Unhinged (34 page)

I
felt like a dog that tried to do everything at once when he was finally taken outside. Where do I run first? Who do I bark at? What tree do I piss on? I had finally been set free but hadn't a clue about my direction. A bank clock read 12:45 a.m.

Where would Spider be holing up now? I wondered. My mind was racing, but I had to shift gears and get back into detective mode. The hideout had to be someplace private where Spider could commit his acts without arousing suspicion, but half the fucking houses in the low-lying areas were deserted. His pattern had been going to the female's house to play out his torture, but he couldn't do that this time with Jennifer. He had to have a new place.

Spider's face was plastered on every television screen and newspaper. If he became someone's new neighbor, they would surely recognize him. Maybe Dorrick had him hiding out in a motel room somewhere. I knew Donny kept Spider hidden because he loved him. Who else could possibly . . .?

“His mother,” I heard myself say. Never mind the press was staked out on her front lawn. He could sneak in and out of the back just like I did.

I ran down Leon C. Simon toward the Seabrook Bridge, looking for a cab or a car I could commandeer. As luck would have it, I spotted an empty taxi coming from the university. The driver pulled over after I waved my hands like a madman.

“Go straight.” I pointed when I got inside. The bulletproof glass had little holes that I yelled through. “Get on Hayne and go past Read Boulevard until we hit Mercier. I'll let you know where to go from there. Go as fast as you can. It's an emergency, and I'm a detective.” I hoped he wouldn't ask for my ID because I didn't have my badge.

“No problem,” the black man said with a diluted Jamaican accent. “I know this city like the back of my hand, and you're not the first cop to have me drive for them.”

“You get a lot of cops who need a lift?” I asked skeptically.

“Every now and then. Sometimes they ask me for information.”

“Yeah, that happens.” I fell back against the seat and looked at his license.

He must've figured that I didn't want to keep talking. He turned the radio up a little and kept his eyes on the road.

Twenty minutes later, we turned onto the next street over from Greta Lotz's house. I told him I didn't have any money, but the police were on their way and he would be paid. He seemed reluctant but agreed.

I took the same route between houses to Greta's back door, and, thankfully, no dogs were disturbed. I spied the crab traps stacked against the house, casting a weird shadow from the illumination of the moon. They must have once been used across the levee at one of the camps, but why would Greta keep them? Then I noticed that all of the crab traps were empty except for one. I moved closer to see what it was, and I couldn't believe my eyes. An empty absinthe bottle. It was a clue. It had to be.

All Greta's lights were out except for the one in the bathroom. I didn't care about subtlety at this point. It was surprise and capture or surprise and apologize. Sweat dripped down my forehead as I stood by her back door with my gun drawn. My fingers were slippery on its grip. I slowly turned the knob, but the door didn't budge. The quiet night was about to be disturbed with a blast of chaos. I kicked in the door and ran into the kitchen.

I heard a voice from the bedroom. “I called the police. They're on their way.”

“Mrs. Lotz. It's me, Detective Dupree. Decland.”

She came out to the hall with a baseball bat, gripped as though she were going to hit a grand slam. She appeared somewhat comical, dressed in a flowered muumuu with Medusa hair. “What the hell are you doing breaking into my house?”

“Your son has my fiancée. I thought they might be here.”

“No one's here but me. I haven't spoken with Gene in weeks, damn it.” Mrs. Lotz lowered the bat to her side. She seemed exhausted.

“I thought you said years.”

“Months, years, it all blends together for me. I lose track of time so easily.”

“If you haven't talked . . . if you haven't hid him here, you at least saw him plant that bottle in the crab trap. Where is he?” I heard sirens in the distance. It was time to leave, but I had to check the other rooms first. I dashed from room to room, flipping on lights, but there was no one.

Without regard for Mrs. Lotz, I ran out the way I came and tore through the neighbor's backyard until I emerged onto the next street. It was just enough time for me to see my cab turning the corner to head for the sirens. No more ride.

