Nightwitch (10 page)

He slid the scabbard around so that it rested over his right side. Then he slapped it with his right hand, unbuckling the strap that held the knife in place with his little finger. The Bowie knife was in his hand and before his eyes in a flash.

Satisfied, he put the knife back in the scabbard and buckled the strap. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax. He listened to the night and willed himself to become part of it. Then, lizard-quick, he slapped the knife holster with his left hand, unbuckling the strap with his thumb and, as quick as before, he was holding the gleaming blade before his eyes. He hadn’t lost his touch, he was as fast with his left as he was with his right. He reholstered the knife and snapped the buckle. He was still the rabbit, but he was a rabbit with fangs.

Ready, he squinted into the fog, took his foot off the brake and eased down on the accelerator. The car started to move away from the side of the road, coughed and died. Instinctively he put it in neutral, turned the ignition and listened to the starter motor grind. It refused to catch. He turned the key off and waited a few seconds. He tried again and received no joy. He pumped the gas a couple of times, being careful not to flood it, tried again and still it didn’t start.

He was about to try again, when he heard a car coming from the other direction, from Tampico. He formed an instant plan and acted on it. He got out of the car, leaving the door open. He lay down on the opposite side of the road, facing away from the oncoming car. He was afraid if he was able to see it bearing down on him, he’d be tempted to jump out of the way.

With his ear on the road he could feel the car approach as well as hear it. It was crawling toward him, picking its way through the fog. Would the driver see him in time to stop or was the fog too thick? Had he inked his own death certificate when he thought of this plan and had he signed it by foolishly playing possum in the street?

The car came closer. He imagined he could see it and silently cursed himself for facing away from it. He wanted to see the face of it. He imagined the massive mouth of an iron grill, grinning and open, covered by giant headlight eyes, bright and menacing, glaring, angry and hungry, an aging, nearsighted driver behind the wheel, unable to see on the best of nights, blind as the dead on a night like this. Would the blind driver even realize something was awfully wrong when the front wheels rolled over his head and pelvis, turning his brains to mush and condemning him to an eternity of damnation?

He said a fast Hail Mary and prayed for the forgiveness he knew could never be his. He mentally crossed himself. He grit his teeth as the soft sound of the purring engine roared through him.

He heard a scream. Someone had seen him, but would the driver react in time? How fast was he going? Slow enough to stop before or after the thumping the tires would make as they rolled over his body? What a stupid plan, he thought, as he waited for the sound of rubber screeching on the road.

He wanted to roll out of the way, to get up and run, to leave and never come back. But he was committed. There was no place for him to hide.

The rumbling engine penetrated both the ear pointed skyward and the ear on the ground, ricocheting in deafening stereo through his skull, in sharp contrast to the quiet night. But it wasn’t coming any closer. There were no screeching brakes. There would be no thumping of tires rolling over his head.

His world was dark. His eyes had been squeezed shut, like a child’s when he’s trying to fool his mother into thinking he’s asleep. He opened them and realized that his body was bathed in the car’s headlights. He closed them again and relied on his hearing.

He listened, willing himself to remain still as a dead man. The engine continued running. No other sound. He started to count in his head, when he got up to sixty he started over. A minute is a long time, two is longer, three, longer still. He stopped counting.

Why wouldn’t they get out of the car? Why wouldn’t the driver shut off the blasted engine? Whoever was in the car was still thinking, being cagey, making sure. Maybe the driver thought he was dead and so he didn’t need to act in haste. Could be, he thought, so he decided to give him something to think about.

He moved his arm. Not much. He didn’t want to over do it. Then he lay still and fought back a smile as he heard a door open.

“
Come on, Miles,” a woman’s voice said. “He’s alive.”

“
Sarah, we shouldn’t get involved,” A man’s voice. A coward. Smart, but a coward.

“
Look at his car. He’s been in an accident. Probably a hit and run,” the woman said.

“
We should call somebody more qualified,” the man said.

“
I am qualified. I was a nurse before I was a teacher, remember? So are you going to help me or what?”

He felt the woman bend over him, felt the warmth off her fingers as they sought his carotid artery, searching for a pulse, but from the short conversation he’d heard, he knew that if he grabbed her, the man would cut and run. It was in his voice, the way he talked. It was a coward’s voice. He couldn’t risk grabbing her. He needed the car. He needed the man to come and help and the man needed some encouragement.

So he moaned. Not a long moan. Short, but enough of a moan to convey his despair, but she took it for pain.

“
Miles, you get out here right now or I’ll never speak to you again. And shut off the engine.”

Miles did as he was told and the night went quiet save for the sound of the surf hitting the shore not too far away.

“
I don’t know about this, Sarah,” the man said.

He heard the man’s footsteps as he approached and he caught the image of a grassfeeder on the African plain. A gazelle perhaps, with her head in the air, sniffing the breeze, but the breeze lied because the lion was on the wrong side of the wind and just as she puts her head to the grass, the lion pounces, and he pounced, just as the man bent over him, grabbing him by the hair and forcing him to the pavement, with the knife blade at his throat.

* * *

“
Don’t run, ma’am. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I will if you make me.” His words came out like they were filtered through gravel and they sounded like they hurt.

“
I won’t run,” Sarah Sadler said, and she wondered why she’d said it.

“
Good girl.”

He pushed himself off of Miles and pulled him with him as he stood, keeping the knife at his throat. Miles offered no resistance.

“
You can have whatever you want,” Miles said, “just let us go.”

“
What if I want the woman?”

Miles was silent.

“
But you don’t, do you?” She looked at him straight on. He was a troubled man, but he wasn’t a rapist.

