Scratch Fever (22 page)

Nolan kept his gun in hand, but tossed the Bible over on the counter in the kitchenette, which was off to the right, where a pile of unwashed dishes and beer cans and such indicated that a slob lived here. The living room was barely furnished at all: just a couch against the facing wall, a component stereo spread out on the floor over at the left, with a few big, brightly colored pillows scattered around as if the place had been ransacked. There were LP’s scattered, too, and rock group posters taped to the walls. Nolan didn’t recognize any of the groups; they were just so many sullen faces staring out at him. The only poster he recognized was a country performer, Willie Nelson.

In the middle of the floor, standing on newspapers, was a gray poodle; at the poodle’s feet were clumps of its hair, and a clipper on a long black cord lay on the papers nearby, as well. That explained the buzzing: Darlene had been giving her poodle a haircut.

And the poodle was going nuts, barking, yapping.

Nolan walked over to it, pointed a finger at it, and it sat and shut up and looked up at him and whimpered.

“Some watchdog,” Darlene said, sitting on the couch, trying to be sullen, like the faces on the posters around her. But her fear was showing. There was a pack of cigarettes on the couch next to her, and she lit up.

“You’re the bitch that sings with the Nodes,” Darlene said between puffs, “that much I know. Who’s the guy with the gun and the Bible? And what’s it all about, Alfie?”

Toni went over and grabbed a bunch of the front of Darlene’s T-shirt and pushed her back against the wall. Darlene, startled, dropped her cigarette and her sullen pose; the fear in her wide, mascara-thick eyes was as apparent as the whimpering dog’s.

“You’re the bitch,” Toni said. “The bitch who set Jon up.”

Toni let go of her, and Darlene slid back down onto the couch, where she fumbled for her cigarette—and her pose—and said, “Don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Tell me about last night,” Toni said. “Tell me about Jon and the van.”

Darlene found a nasty little smile somewhere. “Will the Jehovah’s Witness get embarrassed if I said I gave the kid a blow job, and sent him on his way?”

“You’re lying.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Toni swung a small, sharp fist at Darlene and sent her sprawling across the couch. Darlene, on her side, felt her mouth.

“I’m bleeding,” she said.

“Maybe it’s just that time of the month,” Toni said. She had a much more convincingly nasty smile than Darlene had mustered. Toni, taking the lead, amused and pleased Nolan.

“You fuckin’ assholes,” Darlene said, sitting up, trying to act mad but coming off scared. “I don’t know what the fuck this is about, but you better get your asses outa here. My boyfriend’s gonna be back any minute.”

Toni and Nolan exchanged glances. Nolan shook his head no.

Toni said, “You’re bluffing.”

“Eat it.”

“You set Jon up. We want to know what really happened last night. We want to know who’s got him and where he is now. And you’re going to tell us.”

Darlene blew a smoke ring; she seemed to be getting her act together finally.

Toni motioned to Nolan, and they went over to the kitchenette area, Nolan keeping the gun pointed Darlene’s way. The poodle was sitting in the midst of the papers, staring up at Nolan.

“I think I can make her talk,” Toni whispered.

“You’re doing fine.”

“You don’t mind if I handle this?”

“No. I’m enjoying myself. I’m not into knocking women around,
but I don’t mind watching one knock another one around.”

“How about tying her up few me?”

“Fine.”

Nolan got a kitchen chair and dragged it into the living room area; the poodle scooted away, running down the narrow hallway toward the bedroom to hide.

Toni pointed at the chair. “Sit in it,” she told Darlene.

Darlene just sat on the couch and smoked her cigarette.

Toni grabbed her by one arm and slammed her down in the chair.

Nolan picked up the cigarette Darlene had just dropped and put it out in an ashtray on the floor near the couch. Then he took the small bundle of clothesline out of his jacket pocket and tied Darlene into the chair, and she swore at him. He ignored her; he sat down on the couch. The poodle skulked back in. It jumped up on the couch and lay next to Nolan and looked up at him pathetically; he scratched it around the collar a few times, and it rested its head on his leg.

“What’s your dog’s name?” he asked Darlene.

“Quiche Lorraine,” she said.

“What kind of name is that?”

Toni explained. “It’s from a song.” She jabbed a finger at Darlene’s STIFF T-shirt. “Really, Darlene, you should make up your mind. You can’t be into both the B-52’s
and
Willie Nelson. It just doesn’t make sense.”

Darlene didn’t respond; she looked nervous. Being tied up didn’t agree with her.

“I suppose you like to be flexible,” Toni said. “It’s nice to be able to come on to guys in both camps. Shitkickers and rock ’n’ rollers, too. But I really think you should make up your mind, one way or another. I’m going to help you.”

Toni reached down for the poodle clippers. She hit the switch, and the buzz filled the room.

“What are you doing?” Darlene shouted.

