Last Man Standing (65 page)

“It was my fault, Gwen, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, playing that tape in your house.”

“It didn’t matter, Web, it was bound to happen sometime.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“You’ve damn well done enough.”

They all turned and looked at the doorway, where Billy stood in old jeans, bare feet, with his shirttail hanging out. His
hair was in disarray and he basically looked like hell, observed Web. Billy lit up a cigarette and cupped his hand for an
ashtray as he came forward. Web noted that Gwen made no move to stop him from smoking.

He sat down across from the two men, his piercing eyes watching them from behind the drifts of smoke. Web could smell the
alcohol from where he stood and assumed Gwen could too. She rose from her chair to go to her husband, but he motioned her
back down.

“We saw the TV,” said Billy.

“That’s what Gwen said,” replied Web.

Billy squinted at him, as though he were having trouble seeing over the one foot that separated them. “You killed them all?”

“Not all. Most.” Web kept his gaze on the man. Part of him thought Billy might toast the demise of the Frees, and part of
him thought the man might throw him and Romano out for leaving any of them alive.

“How’d it feel?”

“Billy!” said Gwen. “You have no right to ask that. We’re talking about people being killed.”

“I know all about people being killed, honey,” said Billy as he shot her a smile that had nothing in it. He looked back at
Web, awaiting an answer.

“It felt like shit. It always feels like shit. Most of them were high school age or grandfathers.”

“My son was ten.” He said this without emotion, just stating it as a clear, indisputable fact.

“I know that.”

“But I hear what you’re saying. It ain’t easy killing somebody, unless you’re way screwed up to begin with. It’s only hard
for the good guys.” He pointed at Web and then at Romano. “For men like you.”

Gwen swiftly went to her husband before he could stop her again. She put an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go back upstairs.”

Billy ignored her. “TV says old Ernest B. Free wasn’t among the dead. That right?”

Web nodded and Billy smiled. “Sumbitch’s luck just keeps holding, doesn’t it?”

“Looks that way. But if he was planning to come home to his little group, he’ll have to find somewhere else to live.”

Billy considered this. “Well, that’s something.” He looked at Gwen. “Where’s Strait?”

Gwen seemed very relieved by the change in subject. “On his way back from the sale. He’ll be here tonight. He called from
the road. It went really well. Every yearling sold and we got the price we wanted on every one.”

“Well, damn, that’s something to celebrate.” He eyed Web and Romano. “You fellows want to celebrate? I tell you what, we’ll
wait until old Nemo gets back tonight and then we’ll have us a little party right here. What do you say?”

“I doubt that they feel much like celebrating, Billy,” said Gwen. “Well, I sure as hell do. We got yearlings sold, Frees dead
and we got to give Web and Paul here a going-away party, ’cause with those boys dead, we don’t need protection anymore, do
we? Y’all can pack up and get out right now,” he said in a loud voice.

“Billy, please,” said Gwen.

Web was about to say that the jury was still out on Gwen and Billy being safe, but he stopped himself. “I tell you what, Billy,
you let us stay on a couple more days and we’ll come to your party tonight.”

Gwen looked at him in astonishment while Billy merely nodded and grinned, sucking down the rest of his cigarette with a long
pull. He put it out in his leathery palm without even wincing. Web noted the man’s hands for the first time. They were large,
muscular and stained with what looked to be acid or something like it. Then he recalled the taxidermy workshop. Killing and
stuffing.

“See you tonight, gents,” said Billy.

Gwen led them out and told Web in a low voice that he didn’t have to do this.

“I’ll see you tonight, Gwen,” was all he said in response, and she closed the door slowly after them.

W
hat the hell was all that about?” said Romano. “I mean, talk about your freaky shit.”

Before Web could answer, his phone rang. He whipped it out, hoping it was Claire, but it was Bates.

“I guess it’s time to pull the pole on the East Winds tent,” Bates said.

“You can call your guys off, but the Canfields have asked Romano and me to stay.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, and I think it’s a good idea, actually. The Frees who were at that compound are gone, but who’s to say they don’t have
more members out there? And Ernie’s still at large.”

“That’s true. Okay, look, you hang there, but let me know if anything goes down, and I mean the second it happens, not Web
London time.”

“You got it. Anything from Cove?”

“Nothing. It’s like he’s disappeared from the face of the earth.” Web thought about Claire. “Yeah, I got one of those too.”

A
bout the time that Web was wiping out the Free Society in southern Virginia, Claire Daniels sat blindfolded with a gag stuffed
painfully in her mouth. She could hear men in the background discussing, or rather arguing, presumably about her. She recognized
Ed O’Bannon’s voice and she bristled each time she heard it. The bastard had kept the gun on her all the way down to the parking
garage and then duct-taped her arms and legs and thrown her in his trunk. She had no idea where she was. As she blinked back
tears, she still couldn’t believe she had worked next to the man all this time and never suspected what was going on.

The voices stopped and she felt people moving toward her. All she could think was that another pistol was going to be placed
against her head, and this time the person would surely fire and kill her. Claire was suddenly pulled up so roughly she thought
they had popped her arm out of place. She felt herself being lifted up and put over a shoulder. Whoever was carrying her was
strong; the man wasn’t even breathing hard, and where her stomach was pressing against him, he felt hard as iron.

