One rainy night, p.16
One Rainy Night, page 16
Lou finished his vodka.
‘Don’t you gals need to use the powder room?’ Doug asked.
‘Take a leap,’ Cyndi told him.
‘I think we’ve all got to stand up to Buddy,’ Sheila said. ‘We shouldn’t just sit here and let him do things to this woman. It’s horrible.’
Maureen raised her face. She looked at Sheila. ‘Thanks,’ she murmured.
‘You shut up,’ Cyndi said.
‘Lou!’ Buddy called. The faint voice came from far away. ‘Get in here, would you? Lisa wants to talk to you.’
Lou’s heart thumped. He felt as if he were falling. But he got up from the chair. On wobbly legs, he stepped past Sheila and headed for the kitchen.
What does she want to talk to me for? It doesn’t make sense.
Thanks a lot for murdering Maxwell, you fucking bastard.
I didn’t kill him. It was Buddy.
What’s going on?
He entered the kitchen. Buddy was standing by the wall extension. But he didn’t hold the phone. It was hanging where it belonged. Buddy had the directory open in his hands.
‘Did she hang up?’ Lou asked.
‘I didn’t call her, numbnuts. Are you kidding?’
Thank God.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Checking out the address. We’re gonna pay the cunt a visit.’
‘What?’
‘Are you deaf or just stupid?’
‘What do you mean, pay her a visit?’
‘I been thinking about her all day, man. Sooner or later, she’s gonna lose it and squeal on us.’
‘Yeah. I think she might.’
‘You, me and Doug are gonna go over and take care of her. It’s perfect, man. We tell the gals we’re all done messing with Maureen and want to take her back to her place. They’ll be glad to get rid of her, you know? They’re both so fucking jealous you can taste it. We leave them here. They’ll be our alibi, you know?’
‘I’m not so sure Sheila’ll lie for us.’
‘Don’t worry about that, man. She’ll do whatever we say.’
‘So we leave them here and take Maureen with us?’
‘That’s the idea.’
‘What’ll we do with Maureen?’
‘Anything we want. You’re both aching for her.’
Lou moaned. ‘You’ll let us . . . ?’
‘Damn right. Then we’ll dump her and drop in on Lisa. Take care of her.’
‘Kill her?’
‘Don’t worry, man. I’ll do it.’
Lou leaned back against the doorframe and stared at Buddy.
He’s gonna let me at Maureen.
‘Then we’ll all be in the clear. Neat, huh?’
‘Wait. Wait. What about the rain?’
‘What about it?’
‘If we get wet . . .’
‘So, we don’t get wet. No big deal. I’ve got umbrellas, raincoats. Go on back and tell Doug to come here. Then keep an eye on our babe. Those gals might let her get away if they get the chance.’
‘This is wild,’ he muttered. His mind felt numb.
Buddy slapped him on the shoulder, and he headed for the living room.
We can’t do this, he thought.
But, oh, we sure will.
2
Trev, shaken by his talk with the stranger at Maureen’s house, pulled the plastic hood down over his head and put on Patterson’s hat.
The way she’d talked, it was obvious that she’d been out in the rain. A crazy. A killer hoping for some action. Hoping I’ll come by so she can nail me.
She might just get the chance, Trev thought. He picked up the shotgun and made his way toward the door.
She’d claimed there were no bodies in the house. She could’ve been lying. But he wanted to believe her. If Maureen wasn’t dead in the house, then she might still be alive. Either in the house, hiding, or away somewhere.
So how do you play it? he wondered.
Maureen didn’t seem like the kind of woman to run and hide if she realized someone was breaking into her house. Hell, no. She’d attack.
But who’s to say the intruder went in alone? She could’ve been with a whole gang. Just because she’d claimed to be there by herself, lonesome . . .
They jumped him as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. One leaped onto his back and hooked an arm around his throat. Another, a skinny naked man, came in from the front driving a knife toward his chest. He rammed the muzzle of his shotgun into the knifeman’s belly and pulled the trigger. As the blast slammed the guy away, he pumped a fresh shell into the chamber.
