Shut The Fuck Up And Die! (13 page)

Daryl lifted the lever on the door so gently
that there was only the smallest of clicks as the latch freed
itself. He pushed it open just enough to allow himself to slide
through the gap.

Ten feet away, Earl laid on his stomach like
some whale that had washed up on an arctic shore. Snow billowed
around his body and the cop was behind him, one knee firmly planted
in the small of his massive back. The cop had Earl’s arms pinned
just below the shoulder blades and the morning sun glinted off the
handcuffs as if they were made of silver flame.

Daryl placed one foot in front of the other
as carefully as if the twinkling flakes of ice on the snow were
actually broken glass. His stare was focused on the little knot at
the base of the officer’s skull and every muscle in his body wanted
to break into a run. He wanted to hoist the tire tool above his
head like some primal hunter and rattle the stillness of the
morning with a guttural battlecry.

But he forced himself to proceed calmly. As
if he were stalking game in the woods.

And the closer he came, the heavier and more
powerful the metal gripped in his hand felt.

One swift blow.

One dull thud coupled with the cracking of
splintered bone.

A splash of blood, stark and red against a
field of white.

And then he would be the man Mama had always
wanted him to be.

He would be the hero.

The protector.

He would finally be a good boy . . . .

SCENE TEN

Mary opened the front door of the house and
the cold, outside air rushed in. It forced its way through the thin
fabric of her dress and rustled her white hair as flakes of snow
blew into the foyer like tiny animals fleeing the approach of a
ravenous predator. The metal blade of the knife absorbed the chill
almost instantaneously and felt like a slender icicle weighing down
her pocket. Hugging herself, the old woman rubbed her arms briskly
as she blinked in the sudden glare of the sun.

“
Mornin’, Chief Howarth. What’d them
boys of mine do now?”

The man on the porch was dressed in a heavy,
wool jacket and the blue material contrasted sharply with the white
backdrop of winter. The silver buttons were polished almost as
brightly as the star-shaped badge pinned just above the breast
pocket and his angular face hid in the shadows of the wide brimmed
hat that perched atop his close-cropped hair. He looked at her with
eyes the color of mahogany and spoke through lips that were dry and
cracked.

“
Morning, Mary. Hope I didn’t wake you.
I apologize for it being so early and all.”

Mary sniffed once as if she were testing the
air and cocked her head to the side.

“
Don’t sleep much when ya get t’ be my
age. I reckon I’ll sleep enough when I’m dead.”

“
How’s that knee been? Acting up with
the cold and all?”

Chief Howarth glanced over the old
woman’s shoulder and his eyebrows arched ever so slightly; the
emphasis he’d placed on the word
cold
wasn’t lost on Mary . . . but she kept her
body planted squarely in the doorway and simply hugged herself more
tightly.

“
I’ll live, I s’pose.”

They stood in silence for a moment as the
chief shuffled forward a few steps while he licked his lips.

“
Feels like you got the fireplace all
nice and warm, at least.” He finally said. “Heater’s on the blink
in the cruiser . . . cold as a witch’s tit out here,
too.”

“
More on the way . . . I reckon we
might as well get used to it.”

The chief’s shoulders drooped and a cloud of
vapor billowed from his mouth and nose as he sighed; somehow he
seemed a little smaller now, almost as if the air he’d been holding
within his lungs had been the only thing keeping him inflated. Mary
stood as straight as a pine sapling in the doorway smiled. At the
same time, she breathed in through her nose, inhaling the same air
the chief of police had just expelled, and her chest seemed to
swell. For a fraction of a second, she looked like a smug, old
teacher who’d just bested a smart ass student . . . but the
expression melted away and she was just a shivering pensioner
again.

“
Yeah,” the chief agreed, “I suppose I
will.”

