run off and left Shep to look after Mom, he’d loved the kid. Jeff needed to run around a bit. Always had. Shep was the stable one.
Jeff had run up to Minneapolis, and he’d met a girl.
Shep remembered the letters.
Her name was Dawn. Jesus Christ, imagine a chick named Dawn. “The crack of Dawn really does look good,” Jeff had written. Shep smiled at the memory. And there had been the photograph of the girl, neatly tucked into one of the letters. Her looks had made Shep ache. Long blond hair, eyes so blue you could swim in them, a willowy body that looked like it was begging to be touched. But not by a cop. Never by a cop.
Jeff had always been the lucky one with women.
An
d then the letters had gotten strange. Jeff had started to meet Dawn’s friends. Weirdos, he’d said.
Shep hadn’t let Mom read those letters. There was a tone about them he hadn’t liked. A fear, a confusion.
Then Jeff’s final letter. Hastily scrawled on stationary from the Thrifty Scott Motel off I-94. The words were burned into Shep’s memory.
Shep, she’s not human. She’s an animal, Shep. I’ve been screwing an animal. No, not even an animal. Something else. Something worse. And she’s not alone. They’re everywhere, Shep. I’ve seen them. I’ve seen the things they do.
Jesus, Shep.
I’m going back to the creche. They’ve taken something from me, and I’m going to get it back. I wish I could tell you about it. I will, some day. I promise.
Don’t tell Mom. Jesus, don’t do that.
I’ll call, or I’ll write. Soon.
The letter had scared the shit out of Shep. Jeff was going crazy. His kid brother had flipped.
He’d waited for the call, or the letter. And eventually it had come. But not from Jeff.
It came from the Minnesota State Police. They’d found Jeff’s body at the side of a road, north of the Twin Cities, in an area frequented by hunters. He’d been mauled pretty bad by an animal of some sort. He had a gun with him. Had Jeff been hunting, they wanted to know?
They said they were looking for a big cat, or a wild dog, something tamed and turned nasty. Something.
Mom had grieved. And Shep never told her about the letters, about Dawn, or about Jeff’s fear.
He’d kept it to himself. He’d let it lie and fester and grow, until by the time Mom had died earlier this year, he was so full of hate there was nothing to do but resign and come looking. It was tough quitting the force, but there was nothing else for it.
He and Jeff had hunted together as kids. Now Shep was hunting alone. Hunting for something not human. An animal that killed other humans. An animal that had killed his kid brother.
Nightscape Page 3
