Borderland (29 page)

Denver.
A drive from Kansas City to Denver wouldn't necessarily include a foray into
Denke territory. Had she told anyone she was coming this way? Was someone in a
neighboring town expecting her? Jinx didn't know, and because he didn't, he
thought it unwise to kill her. The men in the gray Buick were different. They
were up to no good and they deserved what Gil had done to them. Cal's
grandmother couldn't exactly call the cops and report that her kidnappers had
disappeared, now could she?

Miss
Carrie MacArthur was another story. At the moment she was blindfolded and still
in a deep sleep in his bedroom. During the night he toyed with the idea of hauling
her to Santa Fe in the trunk of his Caddy and dumping her somewhere when Vic
wasn't looking. Gil was the only man she had seen. The moment the giant doofus
brought her in Jinx summoned Doc to give her an injection to keep her
unconscious. That morning, however, before Jinx had time to prepare another
syringe she woke up and asked where she was, as if it made a difference. Jinx
said, "You're in Colorado." Then he taped her mouth (no more rag gags
after the ingenious suicide of Ed's last victim—it had ruined everything) and
gave her the needle, knowing she believed his lie from the incredulous arch of
her brows above the blindfold.

Jinx
chuckled a little at that. He didn’t know insurance investigators could look
incredulous about anything. Mostly they just nodded and wrote things down with
one expression: sneering disbelief.

She
would really have something to get worked up about when she woke up on the side
of the road somewhere in the wilds of New Mexico. Even the cops would be
confused when she told them about the big bad man who had kidnapped and
molested her on a Kansas highway; how he had drugged her, stolen her little
car, and dumped her in Colorado.

"So
how did you get to New Mexico, ma'am?"

"How
did… where?"

If the
cops didn't haul her off to the nuthouse they'd probably think she was a victim
of some kind of interstate crime ring. There would be no connection with Denke
or the surrounding area. No connection and with any luck, no investigation.

The plan
was feasible, Jinx decided. The MG was in excellent shape, a real good-looking
car. Prissy Coral Nenndorf took one look at the cute little thing and asked for
it to be painted baby blue and given to her. Jinx laughed right in her painted
face. The sorry cow was an excellent example of why women needed to be kept out
of the loop. What did these people think with? Cars were like clothes:
traceable evidence.

He
looked lovingly at his meat grinder. Nothing traceable came out of that big
metal baby. He was lucky to have it. Everything else from the original Denke
home place now belonged to young Victor. It seemed sacrilege, but there wasn't
much Jinx could do to alter the situation. The old home place had been in
Kimmler hands as far back as he could remember. Exactly why, he wasn't sure,
but that's the way it had always been. He really enjoyed his Sunday visit,
looking at the old bathtub and remembering the old stories. If he had been left
alone for a minute he would've liked to hunt around for the family Bible old
Darwin claimed to have lost a few years ago, about the time the Callahan’s
showed up. Jinx never believed a word. One didn't lose a family Bible, not even
Darwin Kimmler.

Jinx had
seen the Bible only once, in his youth. He wanted to see it again. He might
even like to preserve it in plastic or something, just the way it should have
been preserved and made available to those of his generation.

Things
were different now, of course. The bloodlines had been polluted over the years
and there were folks in town who knew only the most basic facts about the
history of Denke: the boarding house, the adoptions, and the community farm
agreement. But that Bible would provide affirmation of Jinx's faith in the
Denke way of doing things. In his opinion, it was a way that shouldn't be
teetering on the edge of extinction. Times were still hard and people were even
harder. The government wanted you to beg for help when crops failed. Banks
looked forward to it.

If
people like Ed Kisner wanted to cave in and let a bunch of overpaid congressmen
decide how their lives were going to be lived, then let them do it. They would
all end up living in poverty. But not Jinx. He saw himself as a modern-day
Robin Hood, taking from the rich to give to the poor. Right down to grinding up
the wealthy bones and healthy flesh of the rich and adding it to a favorite
fertilizer recipe.

Nobody
ate the flesh any more. Not openly, anyway. There were times in the past when
victims from the hunt had been eaten to ward off starvation, but not since
Wilbur and Adelaide Denke perished of kuru had human flesh been eaten with any
regularity. Others in town died after Wilbur and Adelaide, naturally, since
kuru's incubation period spanned a number of years. People in New Guinea were
still being diagnosed as having the fatal disease thirty years after the last
report of cannibalism. And since the virus was transmitted by eating flesh,
Jinx supposed he himself could someday fall prey to the disease. But he didn't
think he would. And if he did, then he had the satisfaction of knowing that
many more besides the overtly cannibalistic Gil Schwarz would join him.

Jinx was
adding flesh to their fertilizer, after all, and the people who ate Denke crops
were ultimately getting more than just rich wheat, soybean, and corn. They were
getting rich pricks that drove Maserati cars. Rich whores with scented panties
and diamond studs in their ears. Rich, greedy people who threw their money away
on fancy automobiles, expensive jewelry, electronics and tons of weed and white
powder that convinced them they felt as rich, smart, and powerful as they
looked.

There
was poetic justice in the Denke way, Jinx always felt. And it was nature's way,
too. Lions, bears, fish, insects—over a thousand species were known to practice
cannibalism routinely. Those that did grew larger and developed more quickly.

He
didn't know what the hell had happened in the giant Gil Schwarz's case.
Everything grew but his brain.

The
local story said that Wilbur Denke himself had been a big man, and was nearly
seventy years old when he succumbed to kuru. He couldn't have known what the
hell kuru was, but Wilbur had somehow realized that his disease was related to
his diet, for upon his deathbed he had declared that all flesh-eating should
cease unless it was vital to survival. Supposedly the Denke line had originated
in Poland and later migrated to Germany. It was there, after a particularly
bitter winter, that Wilbur first tasted flesh. Then he married Adelaide and
came to the United States, where they found the winters just as bitter, food
and money just as scarce. He soon resumed the old ways: preying on the unwary
as a means to survive. But surviving in such a manner soon became a way of
life. And then an occupation, the Denke way of doing things.

