Picture Perfect (27 page)

Cudge felt the heat of his anger the minute he saw Davey with the CB. It was all over if the kid knew what he was doing. His rage intensified as he raced to the pickup. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sid walk around the back of the house. The old woman had gone inside the moment Cudge had stepped off the porch. He was alone with Davey.

Davey looked around wildly. “Help, help me. This is Panda Bear. Breaker, Breaker, do you read? This is Panda Bear! Breaker, he's coming. Somebody answer me. Do you read?” Frustration gripped him when he saw Cudge dig in his pocket for the keys. He had to get out before Cudge got in. If he stayed in the truck, the man would kill him. Whatever he was going to do, he had to do it alone, just like before. There was no one to help him. He had to think; above all, he couldn't cry. If he cried, he wouldn't be able to see. Swallowing hard, Davey tossed the speaker onto the cracked leather of the driver's seat and pulled at the lock on the cab door. The moment Cudge opened the driver's door to climb into the truck, Davey opened his side. He jumped to the ground and took off down the road, away from the farmhouse, back across the open field toward the woods. He knew that if he had the farm at his back, the amusement park would be ahead of him. That meant Aunt Lorrie would be close by. He had to run straight, and he couldn't stop for anything. Run, run, run.

His tattered shoelaces slapped the wet ground as his short legs pumped away. Danger was behind him; he could feel it, smell it. On and on he ran, his arms flailing the air as he fought for breath. Once he fell sprawling in the muddy field. He picked himself up and raced on, not looking behind him to see if Cudge was gaining on him. He knew Cudge must be close, but he couldn't run any faster. He made himself think about Aunt Lorrie waiting for him, her arms outstretched to hug him, mud and all. She would laugh and tell him a story about making mudpies, and then he would laugh too. He wanted to hear the story, he wanted her to hug him. If Cudge caught him, he would never see Aunt Lorrie again. His Reeboks picked up speed. Behind him, curses sailed through the air, but he ignored them. Careening wildly from right to left, Davey headed into the welcome darkness of the forest. He didn't stop.
Faster. Run. Aunt Lorrie.
A sob caught in his throat.

A thicket of low underbrush caught his eye as he raced ahead. Without thinking, he dived down. Brambles and stickers scratched at his face as he burrowed deep into the undergrowth. Cudge was close; Davey could hear him now, feel the cold stream of danger getting closer and closer. He waited, his eyes squeezed shut. He didn't want to see. He had to be quiet and still.

At first he couldn't comprehend the sound. It was a roar, a deep, hard rumble that came from the belly; like when his dad threw back his head and had a good laugh. He wanted to lift his head to look around to see where the sound came from, to try to identify it. The man chasing him didn't make this kind of sound. This was something different. Davey tilted his head and listened as the rumbling was repeated. It was from the wildlife reserve. He must be close to the animals. That meant that on the other side was safety. His breathing eased; he wasn't afraid of the animals in their cages.

Cautiously Davey inched his way out of his nest. Everything looked so big as he lay on his stomach; even the scrubby bushes looked immense. He waited a moment, hoping the animals would roar again so he could tell in which direction he should go. If only he hadn't been so afraid he might be able to remember now. For the thousandth time he wished Duffy was with him.

He crawled backward on his belly from his hiding place and looked around again. Satisfied that the man wasn't anywhere around, he stood up. A wave of dizziness overcame him and he swayed, feeling sick to his stomach. Both hands grappled for the bushes; he needed all his willpower to steady himself. He couldn't get sick now. He shook his head several times; he was hungry and he really didn't feel well. How much farther did he have to go?

 

The old woman stood at the screen door, looking out at Cudge. Her son Sid watched him too, waiting to see if he was going to run after the boy, or jump into the truck and try to overtake him before he ran across the open field into the woods.

“Watcha lookin' at, old lady?” Cudge bellowed. “If you two had minded your own business, I would've had him!”

Elsie Parsons stared at him a moment longer, then retreated into the house, closing the door firmly.

