Whistle Pass (25 page)

The engine gunned a block north. The spotlight flickered between buildings.

Charlie stepped forward and tripped over a bush. “Crap.” He pushed off the ground to his knees and brushed himself off.

The squad car lumbered around a corner. The headlights captured Charlie. The car zoomed toward him. Charlie leapt to his feet and ran toward the approaching car. The squad bounced over the curb onto the sidewalk. Charlie jumped and slid over the hood. He tumbled to the ground. Gathering his senses, he looked around, rolled to his feet, then broke into a run. The squad’s backup lights flashed on. The stench of burned rubber filled the air. Charlie turned the corner and ran for Main Street.

He turned onto Main. The hotel was only a block away. He dug deeper for speed. Brakes ground, the engine slowed, then zoomed to life again.

Continuing north, he ran with all he had left. His legs burned, his shins ached.

Tires squealed behind him. Headlights bathed him. Charlie pulled his knees higher, kicked out his legs for every inch of sidewalk he could cover. At the end of the next street, he crossed the intersection and slowed slightly. The squad zoomed beside him, then bounded over the curb, skidding to a stop.

Charlie hit the car and used it to push off from and run the opposite direction. He rounded the corner, then ducked into the alley. The second floor porch came into view. He shinnied up a support post until he was able to grab the railing and swing onto the porch. Charlie dropped to his knees and sucked in air. His ragged lungs groaned against the onslaught of cold air. Rubbing his thighs, he waited for the squad car and Phil Austin.

The engine idled, then crept into the alley. The spotlight searched every shadow like a lighthouse beacon beckoning wayward ships. The car slowly rumbled into view.

Charlie pushed his way to his feet. He planted his hands on the railing.

Austin, once again, didn’t check the porches with no visible stairway or access, just like the cop hadn’t the night Charlie’d staked the porch out.

Charlie breathed through his nose. His body calmed. The beast stretched. The squad eased its way beneath the porch. Charlie gripped the railing, took in a final deep breath, then threw himself over the railing.

He slammed his heavy boots onto the roof of the car with his full weight. The metal bent and dented. The red lens of the rotating light dislodged and clattered to the ground.

“What the hell!”

Charlie jumped to the driver’s side and grabbed a garbage can. He swung the steel receptacle against the door. Garbage showered the car and splattered the alley.

“Goddamn it!” Austin hollered.

Charlie tossed the can aside. Peering into the open window, the sight of Austin sitting there with rotting lettuce in his lap brought out a satisfied smirk. Charlie thrust a fist through the window. His knuckles smacked the cop’s cheek. He drew back his right fist and let the left fly onto the man’s mouth. Blood splattered. Austin’s head slapped the back of the seat. His eyes fluttered. Blood flowed from shredded lips.

Charlie opened the door. Grabbing the cop’s leather jacket, he yanked him out of the car. Austin blindly swung a fist. Charlie jerked back. Air brushed his face. Charlie hammered two quick thrusts into the man’s side. Austin groaned and leaned left. Charlie beat a fist into the right side. Austin staggered, then fell back against the car.

Austin reached out, got a grip on Charlie’s shoulders, and drove his forehead into Charlie’s face. Charlie blinked.
Pain pelted him like a hailstorm. Austin slammed his head into Charlie again. Charlie staggered
backward.

“Nngh,” slipped out of Austin’s mouth.

Charlie readied for the telegraphed blow. It came from Austin’s right hand. Charlie ducked. The fist and arm swept over him. Charlie shoved into the cop, hurling him against the car. The waist-length leather jacket rose, exposing the belt and trouser tops… and the cop’s kidneys. Charlie turned his rage loose. Fist after fist drove into the man. He didn’t stop the blows, even as Austin’s knees buckled. The man sank to the pavement. Charlie straddled Austin, then rendered one last blow onto the base of his skull.

Air gushed out of the cop’s limp body as Austin crumpled into unconsciousness.

Charlie swiped at his face. Blood smeared his hand. He pinched his nose closed and leaned his head back. Opening his mouth, he breathed heavily and deeply. The chilly air vibrated through him. The smog of Austin’s head butts lifted, and Charlie’s brain cleared.

