The Dead Man in Indian Creek (11 page)

"We won't say anything," Parker said.

"See?" Evans said eagerly. "Parker's a good kid and he's sorry for all the trouble he's caused." He smiled as if everything was settled. "Let's get out of here, Flynn."

Flynn watched Evans walk over to Pam, but he didn't move. He stayed where he was, leaning against the tree, the gun in his hand.

"I'm really sorry about this, honey," Evans said to Pam. "I hate leaving you here in the woods like this, and I don't blame you for being mad. But there's no other way, you can see that." He ran his hand gently down her hair, picking out the leaves, smoothing it back from her face while she stood motionless, looking at Parker, saying nothing.

"Please, Pam, tell me you understand," Evans said.

"Are you crazy?" Pam cried. Her hair lifted in a breeze and swirled around her face. At that moment, she was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. "If I get out of here alive, I never want to see you again!"

Maybe because Flynn was watching him, Evans frowned at her. "Hey, I was doing this for you," he said. "I don't remember you complaining about the new TV, the nice clothes, the fancy restaurants. You weren't worrying about Parker then, were you?"

Pam looked as if he'd slapped her. As she drew a deep breath, getting ready to say something, Flynn interrupted her.

"This has gone on long enough," he said. Raising the gun, he pointed it at Evans. "There's only one person leaving here today. Understand?"

Evans stumbled backward, shaking his head. "My God, John," he whispered, "what's one little slipup between friends? I'll make it up to you, pay you back somehow. There's no need to hurt anybody, no need."

"You knew the risks when you agreed to help me," Flynn said. His voice was flat and cold, his face expressionless. "You also knew what kind of man I am."

He glanced at all four of us, measuring us with his eyes as if he were deciding which one of us to shoot first. The woods were so quiet, I could hear my heart pounding as his eyes focused on Parker.

P
OINTING THE GUN
at Parker with one hand, Flynn grabbed him with the other. "For the last time, what did you do with that doll?"

Parker tried to pull away, but Flynn gripped him tighter and shoved the gun into his face. "Don't play with me, boy," he yelled. "You've pushed me far enough."

Letting go of Parker, Flynn punched him, sending him sprawling to the ground. As he stood over him, threatening him with the gun, I heard a crashing noise in the bushes behind us. Before Flynn had a chance to turn and confront him, Otis leapt at him, striking the man with the full force of his body. The gun flew out of Flynn's hand as he staggered under Otis's weight, and he fell on his face with the dog on top of him.

For a few seconds we stood still, too surprised to move. Then Evans must have realized he was the only one Flynn hadn't tied up. While Flynn struggled with Otis, Evans darted forward and grabbed the gun. From the way his hands were shaking, I wasn't sure he knew what to do with it.

"Stay where you are," Evans said to Flynn. "Don't move!"

At that point, Flynn wasn't capable of getting up. He was too busy trying to keep Otis from tearing him to shreds.

With an eye on Flynn, Evans grabbed Pam. Ignoring her pleas to untie Parker and me, he forced her into the van. "They'll be okay," he told her as he started the engine. Then, while Pam struggled, Evans spun the van around and drove away.

Before they were out of sight, Flynn lurched toward us. His jacket was torn, his pants were ripped, he was bleeding. But, like a monster in a horror film, he was on his feet with Otis clinging to his arm.

Moving clumsily without my hands to balance me, I stumbled away from Flynn. Parker moved in the opposite direction toward our fort. Without hesitating, Flynn chose to follow him, not me.

With my back against a tree, I watched Parker dance away from Flynn almost as if they were playing a game of tag. Why wasn't he running faster? Then I realized what he was doing. Slowly and carefully, he was leading Flynn toward the trap.

Crazy as it sounds, Otis seemed to know what Parker was planning. He bit and growled and herded Flynn ahead of him as if the man were a sheep.

Then Parker stumbled and fell. Torn between running to his master and staying with Flynn, Otis hesitated. That gave Flynn a chance to break away from the dog and run forward.

Just as Parker planned, Flynn stepped on the branches and leaves covering the pit. They gave way with a loud crashing sound, and Flynn plunged into the hole.

"We got him, Armentrout," Parker yelled. "It worked!"

