Endless Night (33 page)

Also, I’ve been in on every kill done by the gang. (Not to mention that I’ve done more than a few on my own.)

I’m one of the only guys who knows it all.

Just call me the Boswell of the Krull Gang.

Better get back to the story. I got sidetracked about the new members Tom brought in.

They were Lawrence “Dusty” Rhodes, Bill Peterson, and Frank “Tex” Austin. Dusty is still with us, but the other two are toes up.

I already told what happened to Bill Peterson.

Tex caught it the third time he went on a house raid with us. That was in Reno, Nevada. (We got around, not wanting to foul our own back yard anymore than necessary.) The wife happened to be in the john taking a leak when we made our entry. She took us all by surprise, but it was Tex that she killed. Jumped on his back and stabbed him in the neck about ten times with a little pair of toenail scissors. One of the stabs opened up his carotid.

Tex was our first member of the homosexual persuasion. By the time we found out, though, we all liked him so it didn’t matter. Besides, he never messed with any of us. He saved it for the guys we met on our forays. Which worked out very nicely. He took special care of the fellas while we handled the babes.

Before he got killed, he brought in Mitch and Chuck. They were okay, I guess. I liked them fine, mostly, till Friday night when they were so useless going after Jody and Andy. And on top of which, the assholes ditched me.

In my book, they’re all a bunch of assholes. The whole bunch.

They all deserted me. And now they’re all ganging up on me over this Jody and Andy business. Guys I thought were my friends.

They’re probably hoping I don’t make the deadline, so then they can have their fun and games with Lisa.

Just for the record, Lisa doesn’t know anything about our little adventures. She knows I get together with the guys once a month and sometimes I end up staying out all night, but she always thought we were meeting at Tom’s house to play poker and get drunk. She didn’t like it, either. She’s been trying to get me to quit.

We got engaged a couple of months ago, and the wedding is set for Labor Day weekend. Ranch is supposed to be my “best man.” He’s been talking about throwing me a bachelor’s party where we take a sorority house—really plan ahead and go in there with some heavy artillery and take control of the place, then pick out the best looking babes for our entertainment.

I told him it sounded awfully risky.

He said, “You only get married once.”

I think we really might have done it. Hell, it would’ve made more history. But everything’s down the tubes, now. Even if I can manage to save Lisa, it’ll all be over between us. And it’s all over between me and the guys, no matter what. Even if they forgive me for screwing up, I can’t forgive them for the way they turned against me.

I don’t know how I’m going to get my hands on Jody in time for the deadline, anyway.

I’ve been trying to tell myself she’ll come walking in the door any minute, but it isn’t likely. Those dresser drawers of hers were just too empty. She must’ve taken enough clothes for a week or two. You don’t do that, then come home the next morning.

God, I’d like to forget about Lisa and the deadline and all that shit, and just sit here and talk. I’ve never talked so much in my life as during the past couple of days. It’s great. Telling about this stuff, it’s like being there all over again. I can see it, smell it, taste it, feel it. What a turn-on!

What I’d really like to do is give the whole history in detail. Maybe it could end up as a book. Call it, The Incredible Krulls. Har! No, that’s an awful title. How about The Sex-Cult Massacres? I like that.

Maybe that can be my project if I get out of this mess alive.

Anyway, I’d like to just keep sitting here and really get into it, but ... It’d be nice. It’d take my mind off shit, too.

But shit beckons.

In other words, I’ve got some calls to make. First, I’ll give Tom a try. Maybe if I explain things, he’ll give me a break. I know I can get my hands on Jody. I need time, though. Maybe a week.

He’ll give me a week, my ass.

No way.

I could get down on my knees and beg, and he’s the sort of guy who won’t give me one extra minute on the deadline.

Well, screw that. I don’t beg.

What 1 will do, though, is phone up my sisters. Depending on how things turn out tonight, Tom and the guys might go after them next.

This’ll be real fun.

How do you tell your sisters that you had a falling out with some of your pals, and now those former pals might come along and torture, rape and butcher them and their husbands and children, so they’d better leave town for a few days or a month or the rest of their lives?

Talk about embarrassing, huh?

I wonder if they’ll even believe me.