A few minutes went by and she was laid down and then she felt the plink of metal against metal. Another car trunk. Blindfolded
and shuttled from place to place, Claire had lost her sense of balance and also felt nauseous. The car started and they were
soon on the move. She tried listening for sounds that would provide some clue as to where they were, but she soon gave up,
there were just too many confusing noises, and they were all muffled. She judged they had been driving for about an hour when
the movement of the car seemed to indicate that they had gone from straight, level roads to winding, rolling ones. Had they
gone into the country? Were they driving her to some isolated wooded area to kill her and leave her body for the animals,
insects and elements to slowly destroy? In her work with law enforcement, Claire had seen the remains of a woman who had been
raped and murdered and left in the forest for two weeks. Other than bone, there was virtually nothing left of her. She had
become sick at the sight of it. Was that how she would be found?

The car slowed and then she felt a sharp turn and then it decreased its speed again. Now they were going over rough dirt roads
and she was pitched around in the trunk, hitting her head twice, once hard enough to bring tears. The car stopped again and
then she heard the engine cut off and the doors open. She braced herself. She heard footsteps moving to the rear. She tensed
even more, the feeling of despair and helplessness far worse than she had ever endured before. What did it feel like to die?
A bullet to the head, would there be any sensation of pain? Web had been shot, twice. He knew what it was like to think he
was dying. He had survived, though, because he was a survivor. He had it much tougher in life than she had. She counseled
folks over their troubles, and except for a divorce that was fairly amicable, Claire had had no significant disruptions in
her own life. For the first time ever, she wondered what gave her the right, other than her fancy degrees, to tell people
how to get through their
issues.
Yes, Web had survived much; Claire didn’t think she was that strong. She took a deep breath as the trunk was opened and strong
hands closed around her and lifted her up. It wasn’t O’Bannon. Claire knew he was a man of very little physical strength.
From all around she heard the sounds of the forest and animals that lived there, predators that might soon be visiting her
remains. She initially fought back the tears and then just decided to let them go. These people wouldn’t care.

She felt the man moving over uneven ground, stumbling a few times but then righting himself. His feet went from dirt to something
else, wood, brick, or perhaps stone, she wasn’t sure, but she had heard the change in sounds, and then a door was unlocked
and opened. This surprised her because she had assumed they were in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps it was a cabin, but then
she heard noises of machinery going and what she thought was the flow of water. Were they near a stream or river? Was there
a dam nearby or a water treatment plant? Was that where her body was going to end up? Then she had a sense of either going
up or down, she wasn’t sure about that either, for with her ruined sense of balance she had also lost her sense of direction.
In fact, she thought she might be sick, and her stomach pushing into the man’s hard, bony shoulder didn’t help much. And there
was also a strong chemical odor that seemed familiar but that she couldn’t quite identify, so out of whack were all her senses.
For an instant she thought that vomiting on him would give her some small sense of pleasure, of triumph, but it also might
prompt him to accelerate the timing of her death.

Another door opened and they passed through, presumably into another room. He squatted and laid her down on something soft,
perhaps a bed. Her skirt had risen up embarrassingly high while she’d been riding on the man’s shoulders, and with her hands
bound she had no way to pull it down. She tensed when she felt his hands go up her legs to a point where she thought he was
going to pull down her underpants and add rape to his list of felonies. However, all he did was tug her skirt down to its
normal position.

The next thing he did was pull her bound hands over her head and the clink of metal made her think that he had handcuffed
her hands to something, perhaps the bed or a ring bolted to the wall. As soon as he moved away, she tried to pull her hands
down, but couldn’t budge them. Whatever she was handcuffed to, she wouldn’t be able to escape it.

“You’ll get some food and water later. For now, just try to relax.” She didn’t recognize the voice. The man didn’t laugh at
his insane words, but Claire could easily sense the mirth behind them.

The door closed and she was once again alone. Alone, that is, until she sensed movement from across the room.

“You okay, lady?” asked Kevin Westbrook.

W
eb was now getting worried. Claire had not called back, and he had phoned the hotel but gotten no answer. He called her house
and there was no answer there either. Her office hadn’t seen her; she had no patients scheduled because it was her normal
day off. Maybe she had just gone out for a drive along the Blue Ridge or something, he thought. She hadn’t mentioned a trip
to him, and even if she had gone, why didn’t she answer her cell phone? Every professional instinct he had was telling him
something was wrong.

He left Romano at East Winds and drove to the hotel. It was not the sort of place where anyone would necessarily note the
coming and going of guests, but Web figured he’d try. However, the staff that possibly would have seen her come in the previous
evening was not on duty yet. And no one he talked to remembered anyone resembling Claire coming through the lobby the day
before. Her car wasn’t in the parking lot either. He drove to her house, found a back window open and crawled through. Web
went through her house thoroughly but found nothing that could tell him where she might have gone. He did find a book with
her daughter’s phone number and address in it. She went to school in California, so it wasn’t like Claire could have popped
in to see her for the day. Web contemplated calling the daughter, but a call from the FBI might throw the girl into needless
hysterics if it turned out nothing was wrong. He left and went to Claire’s office. O’Bannon was not in, but another person
who worked there was. She hadn’t talked to Claire and didn’t know where she might be.