Sid was belligerent. “Ma don't think that's really your kid.”

Cudge turned on the teenager. “Oh, yeah? And what do you think, punk? You should've kept out of it, and I would've had him.”

Sid gathered his courage. He really didn't want any trouble with this man, but he felt compelled to stand his ground. “I agree with Ma. I don't think that boy's your kid, either.”

“I don't give a damn what either one of you think. That's my kid and I mean to get him and beat the tar out of him. What's on the other side of the woods?” Cudge demanded, stepping closer to Sid.

“Wild Adventure Park. Only it's closed now.”

“Where's the campground from here?”

“Due north . . .”

“I didn't ask you that, did I?” Cudge bellowed in rage, reaching out and grasping Sid's shirt front. “I asked you
where
.”

Sid pointed across the field to the right, in the opposite direction from that the boy had taken. Cudge grinned; he knew Sid was afraid and it made him feel powerful.

“Stay out of my way.” He shoved Sid aside. “I eat punks like you for breakfast and spit them out before lunch. I knew a kid like you once. I took care of him, and I could do the same to you.” He saw a defiance in Sid's eyes he didn't like. “Don't think about calling anybody. A man has a right to his own kid, don't he? Besides, you may not like it if I told anybody that you've got a patch of marijuana growing out behind the house.”

Sid was amazed. “How do you know?”

“I always know, punk. You reek of it. Besides, you just told me all I need to know. Even if you weren't growing the stuff, you'd be real unhappy if the cops came beating at your door and found your little stash.”

Cudge jumped into the truck and fired the ignition. It wasn't going to be easy to find that kid, but he'd do it, just the way he'd tracked him here to the farmhouse. He'd drive back to the park and leave the truck in the cover of the trees where it wouldn't be spotted. Then he'd grab the kid and shut his mouth for good.

Cudge took his time driving back to the campsite. He didn't need a broken axle now, not when the kid was within his reach. “It's either him or me. And it ain't gonna be me!”

The turns in the road took his full concentration. The weather was blowing up and storm clouds were gathering. For a fleeting moment he thought about Elva lying in his pop-up. He was glad she was dead, and he didn't have to listen to her squawking that he should leave the kid alone. Elva had never been a survivor, not like him. If he could just get his hands on that kid, his problems would be over. “It's always the little things that trip a guy up,” he muttered aloud, “little boy, little dog. Elva with her little bit of brains. Candy Striper for a little piece of ass. Lenny, for a little bit of money.” He groaned. How had this all happened? This wasn't the way things were supposed to work out! When he was a kid, he had believed he'd be able to overcome the poverty, the filth, his ignorance. And all he'd done was carry it all with him.

As he drove he kept his eyes trained on the edge of the woods, expecting a mud-smeared figure to emerge at any moment. Christ, that kid was smart. Still, when he got his hands on the brat's neck, he was going to finish him for good.

The CB in the truck squawked. “Breaker, Breaker. Do you read me, Panda Bear? Come in, Panda Bear!”

Panda Bear. Where had he heard that before? Then he remembered. He'd been cruising around in north Jersey, looking for a place to dump Lenny, and Panda Bear had come on the CB channel and talked about the campground.
So that's your name, eh, kid?
Cudge thought.
Panda Bear.

“Breaker, Breaker, do you read? Come in, Panda Bear.”

Cudge reached over and flicked off the CB. The sharp click made him think of how he would snap Panda Bear's neck when he caught him.

S
tuart Sanders checked in with his chief then set out in Feeley's motor-pool car. He couldn't explain why, but he knew Davey Taylor was close by, close enough to touch if he could just reach out in the right direction.

Up and down the dirt roads he drove, but with no success. He braked hard and sat for a while, pondering his next move. His instincts told him to head for the Wild Adventure Park, the same route he had followed on foot last night. There was something out there, something he'd missed.

It was well after one o'clock when he returned to the camp office to clean up and get on with the day.

