Fat Tuesday (23 page)

The jostling of being lifted from the van roused her. Her back and shoulder felt as though they'd been attacked by a thousand vicious bees.

She was aware of being carried. She opened her eyes.

It was dark, there were stars overhead. Millions of them. More than she had ever seen. Their brilliance amazed her. Wherever she was, it wasn't near the city. The sky wasn't muddied by manmade lights. The air was cold, but moisture laden.

"Dredd! Dredd!"

She recognized the voice as Father Kevin's. She also heard rapid footfalls on hollow-sounding boards and realized that he was carrying her across what she supposed was a bridge or a pier.

At the end of it was a strange-looking structure, which was actually several buildings that had been seemingly tacked together with no previous planning as to their final form.

Standing behind a screened door was an even stranger-looking man.

He was holding a shotgun at waist level, aimed at them.

"Who's that?"

"I need your help, Dredd."

"Jeer Louise." By this time they were within a circle of pale yellow light coming from a fixture mounted high on a pole and illuminating the galerie. Apparently the man called Dredd recognized Father Kevin because he set aside the shotgun and pushed open the screened door.

"What in tarnation are you doing way out here? What happened to her?"

"Gunshot."

"Dead?"

"No."

'"How bad?"

"Bad enough. Where should I put her?"

'"I only got one bed, and you know where it's at."

They went past Dredd on their way inside, and she caught a whiff of smoke. His beard seemed to be smoldering. Of course she was hallucinating. She saw animals and reptiles jutting from the walls with fangs bared. Jars of cloudy solutions crowded shelves.

Unidentifiable skeletons were frozen in menacing stances. Skins and hides brushed against her. She saw an owl mounted on a perch and didn't realize he was alive until he swiveled his head and fixed his yellow eyes on her, then spread his wings in vexation.

Father Kevin turned sideways in order to pass through a narrow doorway into a small room. A bare bulb dangled from an electrical cord that had been tacked to the rough-plank ceiling. Its meager light cast eerie shadows on the walls, which were covered with yellowing newspaper.

He laid her down in the center of a narrow bed. The bedding smelled musty, like it hadn't been laundered in a long time, if ever. She would have protested if she'd had the strength.

"I hardly recognized you," Dredd said to Father Kevin.

"I hardly recognize myself these days."

"Who's he?"

From the room through which they'd just come, she could hear Father Gregory crying plaintively."Later," Father Kevin replied.

"He looks like he's been run through a tree shredder."

"If I don't kill him myself, he'll survive. It's her I'm worried about."

"Well, let me take a look-see."

Father Kevin backed away and the strange man approached the bed.

Remy was too amazed to scream. His skin was tanned so darkly it hardly looked human and resembled more closely the skins she'd seen in the other room.

His face was a network of crisscrossing lines and creases, all deeply etched. He was bare-chested, but half of his torso was covered by a crinkled gray beard that reminded her of Spanish moss.

It was not on fire. He was holding a cigarette in the corner of his lips.

When he extended his callused hands toward her, she shrank from them.

His touch, however, was amazingly gentle. He eased her left shoulder up, until she was almost lying on her side. She groaned with pain and uttered a sharp cry when he probed a spot.

"Sorry, cher'," he said gruffly."I know it hurts now, but Dredd'll fix you up."

Then he tenderly rolled her onto her back again and turned away.

"You're in my light," he said crossly, pushing aside Father Kevin, who was crowding close.

"How bad is it? Is she going to be okay? Can you handle this?"

"Oh, so now you ask. After you come barging in here with a woman who's gunshot and only half conscious, and a priest who's busted up bout as bad as I've ever seen anybody. After she's bled all over my bed, now you ask me can I handle it?"

"Can you?"

" Course I can. If you'll give me time. Lucky for you it's only bird shot, but she took several pellets."

"What can I do?"

"You can stay out of my way."

Remy closed her eyes. She'd been shot?

Then, her mind working backward, she remembered everything the van breaking down, the cafe, the fight, the gun-wielding priest. Her eyes sprang open. He was standing at the edge of the bed staring down at her with eyes as unflinching as the owl's. His profanity, his fighting skills, and general demeanor belied that the priesthood was this man's chosen profession.