They’re nine and eleven years older than me, so they never knew me very well. They were hardly ever around the house by the time I started getting into stuff with Tom and the guys. So they think I’m a sweet, quiet fellow. It might be awfully hard convincing them I’m mixed up in anything that could get them destroyed.

Maybe I should just wait a while before I call them. See how things go. If I can just get my hands on Jody ...

No. I shouldn’t have waited this long. It won’t be any major deal if I let the guys nail Lisa—I mean, I do want to save her. But it’s not like she’s family, you know? I’m not even sure I wanted to marry her. But I can’t let the guys get to my sisters.

Okay. Here goes. I’m gonna call.

I’ll start with Dora, I guess. I get along with her better than I do with Sandy. Sandy’s a real know-it-all.

Oh, man, I don’t want to do this.

Here goes.

I guess I’ll take the recorder along so I can tape my side of these miserable conversations for posterity.

The phone’s in the kitchen.

This makes my stomach hurt.

Vhat duss not kill uss makes uss schtronker. Yah-vole!

I don’t know my sisters’ phone numbers by heart. Isn’t that awful?

So, what’s the number for directory assistance?

Five-five-five something, I guess.

Hey, what’s this?

Folks! I see some numbers written on a pad here by the phone. They look suspiciously like a couple of long distance phone numbers.

Might these numbers provide a clue, perchance, to the whereabouts of Jody?

Fat fucking chance, Watson.

Eeeny meeny miney moe ...

The bottom number it is.

Who knows what evil lurks ... ?

“Woops.”

For those of you listening, I just hung up. Can you guess who I encountered at the other end?

The police. The
Indio
police. That’s Indio, California.

Be still, my heart. Whew! Be still, my ass. Have you ever noticed, when you’re really scared, how your bowel area gets hot and tingly and feels like it’s squirming around on you?

That’s how I feel right now.

It’s no picnic, making an innocent call and having a guy on the other end say he’s the official answer-boy for a police department.

Who does the other number belong to, the fucking FBI?

I think I’ll have another cup of coffee and give myself a couple of minutes to calm down before I try that one.

Okay. My bodily functions are slowly returning to normal.

Question. What is the number for the Indio cops doing on a pad by Jody’s kitchen phone?

Answer. Somebody called them recently.

What I might do is make the call again, say I’m with the LAPD, wing it, see what I can find out. Terrific idea. No way.

Here’s a little lesson in crime: don’t mess with cops, avoid them.

If I call up and try to play games, the oink at the other end is gonna catch on and pull a cute stunt such as tracing the call. (You call some numbers, like 911 for instance, and your call gets traced aummaticauy. They don’t even have to stall and keep you on the line like in the movies. Bang, the computer gives them the address you’re calling from. The miracles of modem technology.)

I’ll try the other number.

If it belongs to cops of some sort, I’ll say nothing and hang up.

Here goes.

The voice you’re about to hear will be yours truly.

“Yes, Frank. This is Captain Duke Eastwood, LAPD ... Are you a mechanic there, or ... ? Ah, I see. One of our officers gave us your number, indicated he might be heading out your way. The name’s Fargo ... Uh-huh ... Oh, that’s very good news! Excellent! We always hope these things will go that way. A kid that’s actually been snatched just doesn’t stand much of a chance, you know? ... Right, or they do get found. In a shallow grave. Terrible. God knows, I’ve seen enough of that. But we can count our blessings on this one, Frank. I’m just surprised Fargo hasn’t passed the word to our end yet. What time did the boy turn up ?... Uh-uh ... Well, that’s wonderful, wonderful. Now, do you know if he’s on his way back with the boy? ... Really? What makes you think that? ... You can? From your window? Is it one of our black and whites? ... No, we don’t use unmarked blue Fords. It must be his own personal car. Which motel is that? ... Uh-uh. I’ll give him a call over there. Frank, I want to thank you for your cooperation. You’ve been very helpful. Have a good one, now.”

Do you believe it?

I don’t believe it!

Oh man, oh man, oh man!

Okay, now what? I’ve gotta do some fast thinking. They’re still at some motel called the Traveler’s Roost across from the gas station—good old Frank can see Fargo’s car in the lot.

