The Dead Parade (32 page)

Switch turned and dropped to his knees without any sudden movements. Within seconds, his face was pushed into the mucky ground and he was cuffed. With his hands behind his back, Layton read him his rights.

Once Layton had finished his cop speech, Switch said, “Can I say something?” His face and body was needlessly covered with mud now and his anger just was around the corner.

“
Sure––” Scriber began.

Layton’s body language shut him down.

Most of the time, Scriber could deal with Layton being an asshole. But here, standing within spitting distance of a murder suspect, Layton had snapped; he was impossible to handle.

It was the license plate number that did it. As soon as Layton called it in––and realized that they were dealing with the ‘Martinsville Terror’, which was what the cops were calling the whole string of High Park Murders in this part of the country––Layton went nuts, turning all his imperfections up ten notches. Scriber figured Layton had dreams of being a hero and dreams of fast tracking his career.

Not that he was heroic.

“
Just keep your fucking mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you! Do you get me? Or do I need to show you the long arm of the law?” Layton’s meat-hook hands were in fists now, with his gun almost hiding inside his right one. Layton wasn’t tall, but he was big––two hundred and thirty pounds. His hands looked like they could strangle a bear.

“
Can you hear me out?” Switch said. “I’m trying to tell you, there’s a woman inside and she needs your help!”

Switch was still on his knees with a face full of mud when Layton slapped him across the back of the head. After that, Scriber lost his cool. Harsh words were spoken and soon enough, Layton began shouting.

Scriber shouted back.

Switch thought the two cops were going to drop the guns and fistfight, right there on the road. But as it turned out, six more police cruisers showed up before the situation had a chance to mature.

And after that, all hell broke loose.

113

Moore thought he heard something, an argument perhaps. He leaned back, listening, and after a moment of silence and reflection, he looked through the broken patio door.

Elmer was standing on the patio, gazing across the water and listening to the radio. If Moore had been able to see his face, he would have thought the man was in a trance. His eyes were locked in a cold, motionless stare.

After considering his options, Moore decided not to tell Elmer about the noises on the other side of the cottage. Elmer had lost his mind in the last ten minutes or so, at least on some levels, and Moore figured he needed time to regain his wits.

Looking at Debra, he said, “Don’t go anywhere beautiful. I’ll be right back.” Then he chuckled, winked at James and picked the shotgun off the table. “You want some of this, tough guy? Do you? I don’t mind blowing off a few of your fingers before I step outside. How would that suit ya? You down with that, or maybe I should unzip my pants and let you blow me. Huh? You feelin’ me, son? You feelin’ me?”

James sniffed. His nose was running and his eyes were red.

“
What’s wrong buddy, cat’s got your tongue?”

“
Why don’t you fuck-off?” James said, pulling his eyes away from Debra’s non-existent breathing.

“
Yeah, yeah,” Moore said. “That’s the way we do it. I’m gonna love fucking you up. It’s gonna last forever. I’ll cut off your balls… for real. Don’t think I won’t, ‘cause I’m not kidding around. I’m going to cut off your balls one at a time. And it’s gonna hurt bad, son. You’ll pray for death. I know you will.”

“
Go fuck your hand.”

Moore grinned. “Yeah, okay. Go fuck your hand huh? Yeah, that’s funny all right… that’s a good one. But I’ve got a better idea. How about this: How about I step outside for a minute, and when I get back, I cut off your baby-fingers. And after that, I break both your legs. Is that, ‘go fuck your hand’ enough for ya? And I hope you kissed your girl good-bye. I think she’s sick.” Moore laughed. “Yeah, she looks sick to me. And by the way, just so you know, I had a great time fucking her. She’s got nice tits. You know about that, right? About her and I? And Elmer fucked her too. It was the three of us, all together at the same time.” Moore watched James squirm. “She really enjoyed having my cock in her ass.”

“
You’re a liar.”

“
Oh yeah? Look in my eyes. Tell me I’m lying. Tell me I didn’t fuck your girl.”

James was speechless. Somehow, this tidbit of information hurt more than the rest of it. Did those two bastards really rape her before they played woodshop on her leg? He hoped not.

“
Bye-bye,” Moore said. He walked down the hall laughing, with the shotgun hanging loose in his hand. He opened the door, waved, and was gone.

James was whirling, distressed beyond repair. He glanced at Elmer.

Elmer was looking across the water, listening to the radio. He seemed to be in a completely different headspace, a completely different world.

He looked at Debra. She was lost. The puddle of blood looked huge now, and the edges had grown hard. Her severed leg looked like an island.

He turned his wrists in circles and tried to pull his fingers together. The ropes were loose and had been for a while. With Moore sitting in front of him, talking like a cracked-out thug, James didn’t move. But now that Moore was gone and Elmer was on the patio, things changed. He continued working his wrists, and thinking about Debra. Then another thought came: the third guy, the one that re-tied him and left the ropes loose, which side was he really on?

Was he a friend or an enemy?

As James wondered, he eyed Elmer’s handgun. It was sitting on the table. Lonely.

114

Debra felt the hammer at first, then after a while she didn’t feel anything. Her eyes opened and closed while the pain was still burning. All she could see was Elmer and the hammer––Elmer and the hammer––Elmer and the hammer. And Elmer looked insane, truly insane. His eyes were wide and bulging. Spittle hung from his chin. His nose flared. His lips were pulled back. His teeth were exposed and chattering.

The hammer was red with gore.

Deranged, Debra thought, before the hammer dropped the first punishing blow. This man is truly deranged.

Then it was pain, splattering blood. After that, it was something else.

It was death.