With a detached part of her mind, she wondered how she could have been so naive. Upon close inspection, there was nothing about him that suggested piety. He radiated an intensity that was incongruous with the grace and peace promised to those who walk with the Lord. His mouth wasn't designed for prayer. It was too hard, too cynical, better suited to coarse language. He was passionate, but not in his love of God or mankind. Even though he was standing perfectly still, he seemed to vibrate with an inner heat that frightened her. Not only for herself, but also for him.

The man he called Dredd returned, bringing with him a glass of liquid.

Father Kevin reached for it and sniffed it suspiciously."What's that?"

"Do I meddle in your business?" Dredd said, snatching the glass back.

"Look, Dredd, she's "

"She's hurt. I'm trying to make her better. But if you don't trust me, you can take her and that pathetic excuse for a parson out there and leave me be. I didn't ask to get involved in your mess. You forced it on me. Now, what's it gonna be?"

He took Father Kevin's silence for compliance."Okay then."

Turning his attention back to her, Dredd leaned down and pressed the glass to her-lips."Drink this." The liquid smelled vile. She tried to turn her head aside, but he laid his hand against her cheek and brought it back around."Come on, now. This'll make you sleep. You won't feel a thing."

He tipped the glass and she had to either swallow the foul-tasting stuff that filled her mouth, spit it out, or choke. She figured if she spit it out or choked, he'd only come back with a refill. Besides, the promise of oblivion was seductive. She drank it all.

"Good girl. You cold?" He pulled a blanket across her legs."Now, I'm gonna leave you just long enough to gather my stuff. You'll probably be asleep by the time I get back, but don't you worry. I'll take care of you. When you wake up, you'll feel a whole lot better." He patted her hand and withdrew. On his way out, he said, You asked for something to do. You can get her undressed and onto Then Dredd left the room and she was once again alone with her abductor. He sat down on the edge of the thin mattress and began undoing the buttons on her suit jacket. She was powerless to stop him.

Whatever she'd been given to drink was fast-acting and potent. Her fingertips and toes were already tingling. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open.

When he lifted her up to remove her jacket, her head lolled against his shoulder. She seemed to have no connection to the arms he pulled from the sleeves of her jacket. She winced when he pried the bloodsoaked cloth away from her skin, but the pain was no longer as fierce as it had been just minutes ago.

She felt her breasts relax against her chest and knew that he had unfastened her bra strap. Ordinarily that would have panicked her.

She lacked the energy even to let it matter.

Then he eased her back down and her eyes opened in time to see him wiping sweat from his forehead. The back of his hand, she noticed, bore four bloody scratches where she'd raked him with her nails.

The tip of his little finger touched the corner of her mouth.

"Does that hurt?"

"Who are you?"

His eyes connected with hers. After a slight hesitation, he said, "My name is Burke Basile." He continued to look at her for several seconds, then his hands moved toward her shoulders to slip off the straps of her bra.

"Don't. Please." He said, "You heard him. I've got to get you out of your clothes and onto your stomach so he can work on your back."

That wasn't what she was protesting. She tried to shake her head but wasn't sure if the command reached her muscles, or if it did, if they could obey it."Don't do this, Mr. Basile," she whispered. Giving up the struggle to keep her eyes open, she exhaled deeply, then said on a thread of breath, "He will kill you." ^ you see, Sheriff," Pinkie said expansively, "Father Kevin used ( my wife's pistol to protect her. Funny when you think about it a priest with a handgun."

The sheriff didn't seem to find it all that amusing."What's your wife doing with a handgun?"

"Over the course of my career, I've made a lot of enemies, which should come as no surprise to you. Even though Mrs. Duvall has a bodyguard, I encourage her to carry a weapon in her purse. Good thing she had it today."

The sheriff massaged his chin."I don't know, Mr. Duvall. These witnesses claim she was fighting him."

Pinkie chuckled affably."Sounds like her. My wife is headstrong and doesn't like to be told what to do. Father Kevin was trying to remove her from the scene, but she wanted to stay and defend Father Gregory.