He glanced around, taking in the snow covered
shrubs in the yard and the pines that towered on the edge of the
property. Dawn had yet to force its way through the canopy of green
needles overhead and darkness still held sway among the rows of
trunks and undergrowth. The trees were so thick and dense, in fact,
that it almost seemed as if the forest existed in some reality that
had been freed from the bonds of time: in there, amid that brambles
and fallen limbs, it was as black as the bottom of a deep water
well. Almost as if the night had become lost in this labyrinth of
wood and lacked even a trail of crumbs with which to find its way
out again.

“
Where are the boys, anyhow? Awful
early to be out and about. Especially on a morning like this.
Thought we were going to have to close the pass last night. Had the
highway boys all ready to mobilize, but in the end . . .
.”

“
Now, Chief, I know you didn’t come all
the way out here to pay me a social call.”

Mary’s tone was as sharp as a mother
reprimanding a child; the chief sighed again and his head almost
seemed to swivel beneath his hat as he shook it.

“
No . . . no, I suppose I
didn’t..”

Chief Howarth slipped his hand inside his
coat and when it emerged he had two photographs fanned between his
fingers.

“
You seen either of these two folks
around lately, Mary?” he asked as he handed the snapshots to
her.

The old woman glanced down at the pictures
and gasped as she saw the faces staring back up at her. Her jaw
hung open for a fraction of a second and she blinked rapidly as if
perhaps she’d just awoken from a dream and was attempting to rid
her mind of the lingering afterimages. The chief leaned in so close
that Mary could smell the coffee on his breath and gripped her
elbow gently.

“
You have, haven’t you? You know these
kids, don’t you?”

In the same amount of time that it had taken
for Mary’s facade to slip, she repaired the damage that had been
done. She glanced at the pictures again, shook her head with a wry
smile, and handed them back to Chief Howarth.

“
Thought that fella was my Cousin Fred.
Spittin’ image of him, he is. From back in the day, I mean. Reckon
Fred hasn’t been that handsome since . . . well, since never I
s’pose.”

The old woman laughed and flashed another
smile at the policeman; the excitement that had touched his
features when she’d caught her breath faded and he simply looked
cold, tired, and slightly bored again. Inside, however, Mary felt
as if someone had just goosed her soul. It was as if the deepest
layers of fat and tissue were undulating with some sort of inner
chill and her throat was as dry as when she’d fall asleep in front
of the fireplace.

“
Took me back a bit, I tell ya. ‘Ole
Fred always was a good for nothin’. Always runnin’ afoul of the law
and carryin’ on like you wouldn’t believe.”

She knew she had to guard her words as
closely as if they were her grandmother’s antique silver. Howarth
may have been overworked and underpaid, but the man was no fool . .
. one slip and he’d seize upon it like a bobcat on a winter
hare.

“
You certain, Mary? Maybe, you didn’t
look close enough or . . . .”

“
Ain’t nothin’ wrong with my eyes,
Chief. At least, nothin’ that these here glasses don’t fix. Aside
from lookin’ like Fred, I ain’t never seen these two folks a day in
my life. They missin’ or something?”

She tried to make the question sound as
casual as if she were asking how the man’s children were. Nothing
more than small talk to help pass the time.

“
State troopers want to ask them some
questions, that’s all. We heard they might be heading this way, so
we’re checking with everyone. Just routine procedure, that’s
all.”

Having lived on a farm for the majority of
her life, Mary knew bullshit when she smelled it. There was
something the Chief wasn’t telling her, something he was keeping as
close as the pistol strapped to his hip.

“
You see them around, you call me, you
hear? Don’t try talking to them or anything. We don’t want to spook
them by making them think they’re in trouble or anything. You just
give me a call, okay?”

Were they dangerous? Is that why Howarth was
trying to play it off as if this was nothing out of the ordinary
while, at the same time, basically telling her not to be a
hero?

“
I reckon I can do that for ya, Chief.
But we don’t get much in the way of company out here.”

“
All the same, Mary, you keep your eyes
open. And call me if you see anyone who even looks a little like
these two, okay? The sooner we get this wrapped up, the
better.”