Lorrie was sitting on the steps of the motor home. She looked as beat as he felt.

“Hi,” he said, when he got within speaking distance.

“Hi, yourself. Anything new to report?”

Sanders shook his head. “Not yet, but not to worry. Everything is going to be okay.”

Lorrie tilted her head sideways and gave him a questioning look. “How can you be so sure?”

“It's just a feeling.” He shrugged.

“A feeling,” she repeated.

He hunkered down in front of her, his hands braced on his thighs. “I've been in this business a long time, Lorrie, and after a while you start to rely on your gut instinct. And mine tells me Davey is alive and well.”

Lorrie bowed her head. “I hope you're right.”

He could see the tears welling in her eyes and, without thinking, reached out to touch her face. “When this is all over and Davey is safe and sound, you and I are going to get to know each other a little better.”

Lorrie smiled at him through her tears. “There's nothing I'd like better but . . .”

“But what?” he asked, worry creeping into his voice.

“I may not be alive after my sister gets through with me.”

“Your sister . . .” Sanders began, anger welling behind his words. “I still can't believe she refused to come with me. What kind of mother—” He broke off, realizing he had spoken out of turn.

Lorrie leaned forward and put her arms around his neck. “It's all right. I feel the same way you do.”

The anger Sanders had been carrying around with him dissolved when he gazed into Lorrie Ryan's eyes. “Lorrie, I . . .” Whatever he'd been about to say was forgotten the moment Lorrie's mouth pressed against his. Slowly, he rose to his feet, drawing her up with him. Needs that he'd left too long unsatisfied rose to the surface. There were other feelings too—new feelings he couldn't put a name to. Together they created a terrible hunger.

Lorrie broke the kiss and stepped back, a look of surprise on her face. “What were you going to say?”

Sanders shook his head. “I have absolutely no idea.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah . . . oh.”

Lorrie smiled sheepishly. “Well, I guess I'd better go inside and fix something to eat.” She started to turn away.

“And I guess I'd better head for the showers,” Sanders said, moving backwards. “I'll see you a little later.”

Lorrie climbed the steps to the motor home and disappeared inside.

Sanders went to the camp showers, where he cleaned up quickly. Out of season the campgrounds offered cold water only, which seemed appropriate under the circumstances. A loud knock startled him. “Come in,” he shouted as he put away his shaving gear.

“Yeah, what is it?” he demanded of the reflection that met his eyes in the mirror over the sink.

“Your man thought you would want to hear about this.”

It was Officer Delaney. Sanders liked him on sight, from the top of his neat haircut to the tips of his polished shoes that were buffed to a high sheen.

“Feeley? I thought he was asleep. Something come in that sounds important?” He noticed the alert look in the young officer's eyes.

“Yes, sir. He was asleep, but he sleeps like me, with an eye open. You have to do that when you're in law enforcement.”

“Tell me about it,” Sanders mumbled as they walked through the sodden leaves. “That was some storm we had last evening.”

“Good thing it was over early. As it was, the power company was out all night working. We get storms like that around here this time of year. I hear there's another blowing up.” Delaney's tone was easy but his respect for Sanders was evident. “There was a call from a shut-in who monitors police calls, Citizens Band, short-wave, you name it. He said he didn't know if it was important or not, but he heard a child calling for help on the emergency channel a little while ago. I have to be honest with you, this turkey calls in on a regular basis. He sees UFOs once a week, hears calls for help, and once he said he heard a gang rape going on in the back of an eighteen-wheeler.”

“The kid have a handle?” Sanders waited, hardly daring to breathe, for Delaney's answer.

“Yes, sir. Panda Bear.”

“Jesus Christ!” Sanders exploded as he broke into a run.

“Your man has the caller on hold,” Delaney shouted. For a big man, Sanders moved fast as he raced ahead to the offices. Delaney looked after him, wondering if he would ever join the state police. That was the big-time. He'd get to wear a snappy uniform, a snap-brim hat and, of course, those polished sunglasses.