They were going to start searching for me. I supposed I could just hide in one of the abandoned houses until things cooled. But then the absinthe bottle appeared in my head again. If they had crab traps, then they probably once had a camp. Gene could possibly be using one of the condemned structures, but last I heard, they were wiped out.

Still, it was my last resort, not to mention that climbing over that levee would be a good route to escape the police. I sprinted the two blocks until I crossed over Hayne. There were concrete stairs about every hundred yards, which made the steep climb easier. My luck held, and not one of the three squad cars speeding by the cross streets saw me. By the time I reached the top of the levee, I could see the small blue and red flashing lights illuminating the nearby houses. Behind me the lake glimmered under the moon, and I inhaled the sweet smell of Lake Pontchartrain.

I stepped down the other side and walked along the railroad tracks between the levee and lake searching for any remaining camps out over the water.

The moon hung over me, casting a film noir glow that bounced off everything I saw. It was a bit cooler on this side of the levee, giving my sweat a chance to dry. The smell of the salt water reminded me of simpler times, and suddenly I felt myself mourning Jennifer.

As I walked down the tracks in the direction of the Lakefront Airport, I noticed a light flickering off the lake. There was a mass of plywood and planks that was still standing, crooked, terribly misshapen, looking like it was about to fall into the water if a stiff breeze came by. It was the last remaining camp.

When I got closer, I froze. Another flicker of light was my spark of hope. Someone was in there. It was possible that there could be some homeless people spending the night or a few kids out for an adventure, but Spider's clue was unmistakable. I knew I was standing in front of Spider's secret hideout. It made perfect sense. Nobody came out here anymore. It was secluded and abandoned.

I pulled out my gun and ran off the railroad tracks, stopping near the pier that led out to the camp. My head was pulsing and throbbing. My heartbeat thumped against the inside of my chest. Should I rush inside with the element of surprise, or should I sneak in and see what I was getting myself into? Or maybe wait for backup?

Then Dorrick flashed before my eyes.

I didn't trust the pier to stay quiet or sturdy when I walked on it, so instead I moved to the left of the stairs in order to cross over the huge granite boulders that lined the shore. There wasn't any beach, just a railroad track, a small valley of grass, rocks, and then water. I found the easiest path I could to climb over the gigantic slabs and then splashed into a foot of muddy water.

As I proceeded under the pier, the water got deeper until it was at my waist. I kept my gun pointed at the camp when I passed each barnacle-covered pylon. Soon I was at a ladder that would let me onto a mini-dock that was used for a WaveRunner or pirogue. There was no other way back onto the pier, so I slowly inched up the ladder, letting the water drain from my clothes without the splashing. Then I saw the front entrance, which was nothing but a screen door, only ten feet away. I smelled something sweet cooking. No, something burning.

It was as if my joints had rusted over and I couldn't move. That smell triggered what I feared most. Then there was a snap inside my mind, and I watched myself from above, tearing through the screen and running toward a figure bending over in the darkness.

“Who is that?” the man shouted.

I didn't answer. I collided with him, knocking him against the bare frame of a wall. In the moonlight, I could make out a woman tied up in a ball. There was another figure next to her, laying spread-eagle, not moving. It looked like his head was still smoking. I finally let out a breath, knowing that the woman had to be Jennifer.

“Jennifer?” My voice didn't sound like it belonged to me.

All she could do was moan behind her gag. I slid my gun into the soaking waistband at the small of my back, then sprang at Spider. He attempted to get up, and I kicked him in the ribs, knocking him back down. He was wearing nothing but his underwear.

It felt therapeutic—or, dare I say, like a religious experience—to finally unleash my pent-up hostilities. I was beating the shit out of Dorrick and the president, too. It was like a dream. One moment I was utterly defeated, and now, here I was pounding the embodiment of evil again and again. I reached for my gun as a male voice broke the silence.

“Don't either of you move.” The voice was unmistakable. It was Dorrick. He walked in alone.

In a moment when I should have been shocked or scared, I wasn't. It seemed like this was how it was supposed to happen.