She feels a lot of compassion for him because of his ... let's be kind and call it a weakness.

"That's the way she is. Always looking out for the underdog and ready to take on a bully. Frankly, I'm grateful to Father Kevin for jumping in the way he did. It was quick thinking on his part to get her out of here. I have a lot to thank him for."

'"You're sure they're taking her on back home?"

"Certain." Pinkie stuck out his hand."I can't say that it's been a pleasure, but it's good to know that over here in Jefferson Parish, y'all know how to respond quickly to a crisis situation."

"Thank you, Mr. Duvall. We try."

"Good night." Pinkie headed for the car.

"Say, one more thing, Mr. Duvall: How come the priest bopped your man there in the head?"

"I'm sure Father Kevin was frustrated with him for letting things get out of hand." He glanced toward the car, then added tightly, "A matter I intend to address immediately." He waved once again as he climbed into the front seat.

"Where to?" Bardo asked.

Pinkie was tempted to strike out in the direction the van had taken, but after dark, without knowing where they were going, they could drive for hours on these back roads and accomplish nothing except to get hopelessly lost."My office."

Bardo took off in the direction of the city."What did you tell Barney five back there?"

"I made up some bullshit story."

"And he bought it?"

"I didn't give him a choice. If I'd have let him treat this like a kidnapping, he would have called in the FBI."

"Bad for our business."

"Very. Besides, those feds usually can't find their ass with both hands. I'm better off handling this myself."

Bardo glanced over his shoulder into the backseat."At least you weren't charged with murder. I stopped you just in time."

Errol was hunkered in a corner of the backseat, still looking shaken from his recent brush with death and a post-traumatic bout of vomiting.

Pinkie had been within a blink of pulling the trigger when Bardo stopped him. He'd wrestled the.38 from Pinkie's hand and reasoned with him until his temper was under control.

"Not that I don't want to kill you," he'd shouted to Errol, who was by then heaving into the dead weeds at the side of the building."The only reason I'm sparing your life is because I need your help to find them."

It was then that the sheriff had approached Pinkie and introduced himself. He shared what his investigating officers had learned.

"The clerk was so shaken he could hardly communicate with the nine-oneone operator, so my boys didn't know what the hell they were walking into.

Once they got to talking to these folks, they soon realized it was more than a routine disturbance call. Bad as I hate to tell you this, Mr. Duvall, looks like your wife's been kidnapped."

After an hour of debate, Pinkie had finally convinced the sheriff that the witnesses were hysterical and hadn't actually seen what they had claimed. That was one of Duvall's specialties. He'd mastered the technique in hundreds of criminal cases. Witnesses who first swore to one thing recanted their entire testimony after being cross-examined by Pinkie Duvall.

"What about the mechanic?" the sheriff had asked."He says the priest showed up here yesterday dressed in ordinary clothes and asked how he could rig a hose to bust."

Pinkie drew the sheriff aside and pantomimed smoking a joint."Get my drift?"

The sheriff did and acknowledged that the testimony of the mechanic, a reputed pothead, might not be reliable. The woman who'd been paying for her gas when the incident occurred was also adamant about what she'd witnessed, but she, too, eventually wound up doubting her own eyes and ears. The clerk, confused by the alternative possibilities that Pinkie introduced, conceded that the priest had seemed more concerned about getting Mrs. Duvall away from the scene than about harming her. As for the rednecks who had tried to pursue them, they dispersed as soon as they returned and saw the sheriff's car at the Crossroads. Those remaining in the cafe didn't know nuthin' about nuthin' or nobody.

Pinkie Duvall was a living legend. The first thing the sheriff had said to him was, "A real honor, Mr. Duvall. I've seen you on TV."

Having one's face on TV worked powerful voodoo on the minds of common men.

He'd taken advantage of the sheriff's awe. The law officer's powers of deductive reasoning and sense of duty were outshone by the radiance of Pinkie Duvall's sun.

Pinkie had achieved the desired result to prevent an investigation and all-out manhunt but the exercise had been time-consuming.

Consequently, his wife's abductors had a long head start. He turned around to address Errol."Who were they?"