Jinx had
done much research on the Denke name, and to his delight he had found notation
of a Carl Denke from Ziebice, Poland, who had practiced cannibalism from 1918
to 1924 in almost the exact method Wilbur himself had used. Carl Denke ran a
rooming house and ate nearly thirty people before he was caught. Carl did lack
the finesse of old Wilbur— Carl liked to pickle chopped up parts in large vats
of brine. And his exit from this world was less than noble: he hanged himself
with his suspenders while in jail. But Jinx was sure he had found a relative
and proof that the Denke way of doing things was as old as the Denke name. As
it turned out, he could prove no relation to Carl Denke, but he remained sure
of his initial impression. Carl was family.

More
than once Jinx considered having his own name legally changed to Denke, but his
mother and Jack Stade had been against it. Jack Stade, Doc's father, helped
raise Jinx after his father's death. Jinx never liked the man, but he respected
him. That's what one did: one respected one's elders. One listened and took
heed.

Too
damned bad they didn't teach that anymore. It was all he could do Sunday to
keep from backhanding that smart-mouthed little Christa in the Lincoln's
backseat. Vic would have to do something about her. God knew how Jinx would
like to teach her a few lessons, but the opportunity had yet to arise. Wait
till she started school and he showed up at the bus stop to give her a ride
home some day. He'd give her something to mouth off about then.

He
chuckled and forced himself to concentrate on the tasks at hand. The clothes in
the bag, the fertilizer plant, and a quick dash home to visit the unconscious
Carrie. Her flesh wasn't young and pink, her limbs weren't small and delicate
the way he liked, but she had all the necessary parts for the job. Maybe he'd
sprinkle some powder or something on her to give her that sweet little girl
smell. Then he had to pack and make some hasty arrangements with a few of the
boys. It was going to be a long trip tomorrow.

CHAPTER 25

Vic checked
his supply of pills for the third time and hesitated only a second before
slipping one into his mouth. He had taken one an hour ago but it wasn't
working. His fingers shook so badly he could hardly fasten the latches on his
suitcase. He was having second thoughts about this cocaine business. He was
thinking it was stupid to risk everything he had gained for some stupid
goddamned seed money. But… it wasn't only seed money, was it? No. It was much
more. It was the money promised for the hay in his barn. The money to pay his
weekly salary. The money to replace a milk cow. Town money.

Dirty
money.

But hey,
fuck it. Right? All money was dirty when it came right down to it. And the
higher the amount, the dirtier it got.

So stop
being such a goddamned coward, he told himself.

You've
done this before, remember. Only this time you're helping someone besides
yourself. You're helping an entire town. If that's wrong, then the system is
fucked. It's already fucked. When they take a good cop, a decent family man down
on his luck, and toss his ass into the street for trying to stay alive, then
something is wrong.

Convinced,
Vic hefted up his suitcase. He was met at the bedroom door by a very pissed
Nolan. Nolan glanced at the suitcase and swore under his breath.

"Why
am I the last one to hear about this, Vic? Where the hell are you going?"

Vic put
down his suitcase. "New Mexico. I'll be back late Sunday night. I thought
Myra would tell you."

"She
did tell me," Nolan said. "About five minutes ago. What's going
on?"

"Nothing.
I'm just taking a little trip with Jinx. Four days, Wulf. Nothing to get
excited about."

Nolan's
mouth tightened. "Well, fuck me for being mildly curious. You beg me to
stay and then you ride off on a strange horse. What's in New Mexico? What are
you planning to do down there?"

"Town
business," said Vic. "Jinx Lahr asked me along and I'm going, all
right?"

"No,
it's not all right. I'm not a goddamned babysitter, you know."

"I
never said you were. Myra will be watching the girls." Vic took a deep
breath then. "Feel free to leave any time you like. I was pretty screwed
up when I asked you to stay. I'm all right now."

Nolan
was staring at him. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Hey,
fuck you," Vic said, suddenly angry. Nolan had no right to look at him
like that. Like he was a patient about to escape a mental ward. "You wanna
go, then go."

"Sure,"
Nolan said. "And leave Myra here alone with the kids. What happens if
Grandma's boys show up while you're gone?"

"They
won't."

"How
do you know?"

Vic
picked up his suitcase. "Because I haven't seen the slimy bastards for
days now. You haven't either."

"That's
true," Nolan said. "But I've seen their car. It's in Al's yard, beat
to metal hell. And there's blood on the floorboard."

Vic
paused. "You saw it?"

"Yeah.
But that's not the best part. Our huge horny friend, Gil Schwarz, was the man
who delivered it to Al."

"Schwarz?"
Vic frowned. "Al knows him?"

"Nope.
He described the man to me. It was Schwarz."

Vic
relaxed. "You don't know that. Not for certain. Why haven't you said
anything before now?"

"I
wanted to test a theory of Al's," Nolan explained. "He thought it
might be a trick to get us to lay back. Now I'm not sure. It doesn't—"

"Look,"
Vic interrupted. "We'll talk about this when I come back if you're still
here. If you're not, fine." He turned his back on the other man. "I
need to go. I'm running late."

“Got
your phone with you?”

“Yeah,
why?”

"Because
I'm going to take a picture of Gil Schwarz for Al to identify. Maybe then you'll
realize I'm not just whistling out my ass here. Something is rotten in Denke,
pal. I don't know what it is yet, but I'll figure it out. When I do, just make
sure your shit isn't adding to the stink."