Whistle Pass (10 page)

They crossed through the trees to the car.

“Did you find out anything?”

Charlie shook his head. “Only that old Dora’s a lot smarter than I am. She didn’t tell me a thing.” He ground out the butt and climbed in the DeSoto.

Gabe started the car and drove up the road toward town.

“You sure she wasn’t joking about fixing you up with Roger?”
Something beyond a pang of jealousy, just beyond his ability to identify, gnawed at him.

“I’m not sure anymore. It was a while ago. Maybe she was kidding.”

“How long ago?”

“Right after the mayor got elected.”

“How long they been married?”

“About a year before that.”

He narrowed an eye. Maybe not so much a marriage for love as one of convenience and strategy.
Strategy
. Yeah. Something serious was happening in this town and had probably been in the works for quite a while.

Charlie looked at the shades of darkness passing by. He scratched at his beard. He really did need a bath. The thigh could use a good soaking too. “Look, Gabe. You’ve got a nice hotel and all, but there’s only a tiny shower in the bathroom. I need a bathtub. Is there another hotel somewhere?”

“There’s a bathtub in my apartment.” The words tumbled out of his mouth. His hands twisted over the steering wheel.

Charlie flinched. “Oh shit.” Naked in Gabe’s apartment, while interesting, didn’t sound like the best place to be right now. Not until he could figure out why the man made him think twice about the offer. The prospect of sex seemed good on the surface. But it was not knowing what was below Charlie’s own surface that bothered him. He hadn’t had time to figure out where Gabe stood within him yet.

“What? Did you say something?” Gabe slapped the steering wheel. “I promise to keep my eyes closed. Partially, anyway.”

Charlie chuckled.

“There isn’t anyplace else. You want a bath, it’s my place or nothing. Of course, there’s always the river. Little cold this time of year, though.”

Thick rubber tires rumbled a memory of the newspaper’s headline—
29 homosexuals committed to insane asylums
. Gabe was too nice a guy to play house with for a few days and then leave behind. And he would have to leave him behind. Gabe was safe from the world as long as he stayed in Whistle Pass… as long as he wasn’t involved in the upcoming battle with Dora Black. A gentle letdown wouldn’t work on a tender soul like Gabe’s. The man would always be asking why they couldn’t see each other and talk, or just be friends while hoping the relationship would grow. Every time they were together would be another huge risk for Gabe. Charlie sucked on his lower lip. This seedling needed to be cut before it took deeper root. And he only knew one way to do it. Charlie laid his head on the top of the seat and squeezed the words out of his throat.

“What’s it like being a prostitute? You only bare your ass for the rich guys, or you troll us freams on slow nights? I’ll bet you give a hell of a blowjob. Those extra? Or all part of the deal?”

The temperature fell through the floor. Gabe eased the car off the roadway. Tall grass scraped the undercarriage until the car stopped its momentum. With his foot on the brake, he popped the gear lever into neutral. His gaze stayed straight ahead, his voice distant as the Wisconsin pines Charlie wished he’d never left. The muffler’s chug strummed the chords of silence.

Gabe’s index fingers raised and lowered on the steering wheel. His gaze never shifted. “That….” His jaw worked back and forth. He dragged a hand over his face. “That really what you think of me?”

Charlie’s guts rolled over and his temples throbbed, but he rotated his torso toward Gabe and held out open palms. “Who am I to fault a guy for making a little money on the side? So, what’s the bath and bed gonna cost me? I don’t have much cash.”

“Please get out.” The voice, empty of emotion, remained tightly controlled. “Please.”

Charlie rubbed his palms on his thighs. “Suit yourself.” He opened the door and climbed out. The car crawled onto the pavement and slowly, very slowly, gained speed until the taillights finally disappeared.

Charlie lit a cigarette and stared into the darkness. Cigarette between his fingers, he rubbed his forehead. Gabe was like all the others who’d never faced the wrong end of a gun. They all thought they wanted to know what they’d do when the bullets came at
them
, but truth be told, most couldn’t handle knowing. They couldn’t handle the fact they’d shit themselves, or cry, or be scared beyond a level of fear they never knew existed. Or that, no matter what they did, how they handled their fear, if it was their time to die… they’d die. And there wasn’t a damn thing they could do about it.