“Phew,” he heaved. Charlie lowered his hand and looked at Austin. “You said you didn’t fight fair. Guess I should have told you, I don’t either.”

He grabbed Austin’s ankles and dragged him into the shadows under the overhead porch. Charlie grimaced and rubbed his shoulder. Perkins and that sap had connected a bit more than he’d thought. Weariness crept inside him on a shiver of night air. Sleep would be necessary when he finished here. There should be a chair in Gabe’s hospital room. He puffed his cheeks and blasted a breath.

“Okay, big boy. Time to get up close and personal.”

Charlie unzipped the jacket and yanked it off. The shirt came next.
Hairy, stretched-skin flab jiggled. “You oughta try a little exercise.” He slipped off the shoes. The stench crinkled his nose. “Jeez. I didn’t know decay started at the toes.” Charlie tossed aside the gun belt. Then he unbuckled and jerked the trousers off the man. Boxers. They had to go. For the first time, he wished he’d thought to bring gloves. The stench emanating from the underwear wasn’t spoiled cologne.

“No wonder old Dora wouldn’t bed your smelly ass.”

He closed his eyes and slid off the boxers. Cracking open an eyelid, there was obviously another small—emphasis on “small”—reason why Dora hadn’t shown the man any sexual interest.

Charlie went to the gun belt and unsnapped a brown leather case. Inside rested a gleaming pair of handcuffs. He pulled them out. At Austin’s nude carcass, he clicked one cuff on the man’s left wrist, reached around a wood support post, then clicked the other cuff on Austin’s right wrist.

There was one more piece of ornamentation Officer Austin was long overdue in receiving. Charlie picked up the uniform trousers. The weighted sap lay in the hidden pocket. He left the mound of pale blubber on its stomach.

“This is going to hurt you a lot more than me.” Charlie spread the man’s ample, pimpled butt cheeks, looked at the leather and lead sap one last time, then shoved the handle up the cop’s ass.

C
HARLIE
parked the squad car in front of city hall. He climbed out and locked the Chevy’s doors. He slipped the keys into the mailbox.

A line of cars and trucks came down the street. Captain Tom held out his arms in an unspoken question from the back of a pickup. Charlie gave him a thumbs-up.

Tom shouted his glee. “Let’s go get him, boys. Run the queer out on a rail!”

Hands waved from car windows, men pumped fists in the air in the beds of trucks. Charlie dutifully waved back. Something flew into the air out of a truck. Charlie’s pea coat landed in the street. The cavalcade sped away. He snorted his bewilderment and retrieved his coat, grateful for the warmth, not to mention the fact one of them had thought to grab his coat off the bar. A few hours ago, he was the target of their bigoted minds. Now, anybody in the wrong place would fill their need for…. Having no idea what their
need
was, he could only shake his head. The way things stood right now, Charlie could probably attend the next Sunday T party and pull up a chair at the card table.

People confused the hell out of him. Trees never said much.

Charlie pulled the pea coat tight around him, then buttoned the buttons. He dug out a cigarette, lit the smoke. The hospital was a long way up—nearly straight up. But that’s where Gabe was, and sitting beside Gabe was where Charlie was going to be.

Chapter 24

G
ABE
sat upright. A chrome kidney-shaped pan lay at his side. He grabbed the pan and puked. The floodgates opened, and vomit flowed nonstop out his mouth and nose. The eruption subsided, and he collapsed onto a pillow. Betty leaned over him and wiped his face clean with a cool, wet cloth. His right arm was bound to his chest by bandages.

“There, there, now, my boy,” she whispered. “It’s just the ether. You’re waking up and your body needs to get the gas out of your system. The doctors took the bullet out. You’ll be fine.”

She handed him a Kleenex, and he blew his nose empty of the sour taste. A fresh tissue quickly replaced the soiled one. That one he used to wipe his tongue. Betty quickly handed him a replacement. Gabe smiled, released a contented sigh, and relaxed under Betty’s loving care. A mixed bag of bleach, chemicals, and faint wisps of food slowly replaced the stink of his puke.

“Welcome back. So, now you know.”

