Borderland (34 page)

Nolan
thought: Fuck it. I'm not above a little maiming.

He
squeezed the trigger and made a hole in Schwarz's meaty right arm. Blood
spurted.

"That
was fun for me, Schwarz. How about you?"

The big
man stared, seemingly transfixed by the blood flowing down his arm. He dipped a
finger and brought it to his lips. His white smile turned bloody. He dipped
more and rubbed his mouth until his lips were bright red. Then he glared at
Myra. "You don't ever tell me no. Not ever. I can have anyone I want
without havin' to ask."

Nolan
bared his teeth and aimed for the man's left kneecap. Schwarz crumpled and went
to his good knee. He looked at Nolan in amazement. "What'd you do that
for?"

"The
choice is yours," Nolan replied, still in the same tight voice.
"Either drag your ass away from her or find out what pissing in a bag is
like."

Schwarz
laughed and began to pull himself away. He pulled himself right into a
white-faced Cal, who charged past Nolan to send a foot into those grinning red
and white teeth. Schwarz's head snapped back into a maple dresser, teeth flew,
and the big man slumped into unconsciousness. Cal howled with rage and kicked
him twice more before turning to the bed and his mother. Nolan saw Myra's
horrified expression and sternly ordered the boy downstairs to call the
sheriff. Mouth still quivering, Cal hesitated only a moment before turning
away.

Nolan
covered Myra with the sheet and had untied her when Cal returned to inform him
that the landline was dead. The three of them looked at each other. To her
credit, Myra was not hysterical. Nolan gripped her hand and studied her face. A
little dazed maybe, but not hysterical. "I'll take Schwarz into town and
call from there," he told her. "Will you be all right?"

"She
didn't help me," Myra said in a hoarse, cracking voice. "I thought
she would help me."

Nolan
and Cal exchanged a look.

Myra saw
it. Her voice hardened. "I'll be okay. Just get him out of here."

"All
right," Nolan said. "Cal, go down to the barn and get me some baling
wire. I'm not taking any chances with this crazy bastard." He frowned
then. "Where are the girls?"

"Still
hiding," Cal said. "I'll tell them it's okay to come out now. Mom,
are you really all right?"

Myra
nodded. "Go, Cal."

When he
was gone, Nolan squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, Myra. I didn't see him. He
must've left his truck on the road and come up to the place on foot."

"I
woke up and. . ." Her voice faltered and she paused to regain control.
"He was licking my skin and talking about how I was going to taste…” She
squeezed her eyes shut. "We have to talk, Nolan. Cal and I are going to
leave here. I can't stay another day, not for anything. But we have to talk
first. There are some things you need to tell Vic. He's—"

Nolan
took her by the chin and forced her to look at him. "Tell me when I come
back, okay? I'll be here as quick as I can. Don't run off on me, Myra. I mean
it."

Myra
gripped his fingers and took a deep breath. "Be careful. I…don't want
anything to happen to you."

He
smiled. "That makes two of us."

In less
than half an hour he was driving toward town with the top up. Schwarz filled up
the backseat. He squirmed and wriggled and grunted under his gag, making Nolan
glad he had wrapped a tarpaulin around the man to catch the blood. He thought
of covering Schwarz's face, but he didn't enjoy the thought of the man
suffocating to death in the backseat of his Buick.

The
moment he was close to Schwarz he had smelled booze beneath the blood. It
explained a lot of the asshole's behavior. Not all, but a lot.

He
passed up Jinx's empty diner and drove on to the gas station. He left his
pistol in the front seat and got out of the car to approach the glass front of
the station.

He
nearly pulled his arm out of its socket with his first grab at the front door.

Now who
the hell would close a gas station in the middle of a Friday afternoon?

Tom Hamm
probably, since the sign on the window named him owner. Nolan cupped his hands
around his eyes and peered through the glass. There was the phone, on the far
wall beside the entrance to the garage. He turned away then he whirled back. In
that garage was a car obscured by a tarpaulin much like the one claiming most
of Gil Schwarz at the moment. It was a small car, everything covered but the
front bumper and a tag that read CARIMAC.