“I’m gonna give you a poodle cut,” Toni said.

“No!”

“Sure. It’ll be real punk. A skinhead, like in England.”

“You fuckin’ bitch!”

Toni grabbed a handful of the shaggy hair on top of Darlene’s head and held her that way as she got behind her and started to shave at the base of her neck.

“Stop it! Stop it! I’ll tell you what you want to know! Just stop it!”

Toni switched the clippers off but left the flat, wide nose of them against the base of Darlene’s neck.

“What happened last night?” she asked.

“You . . . you know who Ron is?”

“That dyke you hang around with.”

“Yeah. She paid me a hundred bucks to get that Jon to come out to the van.”

“And?”

“She hit him over the head and put him in the back of her car.”

“A hundred bucks. You helped kidnap somebody for a hundred goddamn bucks?”

Darlene managed to shrug, despite Toni’s grip on her hair. “It wasn’t kidnapping. She said somebody had it in for the kid and was paying her to rough him up or something. That’s all I know.”

Toni looked at Nolan, who was still on the couch, the poodle beside him.

Nolan said, “Can you tell us where this Ron lives?”

Darlene turned her head, which, tied in the chair as she was, was all she could turn, and looked at Nolan and said, “Sure. Why not.”

Toni let loose of Darlene’s hair but stood by, clippers in hand, as Darlene gave Nolan directions.

Then Nolan went to the kitchen, poodle following along after him, and found an unused dishrag in a drawer. He gagged Darlene with it. He made sure the dog had bowls full of food and water, and he and Toni left.

“That was smart,” Nolan said, getting in the car, behind the wheel.

“What?”

“The poodle clippers. How d’you know that’d do the trick?”

“She’s vain as hell. Didn’t you notice? Sunday afternoon and she’s got her makeup on, to the hilt. What for, just to give her pooch a trim?
That’s
vain.”

“Would you have done it?”

“Skin her? With pleasure.”

They drove out of Gulf Port and down that same tree-lined road they’d been down earlier, to dump Infante. As they drove, Toni filled Nolan in on what little she knew about Ron. Nolan was doing barely forty; the mist was turning to rain, and visibility was poor. As they were coming around a curve, Nolan saw a figure, caught in the glare of his headlights, scurry off toward the side of the road, toward the trees.

“That’s Jon!” he said.

He hit his brakes, threw it in park and jumped out.

“Hey, kid! It’s me.”

The figure stopped, turned. Across the darkness and through the rain a voice came back uncertainly: “Nolan?”

“Yeah.”

Jon ran to him, grabbed him by the forearms.

“Nolan! Nolan!”

The kid was in T-shirt and jeans and socks; his face looked bruised, and his clothes were wet and dirty.

“You look like shit,” Nolan said.

“You look great!”

The girl was out of the car now, and had run to Jon. She hugged him, and he hugged her back.

“Get in the car,” Nolan said, “both of you.”

They got in the car, Toni in back.

Quickly, Jon told Nolan what had been happening.

“You figure Julie passed you on the road here, then?” Nolan said.

“I didn’t see the car, but it had to be her.”

“She’s probably headed for the Paddlewheel. To grab some money and run.”

“I want you to drive down to that farmhouse, Nolan.”

“Why?”

“I think I heard a shot. I want to check it out.”

Nolan glanced at Jon.

Then he said, “Okay. There’s a gun in the glove box.”

Jon opened the glove compartment and took out the long-barreled .38. There was a box of shells, too, but the gun was loaded already, and Jon didn’t bother with them.

Leaning forward from the back seat, her hands on the seat between Nolan and Jon, Toni said, “Let’s leave. Let’s get out of here. Let’s go home.”

Jon turned and said, “We can’t. If we don’t catch up with Julie now, she’ll just turn up again sometime, and we don’t need that shit.”

“He’s right,” Nolan said. “We’ll keep you out of it as much as possible.”

“Gee, thanks,” the girl said.

There was a gravel driveway leading into a larger gravel area next to the farmhouse; a barn and silo were off to the right. Nolan pulled in. There was only one car around: a vintage fifties Ford. The farmhouse was peeling paint—looked a bit run-down—but it was no hovel. There was a porch. Nolan, gun in hand, walked up the steps, and Jon followed. Toni stayed in the car, behind the wheel, windows up, doors locked.

The front door was ajar.

They went in; prowled the bottom floor, found it empty, not touching anything (though Nolan did pocket a ring of keys from a table). There was a living room, a dining room, a kitchen, a barely stocked pantry. Everything was neat, though the furniture was rather old, worn. There were a number of family portraits displayed. Unlike Darlene, Ron wasn’t a slob, at least.

Upstairs, in the room Jon had been kept in, they found Ron. She was on the floor, in her peasant blouse and jeans, between the bed and the dresser. She was dead.