Fearfully, I joined Parker and peered over the edge. All I could see was Flynn's face two or three feet below and his hands, closer to the top but unable to get a grip on the muddy sides. The rest of him was wedged in the hole like a cork in a bottle. Without help, I was sure he couldn't get out.

Ignoring Flynn's threats and curses, we looked at each other. "We've got to get back to town," I said.

Parker nodded. His face was still tinged green from his Vampira makeup, except for a purple bruise below his eye.

As Otis jumped up to lick Parker's cheek, I noticed the piece of clothesline dangling from his collar. If the rope hadn't broken, Parker and I would be at the bottom of Bluestone Quarry right now. In spite of the warm sunlight, I shivered.

"Otis, you're the best and the smartest dog in the whole world," Parker said. Turning to me, he grinned. "Didn't I tell you he could track me down wherever I went?"

Another curse and more threats from Flynn erupted from the trap. "What should we do with him?" I asked Parker.

"Leave him here and get the cops," Parker said.

"What if he climbs out?" My heart sped up again as I imagined Flynn catching us before we reached the safety of town.

Parker led Otis to the edge of the trap. "Stay," he told the dog. "Don't let him out."

As we started to walk away, Otis whimpered. He watched us, his eyes pleading, but Parker shook his head. "Stay," he repeated firmly.

Obediently, Otis turned his attention to the hole. Crouching over Flynn, he growled horribly, and Parker said, "Good boy!"

It was hard to run with my hands tied, but I managed to stumble after Parker. We staggered through the woods to the road and started the long walk home.

Even though it was November first, the sun was still hot. I was hungry and thirsty and so tired my legs were shaking. Just when I was sure I couldn't take another step, I saw someone silhouetted at the top of the next hill. It was Jennifer running toward us.

"Thank God you're all right," she cried. "I saw Otis chasing the van, and I tried to follow him but I couldn't keep up."

"Are you okay?" Parker stared at Jennifer. Her face was dirty and streaked with tears, and her gangster suit was ripped in several places.

She looked down at herself and shrugged. "First I slid on some gravel and fell down," she said, "and then, when I was almost here, I saw the van coming really fast, and I jumped into the bushes to hide. Evans was driving like a maniac. I was sure you were dead."

I think Jennifer was about to hug Parker, but, before she could, he held out his hands. "Can you untie me?"

She pulled a Girl Scout knife out of her pocket and started sawing at the rope. "It's kind of dull," she apologized, but, in a couple of minutes, Parker's hands were free.

Then it was my turn. By the time Jennifer was finished, Parker was already at the top of the hill, running hard. Ignoring the stabbing pain in my side, I hurried after him.

W
HEN WE WERE
a block away from the police station, we saw Tiffany and Charity struggling to get the doll carriage up the steps and through the door. By the time we caught up with them, Charity was scowling at Sergeant Williams, and Tiffany was waving a Cabbage Patch Kid in his face.

"Parker said you'd give me a prize when I showed you my dolls!" Tiffany was saying.

"Where have you been all this time?" Jennifer yelled at her sister. "I told you to go straight to the police station!"

Tiffany looked at Charity. "She wanted to see the parade first," Tiffany whined, "and I was scared to come here all by myself, so I had to watch it, too."

Pushing Tiffany aside, Parker snatched the antique doll from the carriage and shoved it in front of Williams. "This doll," he gasped, still out of breath from running, "its head is full of cocaine!"

Tiffany and Charity stared at Parker. "How did that old thing get in my carriage?" Tiffany wanted to know.

"What's Parker doing in that dress?" Charity asked loudly. "He sure looks funny."

While Williams stared at him, probably wondering the same thing, Parker tried to explain about Pam and Evans and Flynn. "You've got to find my mother," he shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. "And arrest Flynn before he gets out of the trap and hurts my dog!"

"I saw the van on Endicott Road," Jennifer added. "It was going toward the Interstate."

"Look." Parker snatched the doll out of Williams's hands. Pulling the wig off, he dumped two little bags on the desk. "Cocaine!"

Williams shoved the bags toward our old friend Scruggs. "Have this checked," he said.