Nolan
frowned in confusion. His skin felt suddenly clammy. He knew that tag. He had
picked it up for her.

He
turned away from the glass again and saw a face watching him from a window
across the street. The barber shop. The former lawman, Ed something. Ed was
sure to have a phone. Nolan started over. He needed to make three calls: the
sheriff, to take care of Gil Schwarz; Al Dunwoodie, to keep watch on Myra and
the kids while he was gone and Carrie MacArthur, his ex-roommate, just to be
sure he wasn't losing his mind.

CHAPTER 30

Vic sat behind
the wheel of the Cadillac and stared at the white handkerchief protruding from
the gas station attendant's hip pocket. His mind was racing. He had opened the
trunk, nearly pissed his pants, and slammed the lid. He knew that unconscious
woman. He had watched Nolan dump that woman back in Kansas City, about a
hundred years ago. Now she was bound, gagged, and in the trunk of Jinx Lahr's
car.

Vic
didn't know what to do. He had stayed too long in the café. Jinx was probably
awake now and wondering where the hell he was. And Vic knew why. He had the car
with the girl in the trunk, the girl Jinx had gotten up three times in the
night to what? Sedate her? Get rid of her? She wasn't dead, Vic knew that. Her
blindfold had slipped off and he had seen her lids flutter in the tenth of
second it had taken him to recognize her face and the gravity of his situation.

"Air
hose is free now," the gas station attendant said. "You can pull on
over there. You're right, that back left tire is looking awful low."

Wanna
know why? Vic had the hysterical urge to say. Not only are there two
five-gallon lard pails back there, but there's a very bruised, unconscious
redhead wearing nothing but a lacy bra, a pair of yellow nylon panties, and the
latest in designer bind-and-gag apparel.

He
started the engine and pulled over to the air hose. He was afraid to open the
glove compartment and look for a tire gauge. No telling what might be in there.

He said,
"Okay, now," to himself more than a dozen times while he put air in
the tire. It was supposed to prompt him, lead him into an idea of what the fuck
he was supposed to do about this. But he couldn't think. Why the hell couldn't
he think?

His
brain felt like…white noise. Like nothing. Like the commercial on TV where the
hip, unseen guy drops the egg into the frying pan and waits till the fat
sizzles and the white stuff looks yucky before saying something like,
"This is your brain on drugs."

Only
this was different, because Vic wasn't on any...

Oh yeah.
Wait a minute. Yeah, you are, son. You definitely are… remember those little
white pills in your pocket. Doc's custom-made dope.

Sonofabitch.
Now this was something to think about. How could he have been so dense? First barbiturates
and then amphetamines. The calmness, the relaxation, the paranoia, the
unreasonable anger—it all added up to the big DD: Drug Dependency. Ex-Vice
himself, sucked into the dope trap as easily as a peer-pressured little
middle-schooler.

"You
stupid sonofabitch," he said to himself. And it wasn't drug-induced
paranoia—well, maybe a little, he admitted to himself—that told him he was on
to something here. If only he could think what it might be? It was bad,
whatever it was.

He had
to help Carrie. He knew that. But what about Jinx? If he abandoned him, Jinx
could make a phone call back to Denke and maybe—No, don't think about that.
Nolan would protect the girls with his life if he had to. Wulf was like that.

"Oh,
shit," Vic groaned. He slung the air hose aside and crawled back behind
the wheel. How could he ever look Nolan in the eye again?

"Wanna
move it, buddy?" someone shouted from a car behind him.

Vic
started the engine and drove out of the gas station. The motel was just down
the block, but he wasn't ready to go back there. Maybe he should ask somebody
where the police station was located. Or…wait! An anonymous phone call. Tell
the local boys in blue where they could find a skinny old fart with a suitcase
full of cocaine. Get Jinx arrested and drive like hell back to Denke. Maybe the
rest of the boys in town were okay. Maybe it was just Jinx.