Delaney took his work seriously; he was even willing to forgo marriage so he could devote his life to law enforcement. That was the supreme sacrifice. A talk with Sanders could be helpful. He hoped the caller had his marbles all in one bag this time around, and that the child on the emergency channel
was
the Taylor kid, and that he was okay. Dr. Ryan was a nice person, she deserved some good news. There was a chance that he would be the one to tell her. He would get pleasure out of that, seeing her eyes light up. Childishly, he crossed his fingers.

He nodded briefly to Feeley as he took his position again behind the desk. Sanders was just hanging up the phone. Delaney waited, not sure if he liked the look on Sanders's face. It was Sanders's case and the agent didn't have to confide in Delaney. Delaney crossed his fingers again.

“Feeley, you stick around and work the phone. Find out if anyone else heard the call. Let's see if we can't pinpoint it a little more accurately.” Sanders looked at the scrawled note in his hand. “The guy's name is Rob Benton. He lives right here in Jackson. Delaney, find out how many turkey farms there are around here. This Benton is certain he heard turkeys in the background.” Sanders grimaced. “He said he hates turkeys—actually what he said was, he's afraid of them.” He looked directly at Delaney, defying him to say the caller was a crackpot.

Delaney's gaze was unblinking. “You ever have a bunch of turkeys gang up on you? It's hairy—I know what he's talking about. And yes, there are three or four turkey farms around here. As a matter of fact, there's one right next to the amusement park. The bottom end of the farm runs parallel with the wildlife reserve. An old lady owns the farm—her son is on every cop's list from here to Forked River.”

“Check it out, Delaney. I'll see you in a little while.” Sanders wished he had a lucky horseshoe, or a rabbit's foot.

As he steered the high-powered car down the dirt road, he tried to calculate how long Davey had gone without a shot, but he gave up. Waiting for the lights to change at the main road, he spotted some newspapers in a vending machine on the corner. Leaving the door open and the engine running, he picked up a paper—Davey's picture was on the front page. The traffic light changed and several horns beeped. He ran back to the car, tossing the paper on to the seat beside him.

“I know you're on the loose, kid,” Sanders mumbled to himself. “You can find your way back, I know you can. I got a steak dinner going on your getting back okay. You just hang tight. I'm going to find you.”

Ninety minutes later Stuart Sanders was back at the same light, waiting for it to change again. Rob Benton's story was unshakable. The guy had heard exactly what he'd repeated on the phone. He also reported that he'd monitored the channel from that moment on, and there had been no more calls. Sanders believed him.

 

Davey started off, looking back over his shoulder every few minutes. He still didn't feel well, but it wasn't as bad as it had been a few minutes ago. Something jingled in his pocket—the three quarters Mr. Sanders had given him. They clinked companionably together. The flashlight should be in the zipper pocket on the sleeve of his windbreaker. He felt for it—it was still there. If he could just keep away from that bad man, he would be okay.

He cocked his head and listened. The woods were silent, except for the rustling of the leaves overhead. From time to time a squirrel raced through the treetops. Davey grinned. The squirrels were getting ready for winter. Just like he was getting ready for whatever was going to happen to him next. So far he had missed two lunches, one dinner, and one breakfast. He ticked the meals off on his fingers. Four! He would tell Digger he had missed four meals and was still alive. When you didn't eat, you turned into skin and bones and died. Digger knew what he was talking about. He said it had almost happened to him on one of his trips to the hospital. They'd fed him with a tube because he was almost skin and bones. Davey's face puckered up as he tried to figure it all out.

Davey walked slowly on through the woods for another half hour. His leg ached and he wished he had someone to talk to. It would feel so good to have Duffy scampering around his feet, even if he was too tired to play with her. Duffy would be able to smell Cudge if he got too close. She would bark to warn him in time to find a hiding place. Davey would have to tell Digger how good he was at finding hiding places. Digger would appreciate his low-flying dives into the brambles. Poor Digger, he hoped the doctors fixed his legs right this time.

