Night Eyes (The Detective Temeke Crime Series Book 2) (4 page)

Adam kept his eyes on the road as they drove past signs to Truth Or Consequences and Hatch, turning right on NM-26 towards Deming. He must have slept for three hours before he awoke, because the next thing he saw were ghostly white aspens on either side of a bumpy track.

The truck lurched from side to side and he struggled to stop from gasping, body racked with fear. There was just the growl of the engine over his harried thoughts. He wanted to pluck a few hairs from his head and leave them behind the seat. The police would know he had been in the truck if he left a few hairs lying around. That’s how they found kids. By their hairs.

“I’m hungry,” he said. He couldn’t see Ramsey’s eyes too well but he knew they watching every move.

“What kind of hungry is that now? The kind where I open the door and you streak off through the woods and I shoot you in the back? Or the type of hungry where you keep quiet until we get there?”

“The second,” Adam said, wondering if streaking through the woods wasn’t a bad idea. He was fast on his pins and if he weaved through the trees like they did in the movies, he’d dodge a bullet or two. He had his scout uniform on and a compass in his pocket. He’d get further than a mile that’s for sure.

“Hard to find your way out here,” Ramsey whispered, “just in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

Ramsey made a snort of laughter as he reached under the seat, pulled the gun onto his lap. Adam gave it a long, hard stare, knew he couldn’t get to it quick enough without a punch in the face and he felt sick and nervous like he was going to throw up. Ramsey swallowed too many pills, too much drink, and his brain boiled with crazy things.

He brought the truck to a halt and powered down the window. Took Adam’s cell phone from his pocket and threw it out into the night. “Got a tracker on there, right?”

“I… I don’t know.” Adam shook his head. Heard the grunt of a laugh anyway.

“Not taking any chances.”

Adam held in a gulp for as long as he could. Throwing that phone away was as bad as someone crushing it with a heel. It was a gray Samsung with a dark blue screen, one he’d saved all his pocket money for. Now he wondered if the police would ever find him.

Visions of his dad swiped in and out of his mind and a voice that always told him what to do.
If you are kidnapped, son, talk to them. Find out what you can. Because when you’re found… and you will be found… anything you can tell the police may save another child’s life.

“Do you live up here?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Adam whispered, noting how thin and stern Ramsey's face had become. Talking about home might make him mad, bitter perhaps. He was probably homeless.

“Do you have a dad.”

Ramsey took his time to answer. “I did. He was a bastard.”

“My dad’s always been with us. Except when he went to Afghanistan. Something to do with caves and destroying weapons. He was gone for more than six months and my mom cried every night.”

Ramsey gave one of those frowns like he disagreed with what he was hearing. “Every night?”

“Well, no, I was the one who cried actually.”

Ramsey nodded then reached over the dash for a box of cigarettes, flipping the lid with one hand. “Want one?”

“No, thank you.” Adam heard the click of the lighter, watched Ramsey take a deep breath and exhale a cloud of smoke.

“You do drink, don’t you?”

Adam had never heard anything so stupid. “Of course I drink.”

“There’s a bottle of wine behind my seat. Might shut that big mouth of yours.”

Adam hated wine. He’d tried it once at his grandma’s funeral and it had come up quicker than it had gone down. The pastor pulled him to one side, told him drinking was for fools.
Do not look at wine . . . it sparkles in the cup
. . .
goes down smoothly. . . bites like a serpent . . . stings like an adder
.

“Did you know you can get adders and serpents in your belly if you drink,” Adam said.

Ramsey scowled at him with an upturned lip. “Who told you that?”

“Pastor Razz. And mom’s a doctor. She had to take out someone’s intestines once. They were covered in green slime and worms. Big ones.”

Adam noted how quiet Ramsey became after that. It served him right. He shouldn’t have been drinking that stuff in the first place. The worms weren’t a lie, not really. Just a warning. And then he thought of his dad.

“My dad’s not dead is he?”

“Who?”

“My dad.”

“He’s a hard man. No,
hard
doesn’t do him justice. He’s worse than hard. Cruel.”

Adam shook his head. “My dad’s not cruel. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“Gentle as a pussycat, isn’t that right Adam? Curious expression. Because cats aren’t gentle. Ever seen one catch a mouse? They prolong the agony for as long as possible.” Ramsey grinned between puffs. “Natural enemies can never be friends.”

Adam swallowed and felt his gut churn. He could hear his scoutmaster’s voice over the thumping of his heart.
Kidnappers lie. They say your parents are dead, don’t love you any more, sold you into slavery. Don’t believe a word.

Adam wondered where they were. Saw a sign to NM-15 and another to Lake Roberts.

It was another half hour before Ramsey coughed and ground the remains of another cigarette in the ashtray. It was hardly smoked. “Get me a beer.”

Adam reached behind the driver’s seat and flicked open the cooler. There were six green cans lying on a bed of ice, most of which had gone to slush. He handed one to Ramsey, heard him twist off the tag with a loud hiss, saw him grip the can between his thighs.

Adam glanced through the wing mirror. He saw a cloud of sand in their wake and ahead the road stretched out like a silver snake, curling ever upwards into the dark gray dawn. Somehow he felt more comfortable, more hopeful. The police were on their way, he kept promising himself, and they would find him within the hour.

The road narrowed and twisted sharply to the left and there, on a massive shelf of green grass, was a wooden chalet with a gently sloping roof and wide overhanging eaves. A large picture window reflected the mountain range to the west and a ripple of clouds hung gray and ghostlike on the glass. 

Despite Adam’s change of mood there was an air of grimness about the place. Ramsey had promised to shoot him if he ran away and he’d already killed his dad.