Help
Carrie. Yeah. He needed to get her out of there as soon as possible. But she'd
want to go to the cops right away. And she'd want to know what the hell Vic was
doing with the guy who had kidnapped her, which brought to mind the questions
of just why, where, and how the hell she had been kidnapped in the first place.
But very good questions that they were, Vic couldn't think about them right
now. He had to think about what he was going to do with her. She probably
wouldn't be out that much longer, since Jinx had been unable to visit her last
night. Or maybe he had and Vic had missed it. Jinx was one sly old dog.

He
passed the motel and decided to drive around the block to give himself more
time to think.

Yeah,
Jinx was sly all right. Hey, boys, let's make old Vic our buddy, fuck him up on
drugs, and then get him to sell our cocaine for us. Whaddaya say? Sound like a
good deal? He was a cop, right? It'll work.

For
sure, he had fallen right in the family pool and added his piss to everyone
else's. Yeah, they were all involved. It wasn't just Jinx. What he needed to do
now was find out how Carrie fit in. He needed to…okay, now it's coming. Right.
He needed to stop somewhere and call Jinx, tell him some story about meeting
someone in the café with an Albuquerque connection that could save them a hell
of a lot of time. He had to chat it up with this guy and get in good, so he
would be gone another hour or so. Then he would find some secluded place to
pull over and talk to Carrie.

Okay.
We've got a plan, son. Let's roll with it.

He
stopped at a convenience store, bought aspirins then used a phone book to find
the motel number. Jinx's voice sounded like a rifle report when he answered.
Vic forced himself to sound calm as he went into his story. He wanted to fly
off at the sonofabitch right then and there, but he didn't dare. Jinx's anger
was sharp and icy. He was buying the story, but he was still pissed about
waking up and finding himself alone with no keys and no car.

"Lay
off, gramps," Vic snapped finally, no longer able to help himself.
"You wanted me to do this and I'm doing it. Tuck in your hemorrhoids and
watch yourself some TV. If this works out we can go home early."

He hung
up then, right in the middle of Jinx calling him something that started with a
long, sibilant s. When he got back in the car he heard a serious bumping sound
in the back. Either she was awake, or the lard in those pails had come to
sudden greasy life.

Vic put
the car in drive and headed out. He kept his eyes open, looking for a park, a
deserted garage or anywhere he could stop for a while. He settled for a burned
out warehouse on the edge of town. He drove the car completely inside and
turned off the engine. His legs trembled slightly as he got out of the car. His
hand shook as he tried to fit the key into the trunk lock. The lid creaked as
it rose.

Carrie
blinked in the dim light. Her head turned slightly then she saw him. Her eyes
grew moist at first as she recognized him then the skin of her face paled in
sudden alarm. Vic swallowed and reached for her. "Carrie, I'm here to help
you, not hurt you."

He
debated whether to leave her gagged until he finished with what he wanted to
say—he had seen her go off on Nolan— but his fingers were already moving to
pull the tape from her mouth.

She
sobbed once and it was a terrible, agonized sound that made the flesh on Vic's
arms prickle.

He
worked on the knots at her hands and feet and then stumbled and nearly fell
into the trunk with her when she clamped a hand around his wrist and pulled.
After righting himself, he put his arms beneath her and lifted her out to carry
her to the front seat. Her crying came from deep in her middle, a shuddering,
heartbreaking sound that reminded Vic of the way Christa cried when Connie's
coffin was lowered into the…

"Carrie,"
he said. "Carrie, it's okay. You're safe now. You're going to be
fine."

She
didn't look at him. Her face stayed in the crook of his neck. Vic checked her
for broken bones then he felt the blood drain from his face. The insides of her
thighs were mottled with purple bruises in the shapes of finger imprints. The
crotch of her yellow underwear was brownish red with dried blood.