The old woman gave a little salute and
watched from the doorway as the policeman trudged back to his car.
She saw him slide behind the wheel, take off his hat, and speak
briefly into the car’s radio; but it wasn’t until blue clouds of
exhaust belched from the tailpipe and the tires crunched through
the snow that she stepped back into the house and closed the
door.

Now that Howarth was gone, she allowed her
face to pull itself into the long frown that had been so carefully
masked. She thought of the photos the chief had shown her: the
handsome young man with a boyish smile and dimpled cheek . . . the
dark-haired girl with her serious eyes and small, thin lips.
Glancing at the ceiling, she pictured the two of them, gagged and
tied to their chairs, probably straining to listen for the sound of
her feet on the stairs. Her mind flashed back to the cool certainty
with which the man had threatened her. Even through a drugged haze,
she’d detected something in his voice . . . something that told her
not to fuck around with this one. She was right in wanting to kill
him straight out; but, damn it, she was hoping to have a little fun
with that woman of his..

“
Plans change.” She said aloud. “And I
reckon if they’ve done somethin’ bad enough to have the cops come
a’sniffin’ around, then those plans better be changin’ right
quick.”

There was no question about it: both of them
would have to die. She’d slit their throats and when they boy’s got
home, they’d dispose of the bodies. After all, you don’t keep
snakes in the hen house, as her mother used to say.

A shiver passed along her spine and she
lowered her gaze so that she was looking into the living room.
Through the wide doorway, she could just make out the fireplace:
the logs that had popped and crackled for most of the night were
now nothing more than a pile of smoldering embers. Even the
pine-scented smell of smoke had begun to fade. Before long, the
house would be so cold that the sweat on the insides of the windows
would freeze into meandering streams of ice. The chill would
further aggravate the rheumatism that sometimes made her knee feel
like a pincushion full of needles and walking upstairs would be a
miracle worthy of Jesus.

So it was settled then. She would kill the
man and the woman, come back down to throw some fresh logs on the
fire, and have a nice cup of tea while she waited for Earl and
Daryl to drag their sorry asses home. They’d be rid of these two
before it was even time for lunch.

Mary slipped the knife out of her pocket and
gripped the frigid, metallic handle. Even if it was only for a
short amount of time, the young couple upstairs would bleed for her
. . . and she was ready for the warmth of their blood to chase away
the chill of the morning.

The old woman’s body stiffened as she
stared at the coils of rope on the floor. For a moment, her mind
simply refused to believe the evidence in front of her: it had to
be some sort of trick, some clever ploy to simply make her think
they had somehow escaped. After all, she’d watched Earl tie the
knots herself. If it had been Daryl, then that would be a different
story . . . but Earl was a master with the rope and there was no
way they could have just slipped out of the bonds as easily as if
they were pajamas.
No
way.

From the corner of the her eye, Mary noticed
that the door to the other room hung open and she could just make
out Darlene Honnicker through the gloom. The woman looked almost as
if she were suspended from the table: her legs were splayed out
behind her and her arms were bent awkwardly over the edge of the
table as if she were struggling to maintain a grip; with her head
bowed before her limp body and her shoulders locked into place near
her ears, it was all too easy to imagine that the table was an
altar before which the mutilated blond were praying. But Mary had
made enough corpses in her day to recognize a dead body when she
saw it . . . and Darlene Honnicker would most certainly not be
providing any more blood for the old woman.

“
I know you’re in there. You both best
be comin’ out and I just might let ya live.”

Her words were short and clipped and Mary
tried to suppress the rage that imbued them with a slight tremolo.
It was better to keep it all inside, like a bottle of cola that had
been vigorously shaken. When the time was right, she’d let it all
spew out, would let the pressure burst forth as the walls and floor
were covered with thick, dark liquid; but for now, she’d save it
all up and wait for just the right moment.