Davey stopped, every sense alert. It was quiet. There were no squirrels, no rabbits running through the brush. He was still safe. Then Davey noticed two things: a loud banging noise, and the way the woods were thinning out. He strained to identify the banging sound. He had heard it before back home, or had it been Aunt Lorrie's house? He grinned—how could he have forgotten? He himself had helped make the sounds. Last year, Aunt Lorrie had let him bang in the nails for the tree house they'd built in the backyard. Aunt Lorrie had hurt her thumb and then quit to go make lemonade.

He walked slowly to the very edge of the trees, careful to shield himself by not stepping out into the bright sunshine. He dropped to his knees and then to his belly. It looked like the muddy field by the old lady's house, but different. He propped his elbows on the ground, letting his chin rest in the hollow of his cupped hands. It took a moment to make sense of what he was seeing—all kinds of posts, gravel . . . It was a parking lot, he thought jubilantly. He hadn't realized it at first because there weren't any cars. Now he knew where he was—the amusement park. If he was really smart, he might be able to find his way back to Aunt Lorrie without anyone's help.

In his mind, he had begun to think of Cudge as a wild animal—a wild animal who was chasing him, wanting to eat him. He remembered how Cudge had sounded like an animal tearing through the woods, pounding the ground. Davey had heard its heavy panting and pictured a red-eyed beast with sharp horns and hoofed feet. A hard knot in his stomach seemed to squeeze out his breath, making him feel he was going to be sick.

He needed to find the man who was banging in nails. He had been successful once by crawling on his belly; he would do it again. If he stood up he would be an easy target. The ground was muddy, and a shard of broken glass winked at him from the left. He would have to be careful. When he reached the other side, where would he be? Shielding his eyes from the sun, he peered across the parking lot. He could see the tip of a roof, some trees and bushes, and a very high fence, the kind that had little holes in it. Dad had told him it was called chain-link. Fences had gates, he knew, like at home where the gate was always closed so Duffy couldn't get out of the yard. Sometimes Dad locked the gate when they went on vacation.

Davey was fifty feet from the end of the parking lot when he heard the animal roar. “Hey, kid!”

Davey's heart pounded in his chest. He lifted his head to look around and saw Cudge at the far end of the parking lot, pointing at him. Davey shot to his feet and scrambled to the fence. Frantically, he looked for a gate. He couldn't let Cudge get him. He tripped and sprawled in the coarse gravel, and he saw a small hole under the fence. Using his hands, he dug at the wet earth. He dug faster, sending the loosened earth flying this way and that, the way he'd seen Duffy do it. He heard Cudge yelling at him and knew the beast was close. Lying flat, he pushed his head through the opening, then wriggled one shoulder under, then the other. He winced as the points of the fence dug into his jacket and his back. He worked his way loose and pulled himself through to the other side.

“Get back here, you little bastard! You ain't getting away this time,” Cudge yelled. He grabbed for Davey's leg.

Davey shrieked in terror as Cudge pulled at him. He jerked his leg and felt his Reebok slide off his foot. He was through! Safe! Cudge only had his sneaker. Davey struggled to his feet to see Cudge's rage-filled face staring at him through the fence. Slowly, Davey backed away, then turned and ran.

A roar ripped from Cudge's throat. “I'll get you yet! You ain't getting away from me this time, you stupid kid. This place is all closed up. You won't be able to get out, and there's no one in there to help you.”

Davey knew he had to move fast to find the man with the hammer. Screaming for help, he ran toward the center of the park. Where was he? Why couldn't he hear the banging now? Maybe the man had finished his work and gone home. The thought was so terrible, he wanted to cry.

 

Cudge dropped the single Reebok as though it had burned his fingers. He'd been so close—he'd almost had him. It was becoming impossible to think; there was a roaring noise in his head, or was it the thunder? Panting with rage, blind with frustration, he was unable to think what his next move should be.