It’s eight-thirty now.

Thank God I woke up at dawn! And thank God I didn’t ditz around any longer with the tales of our adventures!

Okay okay okay.

I’ve gotta make tracks for Indio.

And hope they sleep late.

Got an idea!

I do know Ranch’s number by heart.

Come on, come on, answer. Be there!

“Yo! Ranch! ... Not too good, you wanta know the truth. But a lot better than I was five minutes ago. Look, I know all about Lisa and everything ... I know, I know ... No, it’s all right ... Yeah, we’re still pals. Now look, I know where the kids are. I’m going after them. You wanta come ?... Ha! Thought so. Now listen up, the girl’s old man is a cop, and he’s with her. There’s the three of them—the cop, Jody and Andy ... Yeah, she sure is. Better than that, my man. Dusty was understating it. Wait’ll you see her ... That’s the idea. Take her alive, play it by ear with the boy ... I know, but who gives a shit what those two want? Now look, let’s get Dusty in on this. I know he’s got the hots for her, and a sharpshooter like him might come in real handy—case we wanta pop the old man or someone at long distance. So call him, okay? Just him, though. And tell him this is just between the three of us. We don’t want everybody else trying to horn in on us ... Tell him it’s off if he pulls any stunts. I’m the only one knows where they are, and he wants her in a big way, so he’ll go along with it ... No. We’ll take your car, so make sure it’s gassed up and ready to roll. We’ve gotta be quick, or we’ll miss them. I’ll be over at your place in fifteen minutes.”

Part Seven

Checkout Time

Chapter Thirty-one

Jody woke up. The room was sunny. Rolling onto her side, she saw Andy on the other bed. He lay with his head turned away from her, his arms tucked under his pillow, his back bare down to where the sheet covered him. He’d gone to bed wearing Jody’s robe, but he wasn’t wearing it now. The sheet looked smooth over his rump and the backs of his legs.

Obviously, nothing underneath it except Andy.

Jody supposed she ought to feel embarrassed or angry. The room was too warm, though. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to get comfortable. She might’ve slept in the raw, herself, if she’d been alone in the room.

Good thing I didn’t, she thought.

As it was, her own sheet was down near her waist.

And she was still a little too hot. Andy probably felt just right, at least down to where the sheet covered him.

It sure was good to see him there.

No longer missing. Not kidnaped. Not dead. Safe and sound, and sleeping peacefully where Jody could see him.

With the white of sheets all around him, his tan looked dark. The color of a sandy beach in shadows. It seemed like the sort of tan that a kid should have halfway into a summer of swimming pools and lawn mowing and running around shirtless in the sun. But the tan should’ve been smooth and flawless. Instead, it was blotched with livid bruises, scuffed, scabbed and carved by small cuts that looked almost fresh.

As if he’d taken a bad spill off his bike, maybe tumbling across the pavement for a while and then rolling down a hillside.

He did roll down a hillside, Jody reminded herself.

Just like me.

She realized that she felt fairly good.

Staying on her side, Jody wiggled slightly and flexed a few muscles. She found her body to be somewhat stiff and sore, but without any major pains.

So far, so good
.

She pushed herself up on an elbow. Not go good. Especially her neck. After she sat up straight, though, her neck felt better.

She half expected to see Dad and Sharon at the table by the window. That’s where they’d been when she and Andy had climbed into the beds at about three o’clock that moming. On the table stood a bottle with an inch of whiskey remaining. There were also some plastic glasses, empty cans of root beer and Diet Coke, and a couple of small packages of chips that they hadn’t gotten around to eating.

The remains of their party.

She remembered how they’d all trooped down to the vending machines. A good stout wind had come up, so Sharon was struggling to keep her robe from blowing open. Dad had kept his eyes away from her, but Andy had watched her, even walking backward part of the time.

The little creep, she thought, and glanced over at him.

He still seemed to be asleep.

She didn’t think he’d caught any glimpses of what he shouldn’t, but it hadn’t been for lack of trying.

Oh, he wasn’t even trying. Not really. He was just clowning around. Trying to impress me.

Is that what he was doing? she wondered.