He pivoted, planning to ram backward against the doorframe, and saw a third assailant, out of sight until now because the damn hood killed his peripheral vision. This one swung a baseball bat at his face. He had no time to aim. He tugged the trigger. The shotgun bucked. Its load ripped through the man’s upper arm, tore it away in a mess of flying tissue and bone, and spun him.
Staggering beneath the weight on his back, Trev turned in a full circle to make sure there were no others.
None.
Then he went blind as the arm across his throat jerked sideways, shifting the plastic bag and sliding the eyeholes away from his eyes.
He stumbled backward. Struck something that made the person on his back grunt. Sounded like a woman. Probably is a woman, he thought. Not much force in the choke hold. More like she was just trying to hold on and ride him.
He took a step forward, then threw himself back hard, pounding her against the obstruction. This time, the impact brought more than a grunt. She cried out in pain. The pressure on Trev’s throat eased. Reaching up with his left hand, he yanked the arm away. She slid down his back. He pulled her sideways just enough to give himself a target, then shot his elbow into her body. A good solid blow that pounded the air out of her. He felt her start to slump, trapped between his back and the wall or whatever it was that he’d battered her against.
Lurching away from her, Trev adjusted his mask until he found the eyeholes. He was standing over the man who’d come at him with the knife. The guy wore sneakers. He had a cave just above his groin.
Trev pumped the shotgun. As he started to swing around, he saw a man standing by the curb, trying to fit his severed arm onto the gushing stump below his shoulder. Trev blasted him in the chest. The guy flopped backward and slammed against the side of a parked car.
He whirled toward the woman.
She was on her rump, legs stretched out, back against the doorframe of O’Casey’s. Her arms were folded across her belly and she was gasping for air. She gleamed black in the light from the restaurant. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Her pained grimace showed the white of her teeth.
Trev pumped the shotgun and aimed at her face.
A kid. She looked no older than fifteen or sixteen.
Her bangs were pasted to her forehead. She wore a jumper over a blouse with a frilly collar. Her sodden, pleated skirt clung to her thighs. She wore knee socks and loafers.
Kid or not, Trev thought, she’s a killer now. If I don’t shoot her, she’ll go on her merry way and maybe nail someone.
Tie her up, leave her in O’Casey’s?
He didn’t want to waste the time. Besides, she might get loose and end up hunting for victims again. Or other crazies might find her and kill her.
Do they kill their own?
They’d either kill her or set her free.
‘Come on,’ he said. Crouching, he grabbed the girl’s wrist and dragged her to her feet. She tried to pull away. He tugged and she stumbled forward. With a growl, she drove her head into his stomach. Trev brought his knee up. She folded and dropped. ‘Now stop it! I want to help you.’
He reached down. He clutched the black rope of her pony tail and pulled, trying not to hurt her but applying enough force to give her the message. She stood up. Left hand gripping the pony tail, right hand pressing the shotgun to her spine, he guided her toward the alley.
‘Just stay cool,’ he said. ‘You’ll be all right. Just keep walking. You’ll be fine.’
He hoped nobody was coming up behind him.
Only once did the girl try to struggle free. Trev yanked her hair back and jabbed the muzzle into her back, and she yelped and settled down.
‘It’s OK,’ he told her. It’s OK. We’re almost there.’
He swung her into the alley. The car was there, and he heard the rain drumming on it as he pushed the girl closer to its rear. ‘Get down,’ he said.
She tried to turn around, so he tugged her pony tail. She went to her knees. He nudged her with his knee until she turned sideways. Then he forced her down onto the pavement. He stepped over her. With a foot on her rump to keep her from getting up, he propped his shotgun against the bumper. He dug out his keys and unlocked the trunk.
He straddled her, jammed his hands under her armpits, and picked her up. The girl squirmed. She kicked backward, the heel of her shoe striking his shin. ‘Damn it!’ he gasped, and shoved her headfirst into the trunk. Then he slipped a hand under her skirt, clutched the side of her right thigh, and swung her legs up and over the side. She tumbled into the dark trunk. He slammed the lid.