Killing was one of the big ten. It meant only one thing,
Adam thought. Ramsey would get a holy thunderbolt straight between the eyes and then he’d be squealing like a baby. Adam wondered if that might be worth looking forward to. Blood everywhere. A big gooey mess.

He found himself standing before two wooden doors listening to the click of a key in the lock. Lights suddenly illuminated a large living area with vaulted ceilings and wood stove at one end. A marble counter wrapped around the kitchen and there were bar stools high enough for a giant.

“Better get some rest,” Ramsey murmured.

“How long are we staying here?”

“As long as it takes.”

“I need to call my mom. She’ll worry, you see.”

“You like history, don’t you? Like to know about the Anasazi.” Ramsey took a deep breath like he’d just come up for air. “We’re going to the caves. So you’ll see it firsthand.”

His voice was distant, less gruff, and there was a change in his face, a fresh light that hadn’t been there before. Adam felt the frown between his eyes and nodded. The only place he ever wanted to go was the national monuments. To the pit houses and the cave dwellings. To see Tarahuma for himself. Today, all that seemed wrong.

The first bedroom they came to had two wrought iron trundle beds and a small shuttered window in a stone wall. Large windows faced over the driveway draped in curtains you could see through and the rods were thicker than a man’s arm.

He sensed Ramsey staring at him, looking at his hair, his face and then his mouth. It wasn’t a creepy look. More curious like he was sizing him up or something.

“You’ll be safe here,” he said. “Safer than in the woods.”

Adam sat on the bed as the door closed behind him, key clunking in the lock. He could see the chalk-white road they had taken through the large windows, twisting down between the trees and out of sight. There were no other houses. No signs of life.

He cried a bit then as he fumbled with the compass in his pocket. Looking at where the direction of travel arrow intersected with the degree dial, he was facing twenty-three degrees southwest.

Now what,
he thought, wiping one eye with the back of his hand. He was thirsty and the water in the bathroom faucet tasted salty and bitter. It was yellow too. There was a map on the wall in a small white frame. It showed Lake Roberts and NM-35 to the east. If he could get to that highway, he could certainly hitch a ride home.

The big windows were double-paned and locked, but the small shuttered window was easy to open. He looked out over a sloping roof, hoping he was thin enough to crawl through, hoping he could hide in places a man could not go.

Open the window, Adam. It’s so stuffy.
His mom’s voice echoed in his mind. She always said that in the mornings when she came in to open his curtains.
There now, good fresh air. Can’t you smell it?
Trouble was, Ramsey would be able to smell it too. Adam snapped it shut and winced at the noise. 

Wendover always told the scouts to live without worry, without fear, to be grateful for all blessings both good and bad. This was one of those
bad
blessings and he was frightened all right.

I want my Eagle,
he thought, eyes tearing up again.
Please give me another chance.
It wasn’t me who sprinkled Dr. Windbreaker’s Farting Powder in Wendover’s tea, God. Honest. It was Kevin. He’s always doing stuff like that.   

It was no use. God wasn’t answering. That heavenly switchboard was all clogged up with incoming calls and the angels were shorthanded as it was. God was likely busy elsewhere. Maybe he was angry with Adam and had decided to let him stew in his own juice. Or maybe… just maybe, he wanted Adam to use his head. He was a scout after all.

Adam heard the rattle of the key in the door, stuffed the compass under the pillow and sat down on the bed. Ramsey placed a bowl of soup on the bedside table. There was a thick slice of brown bread half submerged and leaning against the rim like an old weathered tombstone.

Ramsey crouched and gripped that pistol of his. “Gotta make a few phone calls. You’ll be OK up here.”

“Mr. Ramsey?” Adam swallowed hard, anything to keep him in the room. “My mom’s called the police. They know where I am.”

“All good mothers call the police.”

Adam clenched his fists, felt the muscles tighten in his thighs. He hoped Ramsey couldn’t see what he saw. Little bits of paper floating in the wind. Yellow bits of paper with words, God-given words that would help the police find him.

Ramsey stood now, gun pointing down at the floor. He was like a black shadow in front of the window, looking as if he had suddenly thought of something. “Empty your pockets,” he said.

It was the slow wide smile that made Adam do it. He swallowed first, tongue searching for every last bit of spit. When his pockets were empty and those precious tracts lay on the quilt, he heard Ramsey grunt.

“Where’s the compass?”

Adam didn’t want to lie otherwise the launcher on God’s thunderbolt would only change direction. He slipped his hand under the pillow, pulled out the compass and laid it in Ramsey’s open hand.

Ramsey read a few of those tracts, studied the compass and tossed it back to Adam. “You’ll need this. But you won’t need these.”

The papers were balled up in a large fist, tossed down the toilet and flushed away. The sound of water churning down the pipes made Adam whimper. Not loud enough to be heard. 

“Wasn’t supposed to happen this way.” Ramsey wiped his mouth repeatedly as he walked back towards the window. “You weren’t supposed to see… any of it. Weren’t supposed to know.”

Adam was starting to feel faint, making his mouth dry and his stomach heave. He looked towards the open door, could have made a dash for it if he wasn’t shaking so hard. Couldn’t stop looking at those eyes. Ramsey disgusted him, made him feel weird and drawn in at the same time.

“There have been bad men near here, boy-killers, you know. I’ll protect you.”

Ramsey could easily be the boy killer, the one on the news. He had the same squinty eyes and a chin full of hair like the composite sketch of the Ringmaster. There was something skittish about him all the same, something not quite right.

It gave Adam an idea. “Do you want me to fetch your pills?” he offered.

“Ah, smart that,” Ramsey said, smiling and rubbing a scar on his left temple. “You go down to the truck and drive off into the sunset. I’m not that stupid.”

“I can’t drive, Mr. Ramsey. I don’t have a license.”

Ramsey’s head began to twitch and he dropped the smile. “No, but you can run.”