A flashlight came to life, and it shined on both of us. Spider was on the ground holding his stomach, bleeding, and I stood there like a deer in the proverbial headlights. Then Dorrick shined the light on the woman who I was relieved to see was Jennifer, naked but alive.

“Throw down your gun,” Dorrick demanded.

I placed it lightly on the floor. “Let's all stay calm.”

“You couldn't stop, could you?” he asked.

I looked down at Spider, thinking he wasn't about to answer.

Then Dorrick asked it again. “You couldn't stop, Dupree, could you? After all the shit you went through, you couldn't see how it was all going to end? Doesn't your life mean anything to you? I'm going to have to come up with a doozy of a report when I call in that I found you and your girlfriend dead and Spider eluded us again. Of course, Lotz won't make it out of here alive, either, but the press won't know that, and more importantly, Greta won't know that. I'm going to look like a fuckin' moron, but you know what? I'll blame you, Detective. You'll be the reason the Absinthe Killer is still on the loose.”

“Decland?” Spider asked from his crouching position. “Is that you? You found my clue. It was meant to be.”

“Yes.” I debated if I should dive for my gun. If Dorrick shined the light somewhere else, I could possibly do it.

“Who is that other man with the gun?”

“Oh, that's your real father's best friend.”

“Real father?”

“Yeah, President Vorhees. You may have heard of him.”

“What a ridiculous lie.” He giggled.

“It's true, Lotz,” Dorrick said. “The president is your father. I figure you should die knowing.”

“I can't believe that. You're both lying to me.”

“I have the gun, Lotz. Why would I lie?”

A moment of silence passed. “Can I meet him?”

“He's going to kill us all,” I said, still figuring out a move.

“Decland, I did this for you. You're the reason.” Spider coughed loudly.

“No shit,” I said, waiting for the beam of light to leave me. I wondered if anyone else knew we were all here.

“Confess your love now, Spider, because you're done,” Dorrick demanded. The light shone on Spider for a split second.

I dropped to the floor for my gun, and then I heard a firecracker pop. I twisted and tumbled between the dresser and the wall. To my astonishment, the heavy piece of furniture that was going to serve as my protection fell through the planks into the lake below. That was when I felt my forearm begin to throb. The bullet had found me.

Dorrick continued to fire in my direction, but it was too dark. The bullets landed harmlessly in the cheap paneling. However, without the dresser blocking my view, I managed to get off two rounds that found their mark, one in Dorrick's stomach and one in his neck. The impeccably dressed, omnipotent agent fell hard to the floor.

I jumped up to make sure Jennifer was unharmed.

Dorrick's flashlight was lying on the floor, shining on Spider who sat in a corner, crying. He was rubbing his shoulders and holding himself, lost in his own world. He didn't appear to be wounded, except for the external injuries I had inflicted on him. His long, high-pitched cries were like a newborn's, carrying through the camp and over the lake.

I approached him with my gun pointed at his head, stepping in and out of the flashlight's beam, casting my shadow on him. Spider wasn't in any shape to do harm to anyone, so I turned to untie Jennifer with my good hand.

She hugged me tight, and I kept my gaze on my former coworker. She wept into my neck, releasing hours of panic. My instinct told me to go ahead and shoot Gene Lotz, ending it forever. I wanted to so badly that I convinced myself it was the only way. I gently pulled Jennifer away from me, giving her a kiss. Next to her were her scrubs, which Spider had torn off. I handed them to her. “Get dressed while I deal with Spider.”

I stood as she put on her clothes. Then she crawled to the screen door I had busted through.

“Gene?” I asked, steady as a rock.

He looked at me. “You know I've always loved you, don't you?”

I nodded, slowly raising my weapon. This was right.
Do it. Do it.
“If Vorhees would have just claimed responsibility. You could have had so much potential.”

I lowered my weapon to my side. This wasn't Jason from
Friday the 13th.
This was a fucked-up little boy who would never be released into society again. If he was, then I promised myself I would take care of him personally.

“Please do it. I need you to end this. I don't want to walk out of here tonight. I've talked to Jesus, and He's ready for my soul. Please.”