Picking up his shotgun, he hurried to the driver’s door. Francine unlocked it for him. He climbed in, jerked the door shut, and locked it. ‘Everything OK?’ he asked.
‘What happened?’ Francine asked. ‘What did you put in the trunk?’
‘A girl.’
‘One of them?’
‘Yeah. Just a kid.’
‘You’re taking her with us?’
‘It was either that or kill her.’
‘You should’ve killed her.’
‘I told you, she’s just a kid. She didn’t ask for any of this. She’s a victim, same as everyone else.’
‘She’s one of them!’
‘She’s one of us, now.’
‘Great. Just great.’
‘We heard some shots,’ Lisa said.
Trev poked his key into the ignition and started the car. He turned on the headlights. ‘That was me. Three of them tried to nail me when I came out of O’Casey’s.’
‘Are you all right?’ Lisa asked him.
‘I had to drop a couple.’
‘And bring one along,’ Francine muttered.
‘They didn’t hurt you?’
‘I’m fine.’ He started backing the car out of the alley.
‘Did you find the address?’ Lisa asked.
‘Yeah, I got it.’ Eyes on the rearview mirror, he swung the car onto Third Street. He started forward.
Heading north. Toward Chidi’s house. But also toward the home of Liam O’Casey, where a strange woman had answered the phone.
Both on the north side of town. Chidi’s house a couple of miles closer.
Trev knew what he ought to do – hit Chidi’s first. See if the grandfather’s playing with magic. More important to stop the rain than to bust into Liam’s on the chance Maureen might be there.
But if he could save Maureen . . .
You’ve got a few miles to go before you have to make up your mind, he told himself.
He told himself that. He already knew his first stop would be Liam’s house.
3
Following John’s instructions, Steve brought the people from the cocktail lounge into the entryway, where they joined the restaurant staff gathered by Cassy, and John’s group from the dining room. John stood with his back to the double doors. For the moment, nobody was pounding on them. The only pounding was inside his head. He rubbed the lump on his brow. He hoped the aspirin would kick in soon.
‘I think everyone’s here,’ Cassy told him.
‘OK,’ he muttered. Then he raised his voice. ‘Could I have your attention, please?’
The murmuring faded.
‘We need to get organized, here. You’re probably all aware that a guy broke through a window a few minutes ago and killed Mrs Benton. Well, apparently there’s quite a crowd outside.’
‘Just how many are we talking about?’ asked a stocky, florid man near the front of the group.
‘Steve?’
‘I just took a quick look out the window,’ Steve said. ‘I didn’t have time to make an accurate head count, but I’d guess anywhere from twenty to thirty.’
‘Oh, dear God,’ a woman muttered.
Other people moaned, shook their heads, moved closer to their spouses or friends, whispered.
‘They were scattered along the sidewalk in front,’ Steve went on. ‘There was a pretty good bunch right outside the doors.’
‘Why are they doing this?’ asked Tina. Her boyfriend Andy squeezed her shoulder.
‘They’re after the fine cuisine,’ said a small guy in a plaid jacket.
‘This is no time for levity,’ Dr Goodman pointed out.
‘Levity in the face of disaster is a hallmark of the American character.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ said a woman John figured must be the guy’s wife.
‘They’re outside,’ Cassy said, ‘because they want to come in and kill us. That’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?’
‘But why?’ From Tina.
‘It doesn’t matter why,’ John said. ‘I’m sure it has something to do with the black rain. But that’s not our concern, right now. What we need to do is get organized so we can protect ourselves.’
‘Hey,’ said a big guy with a beer mug in his hand. ‘Who died and made you king shit?’
‘It’s all yours,’ John told him. ‘You can be king shit.’
The guy sneered. ‘You trying to be a wiseguy?’
‘I’m totally serious. You take over. I don’t want this, anyway.’
Cassy frowned at him. ‘Hey, John, come on.’
‘I don’t even want to be here, much less be the guy giving orders. Let macho man . . .’
‘Look, buddy. . .’