“
No, ma’am, I don’t. Now let’s get in the car. You drive, Sarah.”

“
You know my name.”

“
I heard Miles.”

“
Of course.”

“
Wait till we’re in the car,” he said.

“
I won’t move.” She stood away from the driver’s door. The man was obviously agitated and she didn’t want to do or say anything to upset him more than he already was.

“
Miles, you ride shotgun. Remember, I’ll be right behind you.” He led Miles to the passenger side of the station wagon and helped him in, the way a policeman puts a prisoner into a car, then he got in the back. “Okay, Sarah, you can get in now.”

“
All right.” She slid behind the wheel. This was the first time she’d been behind the wheel of Miles’ station wagon. It was a Volvo. It was new, and nobody drove it but Miles.

“
Where am I going?” Sarah asked. She studied him in the rearview mirror. The cuts on his face and the burns on his hands were in sharp contrast to the steel in his voice. He didn’t look like he tolerated disobedience well, but she was a good judge of people. She’d worked her way through nursing school as a social worker and she’d earned her teaching credential working as a nurse. She was confident he wouldn’t harm them, but she knew she would have to keep him talking and that she had to gain his confidence.

“
The highway. If you can get me there, I’ll get a car at the motel and be out of your lives forever.”

“
If?” she asked as they came into Tampico. She saw a police car up ahead, waiting at the light and for a second she thought that if she could just pull up along side, she could yell for help.

“
Pull over, there.” He indicated the curbside by the park, across from the dunes. He’d seen the car, too. The windows were down and the sound of the surf was louder than before.

“
Don’t shut off the engine,” he said and she obeyed, wondering what he was going to do next. She sighed as the light changed and the police car drove off into the night.

“
What are you going to do with us?” Miles asked.

“
I have a little girl, Carolina,” he said, ignoring Miles and addressing her.

“
Carolina Coffee?” Sarah asked. She turned and looked at him in the dim light. She did see a resemblance.

“
Yeah.”

“
She’s in my class.” She felt better. Surely this man wouldn’t tell them who he was if he intended to harm them.

“
You’re her teacher?”

“
Yes.”

“
Then I hope you get out of this night alive.”

“
What are you talking about?” Miles’ voice was caught between a whine and a whisper.

“
Quiet, Miles,” Sarah said. “I want to hear.” She tried to see into his eyes, but the darkness hid too much. He sounded sincere, though and the more he talked, the safer they would be.

“
I’m a thief,” he said, continuing to ignore Miles. “I stole something and now the owner wants it back.”

“
Then give it back.”

“
I don’t have it, but it wouldn’t make any difference, she’d kill me anyway.”

“
And Carolina?” She wondered if the man was paranoid. He was sounding that way.

“
I’m afraid the old girl thinks Carolina has it.”

“
Does she?” Sarah decided it would be best to humor the man.

“
Yes.”

“
Why don’t you call the police and turn yourself in? They’d protect your daughter.”

“
She’d kill them.”

“
You’re crazy,” Miles said. Sarah clenched her teeth. How come he couldn’t shut up? If they wanted to get out of this, they were going to have to play along with the man. Couldn’t Miles see that?

“
Why don’t you let us go and take the car? We won’t say anything.” Sarah hoped the soothing sound of her voice would calm him.

“
Miles would.”

She didn’t answer, because she knew he was right. The last thing she wanted was for this man to think she was lying to him. She was afraid their survival depended on her gaining his trust.

“
What are we going to do now, Mr. Coffee? I can call you that, can’t I?”

“
Call me John.”

“
Well?”

“
Get me to the highway and you can go.”

“
Are you going to tell me anymore?”

“
Only one thing. If you see a wolf in the road, don’t hesitate, run it down.”

“
Can I ask why?”

“
She’ll be expecting you to stop. Most do. It’s always fatal.”

“
I don’t know if I can run down a defenseless animal.”

“
Listen, Sarah, you might think I’m sitting here full of bullshit till it flows out my mouth. That’s okay, I don’t mind. But if you see a wolf blocking our way, you have two choices, step on the gas and run it down and maybe live to see the sun come up, or you can stop, but it isn’t going to get out of the way, and this puny little station wagon isn’t going to keep it out.”

“
Alright, if I see a wolf, I’ll run it down,” she said, hoping to calm him. She glanced over at Miles and was surprised to see him covered in sweat and cowering against the door. His hand was creeping toward the handle. She couldn’t believe it. He was going to run.

And he did. He flicked the door handle up and jumped out of the car. He was slow and John Coffee could have killed him with the knife. But he didn’t. Instead he started to open his door to go after him when a roaring sound like she’d never heard before cut through her senses and she saw a wolf-like animal in the center of the street, eyes blazing, smoke rising from its snout.

Miles was running in the other direction, away from the wolf and away from her. He didn’t look back and he didn’t see the wolf.

“
If you don’t do something quick it’ll get bored and go after Miles. It thrives on fear.”

She tightened her arms on the wheel as he climbed over into the front seat. “Ready?” she said.

“
Ready,” he answered. She floored the tank-like Volvo just as the wolf looked away from them, toward the running man. It looked back too late. Sarah felt a sharp thud as the Volvo crashed into the wolf’s chest and she heard a crunching sound as the wheels rolled over its body.

“
Keep going,” he yelled, but she slammed on the brakes and turned her head around. She wanted to see if Miles was okay, but she couldn’t see him, because her vision was blocked by the ball of red flame shooting skyward into the overcast cloud cover.

“
Where will he go?” John Coffee asked.