115

Moore walked down the slope of the two hundred and fifty foot driveway, inside one of the two trails that the car tires had created. Both trails were wet and muddy, covered with small rocks. The rocks helped the journey for a while. But when Moore hit the halfway point the rocks disappeared and the trail became mucky. Moore stopped walking and cursed. Not wanting mud up to his eyeballs, he changed his footing. Now he walked on the grass that divided the two trails. Tall trees, covered in bright green leaves, were like giant walls along side of him. And because of the trees, and because Moore walked carefully, watching his step, he didn’t realize that seven police cruisers were at the bottom of the slope.

Officer Alice Romero, one of the few female officers on the force, noticed Moore coming. She nudged her partner, drew her gun and said, “Hold it right there, buddy.”

Officer Wayne Carey, Alice’s partner, looked up. He reached for his weapon.

Without aiming, Moore opened fire.

The first shotgun shell caught Alice Romero in the right leg, breaking her bone, destroying her kneecap and tearing off two pounds of muscle. As Romero fell, she fired wildly into the sky. Carey drew his gun. Then Moore fired another shot and scored another hit. This time the slug caught Carey in the chin, obliterating it. When Carey fell back, his feet lifted four inches off the ground. His gun twirled over his shoulder.

Seven police cars, thirteen officers. Two officers had fallen; the other eleven were scrambling.

Moore turned and ran up the driveway; he didn’t like being out in the open.

He ran through puddles and long wet grass, with his shoes squishing in the mud. He ran past an overturned canoe and a washed out fire pit that had several logs around it. He leapt over a small, empty flowerbed. Trees and shrubs dripped around him. Crickets chirped.

He shuffled the shotgun from hand to hand; he didn’t care much for it. It was a powerful weapon––and so far, he was two for two––but he had no experience with a shotgun and he wasn’t sure how many shells it held.

The answer was six; he had four shells left.

The police opened fire.

116

The first rope fell. Quietly, James untied the rest.

He stood up, approached Debra and put his hand on her chest.

She wasn’t breathing. She was dead.

Having expected this, James didn’t show any emotion. The crying and laughing would have to come later, when he had time. Now was time for killing, time for vengeance, time to chop off her head.

James turned around, looking for the axe. He spotted Elmer through the broken patio door, gazing across the water, lost within his thoughts. James lifted the handgun from the table. The weapon felt cold but good. If he wanted to, he could pop Elmer right then. He hesitated, and felt his nerves cracking.

James wasn’t a stone cold killer, and shooting a man in the back seemed wrong. And in most cases, it was wrong. But was it wrong here? Now? Was killing Elmer wrong? Or was killing Elmer the only true option that he had. And what about Debra? Didn’t she deserve justice? Didn’t she deserve a bullet in the head too?

He considered the situation, thinking murder was the right thing to do. And maybe it was. But James didn’t like it; he didn’t like it at all. If he were alone with Elmer it would be one thing. He could detain him, get the police involved and try to gain control over the situation. But Elmer had two thugs with him, and the relationship that James had with the police wasn’t too good these days. They probably wouldn’t even listen to what he had to say.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, James remembered Switch.

Switch left the ropes loose; he was an unknown variable. Moore and Elmer were not. They were the enemy. But Switch––

He raised the gun, pointed it towards Elmer’s head. His fingers tightened. His eyes widened.

This one’s for Debra, he thought. I hope it hurts like hell.

Then he pointed the gun at Debra.

Ah, fuck it, he thought. This one’s for me.

117

The poodle loving asshole tossed a chewed tennis ball from hand to hand, keeping the dog amused. The dog barked twice and jumped up and down excitedly with its clipped tail wagging and its head bobbing. It wasn’t a bad dog, as far as its demeanor went, but the haircut that covered its frame suggested that the owner either hated the animal, or simply liked having a dog with a style best suited for a music video from the 1980s.

The dog barked, snapping Elmer from his daze. He shook off the cobwebs, grabbed his beer from the railing and swirled the beer inside the can. Little did he know––James was free. After a drink, Elmer pulled his gun from his waist.

He wanted to shoot the poodle-man.

“
You’re lucky, fucko.” He said, stroking the weapon. “Lucky I don’t blast you and that stupid dog.”

On the other side of the cottage, the gunfire began.

Elmer panicked and fired three shots. Two bullets went into the sand; one hit the poodle-man in the face. As poodle-man fell, the chewed ball rolled from his fingers. The dog snatched the ball from the sand and ran across the beach, more excited than ever.

Elmer spun around.

A man in a blue baseball hat walked along the shoreline with two women. Both women were in their fifties. One had a bathing suit and sandals, the other, jeans and a bikini top. All three of them stopped walking when Elmer began firing. The man said something and ran; the two women followed close behind.

Elmer fired more bullets.

One bullet hit home, dropping the man to the sand. The two women kept running.

Elmer fired more bullets; he was panicking now. He didn’t know what he was doing or why he was doing it. All he knew was this: He had to kill James quickly and get the hell out of dodge.

He stopped firing. Everything seemed quiet. Feeling the coke in his system and the anxiety of the moment, he stepped inside and pointed the gun at James. But James wasn’t there; he was gone.

“
What the fuck?” Elmer said. “Where is he? Where is everybody?”

Then Moore came through the door on the far side of the cottage, like a bear, shouting, “The cops are here! The cops are here!”
“Where’s James?”

“
Huh?”

“
Where is James? Look! He’s gone! That little fucker is gone! Where is he?”

Moore was obviously surprised. “I don’t know man, but we don’t have time for this.”

“
Where’s Switch?”

The door blasted open and two officers came charging inside.

“
Freeze!” The first officer said.

Moore turned quickly and pulled the trigger. The shotgun blasted both officers at once. He pulled the chamber and fired again. The two men were still in the same spot, give or take a few inches, and the second blast finished them off. They tumbled backwards, flopping against each other with their bodies destroyed.