Then things started happening. Williams calmed us down somehow and got all the information we could give him about Flynn and what we thought was going on. Then he put out an all points bulletin for the van and sent a squad car to the quarry. Last of all, he sent somebody to Mom's and Mrs. Irwin's booths.

Before I even had a chance to decide what I was going to tell her, I saw Mom shove the door open and run toward me. Mrs. Irwin was right behind her. From the expression on Mom's face, I thought I was going to be killed after all. But I was wrong. Instead of yelling at me, she hugged me and started crying–which was very embarrassing. Especially when you've just been a hero and trapped a dangerous drug dealer, and all the police are standing around watching your mother treat you like a baby.

As Mrs. Irwin left with Jennifer and Tiffany, Mom hugged Parker and Charity, though what my sister had done to deserve it I don't know. After all, it was her fault that Tiffany had taken so long to get to the police station.

Just when we were ready to go home, the squad car came back from the quarry. Flynn was slumped in the backseat, but Otis was riding up front beside the driver. His mouth was open and he was grinning like a hero. While Parker threw his arms around him, Otis winked at me, I swear he did.

You can make a bet Flynn didn't wink at anybody. In fact, he didn't even look up as the police led him past us. Besides being handcuffed and covered with mud, he was missing one shoe and the other was coated with clay from the bottom of the trap.

At the sight of his enemy, Otis growled. Hearing that, Flynn walked a little faster toward the door that led to the cells.

***

When we got home, Mom fixed lunch for us, including a special treat for Otis, but Parker was too upset to eat. All he could think about was Pam. I was worried too, but I'm afraid that didn't stop me from devouring two tuna sandwiches and drinking three glasses of milk. We hadn't had anything to eat all day, and I didn't think my brain or my body could function much longer without some nourishment.

At last the phone rang, and Mom answered it. From what she was saying, Parker and I knew it was about Pam, and we listened hard, almost too scared to breathe.

When Mom hung up, she turned and put her arms around Parker. "George Evans wrecked the van," she said. "All he got were a few cuts and bruises, but Pam broke her leg. She's in surgery now, and you can see her tomorrow morning. I'll take you to the hospital."

She hurried us upstairs then, telling us we needed a bath and clean clothes and maybe a nap. You'd have thought we were five years old again, but the funny thing was, we did what she told us without a word of protest. In fact, my bed had never felt better in my whole life.

***

The next morning, Mom and I had a long argument. I thought she should take me to the hospital with Parker, and she thought I should go to school. If Parker himself hadn't begged Mom to let me come, I'm positive I would have found myself trudging down the street to Letitia B. Arbuckle Junior High School.

"Are you sure you want me to go in with you?" I asked Parker as we walked down the long gray hospital corridor. "Don't you want to be alone with Pam for a while?"

Parker shook his head. He was still very pale, and the bruise on his cheek had puffed up, making his eye almost disappear.

"Do you think she hates me?" he whispered.

"Why would she hate you?"

"It's my fault she's here, isn't it?" Parker slumped against the wall, his head down. "If I hadn't wanted to get something on Evans, none of this would've happened."

I had to lean toward him to hear what he was saying. "Are you kidding?" I asked. "You saw what kind of a man Flynn was. Sooner or later, Evans would've made a mistake, and he and Pam would have ended up like the dead man in Indian Creek. You probably saved her life, Parker."

He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it straight back from his face. Of course, it tumbled down in his eyes again.

"Come on," I said, even though I was kind of scared to see Pam myself. "Let's go in."

When Parker didn't move, I took his arm and steered him past the policeman sitting in a folding chair beside the door.

Pam was lying in a bed with sides like a crib, and an IV was attached to her arm. Her leg was in a cast up to her hip and her head was bandaged. She was so still, I was scared she was dead.

The rubber soles on Parker's shoes made a loud squeaking sound on the tile floor, and Pam opened her eyes. To my relief, she smiled. "Parker," she whispered, "thank God, you're all right. They told me you were safe, but I was afraid to believe them."

While I stood there watching, Parker dropped to his knees beside the bed. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I never wanted you to get hurt."

"It's all my fault," Pam said. With her free hand, she reached out and brushed Parker's hair out of his eyes. "How can you ever forgive me? If it hadn't been for Otis, we'd all be dead."