Gabe needed to stay in Whistle Pass—where he was safe.

A wash of yellow light swept over Charlie. The car stopped a few yards behind him. A lasso of red light swung about him.

“You and me need to talk, boy.”

Charlie tossed his coat to the ground. He placed his left hand over his right fist and cracked his knuckles. Then he exchanged one for the other and cracked the knuckles of his left fist. He turned and tried to see over the headlights, but the glare hid where the copper might be.

“Officer Austin.” Charlie growled, clenched and unclenched his fists. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you. I hope you brought your sap, because I’m going to stick it up your ass.”

Ka-chunk. Ka-chunk
.

Every drop of blood in Charlie’s veins plunged into his feet. Nothing else on earth made that sound—only a shotgun jacking a round into the chamber.

Chapter 11

G
ABE
slammed the car door. Slammed the street door to his apartment building. Slammed the door to his apartment.

“Damn you, Charlie Harris!” He stomped over to the windows, spun around, and stomped his way to the bathroom door. He fixated on the grain of the wood—coarse, like Charlie Harris. And the door had once been a tree. Probably butchered by Charlie Harris and his little hatchet.

He drew back and smacked a fist into the offending symbol of his anger.

“
Ow!
” He shook his hand like Betty shook her dust rag. “Damn, that hurts.”

He leaned a shoulder against the door and massaged his injured hand and bruised ego. A magnetic pull drew his gaze to the ceiling molding above the bed. Charlie Harris wanted to treat him like shit? Whatever game the lumberjack thought he was playing, Gabe had the power to end it right here and now and send Charlie Harris packing.

G
ABE
parked the DeSoto alongside a sleek white Ford Thunderbird on the gravel lot. He glanced at the empty seat next to him and patted the photograph, tucked safely within his jacket’s inside pocket.

“Screw you, Charlie.” He opened the door and slid out.

He quickly scanned the other cars. A couple Buicks, a Lincoln, two Cadillacs, and a rusted green pickup truck. None of them were familiar, except the Thunderbird, and, of course, the pickup. The visible windows of the small, square red-shingle house had thick cloth shielding the activity inside. The front door opened. A giant of a man stepped out of the light and closed the door behind him.

“Private property. You need to go,” said the pickup’s owner.

“Lester, it’s Gabe. I need to speak to the mayor.”

The man’s instant-oatmeal complexion brightened above the pitch cast around them by full pines on the sandy soil flats. Everybody in the area knew about the tiny house hidden in the tree grove in the middle of the watermelon, pumpkin, and potato fields. Rumors told of the monthly poker nights that ran until sunup. But they were just rumors, as no one around Whistle Pass had enough money to be invited to the high stakes games. No one except Roger Black.

“How ya doing, Gabe? What brings you out here?”

“I need to speak with the mayor, Lester.”

“Why didn’t you say so? I’ll tell him you’re here.” The behemoth opened the door and disappeared inside.

“I did,” Gabe grumbled.

Lester had been the biggest kid in school. Now he stood the biggest man in the whole county. Most said it was a shame his body outgrew his brain. But jailers didn’t need smarts, and when Lester asked folks to cast their votes for the sheriff, folks cast their votes for the sheriff. Lester knew just about everybody in the county… and where they lived. You didn’t want Lester stopping by a second time.

Mayor Black eased out of the house. He fastened the top button of his dress shirt and tightened the knot of his tie as he walked. Lester leaned out of the doorway and waved. “See ya later, Gabe. Say hi to Cathy, would ya? I got to go back to work.”

“Why don’t you tell her—” The door closed. Gabe lifted his chin in the air. “Yeah. Later.”

Why Lester wouldn’t speak to the restaurant waitress himself, God only knew. The whole county was aware Lester’d claimed Cathy as “his girl,” and the poor woman hadn’t been able to find a date in over a year.