Heat flushed Gabe’s cheeks and scorched his ears.
Charlie
.

“Know what?” He looked around the room. Charlie sat on a metal chair in the corner by the open door. The nurses’ station lay just beyond. Nurses in white dresses and aprons with starched paper caps pinned in their hair scurried about. So much activity, it had to be morning.

“What you’d do under fire.”

Gabe frowned. “I nearly died.” His toes wiggled his nervousness. The realization he really had almost died didn’t give him any comfort.

“You saved Charlie’s life,” Betty cooed. “You’re a hero.”

Charlie shrugged and held out his open palms. “You’re my hero, anyway.” He grimaced and rubbed his right shoulder.

Concern wrenched Gabe’s chest. “What’s wrong with your shoulder?”

Charlie’s lips tightened. “I don’t know. Maybe Perkins gave a little better than I thought he did.”

Perkins
. Gabe pinched his eyes closed. The night’s activities stepped through the haze in his brain. He opened his eyes. “What happened to Perkins after he shot me?”

Charlie shrugged again. “No idea. Lester took him out of the Nugget, and I haven’t seen or heard of either of them since.”

Cathy walked through the doorway. “Haven’t heard anything about the police chief, but the whole town’s gossiping about Officer Austin. Seems Captain Tom and his little band of bigots found the night cop dancing in an alley wearing nothing but the end of his sap sticking out his butt. Last anybody saw of him”—she moved her arms up and down—“he was covered in tar and feathers and pumping the bars on one of those little track-checking carts and hightailing it down the railroad tracks.”

Gabe’s belly jiggled with laughter. “Ooh,” he groaned as pain stabbed his chest.

Cathy leaned over and kissed Gabe on the cheek. She eased down on the edge of the bed. “There’s more. There’re some reporters and photographers from the
Chicago Tribune
asking a lot of questions about Mayor and Missus Black and the nuclear power plant. They’ve got city hall staked out. Mayor locked the doors and has a policeman standing guard. There’s another reporter sitting in the hotel lobby like he’s waiting for something to happen.”

Charlie stood. “Gabe, I need the picture back.”

Gabe glared at Charlie. “That’s all you came here for, isn’t it? You just wanted the picture. You didn’t come here because you were worried about me, did you?” Anger and hurt spilled out. “What’d you do, Charlie? Flip your little coin and call the reporters? And now you want your little picture so you can leave town and go back to the reservation and chop down trees with your little tomahawk. Did you flip a coin about me yet, Charlie? Huh? Did you?”

“No, but we can fix that right now.” Sarcasm oozed out of the man. He pushed back his open coat and dug in his jeans pocket. When he pulled out his hand, he held a dime. With his thumb, he flipped the coin into the air. Light glinted off the tumbling metal. Charlie snatched the dime mid-flight, then slapped it onto the back of his hand. He showed the results to Gabe. “Tails. I want the picture, Gabe.”

“Screw you, Charlie.”

Charlie turned toward the door.

“Wait a minute.” Gabe loosed a long breath. The photograph didn’t belong to him. It was Charlie’s property. “Above my bed in the crown molding. There’s an extra door key under the hotel check-in counter.”

Charlie nodded and entered the hallway.

A hand cracked his cheek. “Ow.” Betty glowered at him. “What was that for?” She slapped him again. A tear pearled in his eye. “Ow! Stop it. Why’d you do that?”

“Because you don’t know why I slapped you the first time.” She looked at Cathy. “I better get to the hotel.
Somebody
has to be in charge.”

Cathy nodded. “I’ll babysit our boy.”

Betty stomped out of the room.

Gabe flared a nostril. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Cathy patted the sheet over his legs. “Yes, you do. That little tantrum confirmed it.” She pivoted to face him. “Look, Gabe. I don’t know what this picture is you two were talking about, but I assume it’s important or you wouldn’t be hiding it in your room.” She reached over and palmed his cheek.

Warmth flooded Gabe’s face. Cathy was the big sister he’d never had.

“Put your emotions in check and think about this for a minute. There’s a reporter from Chicago camped out in the hotel lobby. Charlie wants the photograph. Add two and two, Gabe.”