‘Hey, shove it,’ Lynn told him. ‘If we waste time arguing, those jerks are going to break in and God only knows what’ll happen to us. So just shut up and listen to John. We’ve got to have a leader and I don’t know most of you people, but I know my John and he’s the man for it.’
John looked at her. He felt a swell of pride at the way she was taking on the bastard, but he wished she would shut up. He didn’t want to be the leader. The only reason he’d gotten involved was because someone had to take control fast and nobody else was doing it.
‘Gimme a break, lady,’ the guy said. ‘I know who he is. He’s the fuckin’ painter.’
I’m not so anonymous after all, he thought.
‘Yes, he’s a painter,’ Lynn said. ‘He’s an artist.’
‘We want a pansy artist running the show?’
‘He also served two tours in Vietnam,’ Lynn said. ‘And he holds a third degree black belt in Karate.’
Thanks a lot, John thought.
But the guy who’d called him a pansy grew a sickly smile and took a step backward.
Everyone stared at John.
Now they think I’m a miracle worker. Really appreciate it, Lynn.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I see that quite a few of us already have weapons. After we break up here, I want everyone to get a knife.’
‘Some of you got them with your dinner,’ Cassy added. ‘We’ll bring more out from the kitchen in just a minute.’
‘We should also make ourselves some clubs,’ John said. ‘Legs from tables and chairs, maybe. A good blow to the head’ll put a man out in record time.’
‘How about putting knives on the ends of the clubs?’ Andy suggested.
‘Whatever you can think of. Use your imaginations. Just put together the meanest weapons possible.’
‘What’ve they got?’ asked the red-faced man who’d asked about their numbers.
‘Some of them must’ve gotten into a hardware store,’ Steve said.
‘Handyman’s down at the end of the block,’ Dr Goodman said.
‘Figures. I only took a glimpse, but I saw knives, tire irons, hammers, hatchets and axes.’
A woman let out a quiet whimper. There were moans from several others, including men.
‘I want us to split up into groups,’ John said. ‘Cassy’s told me that the rear door opens out into the alley. It has no handle on the alley side, it’s a solid door and it’s locked. Our main areas of vulnerability are the windows and the front doors here.
‘I want a group of men at the doors with me. Steve. You,’ he said, nodding at the man who’d called him a pansy. ‘You.’ He indicated an oriental wearing a chefs floppy cap and holding a meat cleaver. ‘And you two,’ he said, giving the nod to a pair of husky men from the cocktail lounge.
‘OK. The rest of you, form into two groups. One group will be stationed in the bar area, one in the dining room. Your job is to watch the windows. Anyone tries to break in, deal with him. Or her. Don’t let it stop you if the invader’s a female. Remember, it was a woman who killed Chester Benton.’
‘Equal opportunity maniacs,’ said the guy who believed in levity.
‘If there’s any kind of concerted assault, just call out and the rest of us’ll come over to reinforce you. Any questions?’
‘What about getting out of here?’
‘Yeah. Some of us have kids at home.’
‘So do I,’ John said. ‘But we won’t do our kids any good if we get killed.’
‘Won’t do ‘em any good staying here, either.’
‘If you want to leave,’ John said, ‘be my guest. But you’ve got a street full of bloodthirsty nuts outside, and the rain. From all appearances, the rain’ll turn you into one of them. But if you want to risk it, go on ahead. It’s pretty clear to me that we stand the best chance by sticking together in here and holding down the fort.’
‘They come in here with axes and shit, we’re dead meat.’
‘Yeah, what if they overrun us?’
Overrun.
The word sent a shock of cold through John.
‘We’re not going to let that happen,’ he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
‘Yeah, and how do we stop it? All they gotta do is bash in the doors, thirty of ‘em coming pouring in with their damn hardware. We won’t stand a chance in hell.’
‘What’ll we do then?’ a woman blurted.
‘We’re all gonna die,’ Tina muttered.
John saw panic spreading through the group like a brush fire on a windy day. Eyes widened. Faces blanched. Tina and another woman began to sob. A small, long-haired man near the back whirled around and ran off into the cocktail lounge. Men and women hugged each other and spoke in low, urgent tones.