The mayor planted a practiced smile on his face and strode to Gabe. He grabbed his hand and shook it fiercely. “How are you, Gabe? How’s things at the hotel? I appreciate your putting my poster in the window. Need more campaign pamphlets for the desk? I can send some over.”

Gabe retrieved his hand from the politician’s clutches and stuck it in his pocket. The photograph weighed heavy against his chest.

“I wanted to give—” His eyelids snapped closed. He strained to reopen them. “I have something—”
Damn it! Just give it to him.
His heart pummeled his sternum. His brain pressed against his skull. Sweat soaked his armpits. He reached in his jacket and squeezed the picture between his fingers. Something out of place tickled the back of his mind. He glanced to his left, then refocused on the mayor.

Black’s face turned to stone. His voice was ground gravel. “What do you have for me?”

The license plate on the Lincoln Continental was white with green numbers. The other cars all had the Illinois dark-blue background and orange numbers. Wisconsin plates were white and green. Charlie’d been working in Wisconsin.

Probably just coincidence.
The muscles in his ass tightened. His feet numbed.
But what if it isn’t?

He left the photograph in the pocket and slid his empty hand out of his coat.

“I….” Gabe’s mind spun like a Bingo ball cage. He needed to pick a reason why he’d interrupted the mayor.
Under the “I”….
“I wanted to let you know a guest asked about you.” In his pocket, he scratched at his thumbnail. Of all the excuses in the cage, that ball seemed the least likely to roll, considering the mayor knew all about Charlie’s arrival.

Black’s jaw tensed. Through clenched teeth, he snarled, “Charlie.” The candidate adjusted his tie, and apparently his self-control. A baby-kissing smile graced his features.

“Charlie Harris is an old friend. We served in the army together.” He grasped Gabe’s elbow and gently encouraged him toward the DeSoto. “He’s not only a good man”—he stopped at the car and looked Gabe dead in the eyes—“he’s one of the few men I’d trust with my life.”

The mayor opened the door. “You could do a lot worse than Charlie.” He turned and walked away.

Gabe’s face could have toasted marshmallows. He sat in the car and twisted the rearview mirror to see himself.

“Did he just tell you to date Charlie Harris?”

The face in the mirror simmered as red as second-degree sunburn. He closed his eyes and tapped his upper lip.

Oh, Gabriel, what are you doing?

He started the car
.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. Okay?”

The face in the glass scowled at him. Gabe scowled back.

“Here,” he snarled. He jammed his fingers into his hair, kneaded it, twisted it, gnarled it. “Take that!”

He thrust his head back on the seat. “Asshole!”

Now he just needed to find Charlie Harris and figure out which one of them was the asshole.

O
UTSIDE
Charlie’s room, Gabe rubbed his temples.

Johnny Upton hadn’t bothered to latch the door when he abandoned his mission. The term “bottled hurricane” came to mind. There must have been an old crime drama Saturday matinee where somebody carved up a mattress and tossed stuffing around, and now penny ante thieves considered it a requirement. Did this idiot really believe Charlie would have disassembled the mattress and then somehow resewn it with machined precision?

Apparently.

Gabe kicked aside a wad of off-white fluff and entered.

“Damn.” Six sheered sheep wouldn’t have left as big a mess. The bedding lay in a heap. For whatever reason, clothing had been shredded and tossed like ticker tape. Charlie’s duffle was in tatters. Gabe bent and picked up an orphaned handle.

“This kid’s insane.” He tilted his head to his shoulder. Dresser drawers had been pulled out and shattered. “Ohh. Now what did they ever do to you?”

The butterfly lampshade sat squashed atop a stomped alarm clock. Ironically, the lamp still stood on the dresser top.

A tan feather floated past his nose.

In a corner rested a pile of what had been pillows. A glint of brass caught his attention. He walked over to the mound of down and picked up a doorknob set. Two keys strung on a thin wire remained attached to the shaft. Against a baseboard lay a screwdriver.