Bad Juju: A Novel of Raw Terror (17 page)

Her voice seemed a little tight.
“You’re breaking our date?”

“Uh, no, just postponing it. How
about a rain-check?”

“What’s going on, Luke? You’re not
getting cold feet, are you?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m helping
out down at the station. Police business.”

After a brief pause, she said,
“Then I’ll hold dinner. That’s no problem. You’ll find that I can be a very
patient person, given the right circumstances.”

“You sure? That’s it’s all right, I
mean?”

“Yes, I’m sure. If you still want
to come, I don’t mind waiting for you.”

“I do.” He was a little surprised
at how much he did want to be with her tonight. Then again, the thought of
being home tonight with no one but his dog for company was not very appealing.
He had just killed a man and seen two others lying dead in the dirt; he knew he
would be replaying that bloody scene over and over in his head as soon as he
was alone, with time on his hands. “It might be another hour or two. When I
finish up here, I’ll need to go home and clean up. I’ll call you before I leave
home.”

“I’ll be here,” she said. “Are you
okay? You sound...a little tense.”

“Yeah. I’ll tell you about it when
I get there. Thanks for being so patient with me.”

“No problem. We’ll have a nice
dinner, a little wine, and see if we can’t get you loosened up.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you in a
little while.”

He hung up, and Keller said,
“There’s no need for you to hang around, Luke. Batty’s done with you, the
bodies are on the way to the medical examiner, suspect’s in custody.  I’ve just
got this damned paperwork.”

“I know. But I want to see how it
turns out with Joe Rob. He almost bolted on me before you got there, and I had
to tell him he probably wouldn’t get locked up to keep him from panicking. I
guess I feel sort of responsible for him.” Luke rubbed his eyes, then added, “I
had to lie to him to get him to give up his guns. I told him he wouldn’t go to
jail, but hell, they’ll have no choice but to prosecute. As unpopular as that
will be.”

Mookie Vedders appeared in the
doorway. “Evening, gents,” he said. “I understand you’ve got my client here.
Joe Rob Campbell?”

“Mookie,” Luke nodded.

“The boy didn’t ask for a lawyer,”
said Keller, dropping his ballpoint pen on the blotter and standing up.

“James Partain’s footing the bill,”
said the short, hatchet-faced lawyer. “He wants to make sure the lad who saved
his boy’s life is afforded due process.”

“He will be,” said Keller,
defensive. “They’re in the back room.”

Mookie followed Keller to the
unmarked door, then turned back to Luke and said, “I’m glad you’re okay, Luke.
Off the record, you did a great public service in getting rid of Fate Porch.”

“Thanks,” Luke said.

Keller knocked on the door, opened
it and said, “Joe Rob’s lawyer is here.”  

***

Joe Rob looked up and saw Mookie
Vedders walk into the room like a bantam rooster, cocky and self-assured. For a
little man, the guy walked like he had a humongous pair of balls—like the
cock-of-the-walk lawyer he was.

Batty the homicide dick tried to
keep the surprise off his face, but Joe Rob could see he was thrown off his
game.

“Hello, Brian,” Vedders said to
Batty. “How’s the family?”

“Fine,” Batty said without getting
out of his chair.

“Joe Rob, I’ve been hired to give
you legal representation,” the lawyer said, “and as of right now, I don’t want
you to answer any more questions. Has Mr. Batty explained your rights?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Brain, I’d like some time alone with
my client, if you don’t mind.”

With a sigh, detective Batty stood
and said, “You got it.” He left the room and shut the door softly.

Mookie sat in the chair across the
green table from Joe Rob. “What have you told him so far?”

“Pretty much the whole story. He
had me going back over parts of it, looking for holes, I guess. Who’s paying
you for this?”

“James Partain.”

Joe Rob nodded. It didn’t surprise
him that Skeeter’s old man would foot the bill, not after he’d saved Skeeter’s
bacon. And Mr. Partain could afford it. Everybody knew undertakers made a
killing, money-wise.

“Okay,” Vedders said, “I want you
to tell me what you told him, word for word if you can do that.”

“Man, I’m already bored with this.
It was wild while it was happening, but this shit’s getting old. All this
talking about it.”

“Joe Rob, I’m trying to keep you
out prison. Now, based on what I’ve already been told, I think I can do that,
but you have to cooperate with me. No matter how boring it is. All right?”

He nodded. He knew the man was
right, but he was coming down off the speed and coke, and he was getting more
and more irritable and short-tempered. He wished he had some dope to smoke or
booze to drink to mellow him out and cushion the crash, but that was out of the
question for the moment.

“Good,” said Vedders. “Now go ahead
and tell me what you told him.”

Joe Rob scratched an itch behind
his ear, then said, “First thing I said was those motherfuckers had it coming.
They thought they were gonna kill my friend and me, but this time they fucked
with the wrong hombre. That was the word I used,
hombre
. Pretty good,
huh? Just popped in my head, probably from an old western.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty good, son. Go
on.”

Joe Rob grinned and went on with
his story.

 ***

Charlotte Claymore was taking the
night off. She was in no mood for turning tricks, not tonight. Her bumhole was
still sore from having that punk-ass prick ram his cock up her rear. And the
worst part was, it had played holy hell with her hemorrhoids and started them
bleeding. She had a Tuck’s medicated pad back there now, but it didn’t stop the
pain. That little fucker was going to pay through the nose for what he did to
her. Better yet, he was going to pay through his goddamn prick. Charlotte
didn’t just want him killed—she wanted him tortured,
then
killed. And
Carl knew just the man for the job.

She smashed out the butt of one
smoke in the full ashtray, then lit another. Poured herself another shot of
vodka and tossed it back. It burned good going down, and she had a nice buzz on
when the knock rattled the back door.

She answered it without turning on
the back porch light, just as Carl had instructed her. This was one visitor she
didn’t want the neighbors to know anything about. When Carl had told her that
the hit man was coming to her house, she had protested. “I don’t want him
here,” she’d said. “Why don’t you handle it?” Because that’s the way the dude
does business, he’d told her. Then he got this weird smile on his face and
said, “Don’t worry, nobody’ll see him. This guys sticks to the shadows. Hell,
he
is
a fucking shadow.” She wondered if he meant the guy was a nigger,
but she didn’t pursue it. She didn’t care if he was black as the ace of spades,
as long as he got the job done.

She pulled the back door open. The
light from the laundry room showed her a tall, thin man with a navy-blue ski
mask over his head. His eyes were green, the flesh around them wrinkled and
pink. Pale, thin lips poked through the mouth hole, a fever blister slathered
with some kind of ointment dotting the upper lip.

“Jesus Christ,” she said. “What the
hell is this, trick or treat?”

“Step outside,” the man said with a
rumbling drawl. “And shut the door.”

“Carl sent you, right?” Charlotte
wanted to be sure this was the right guy before she set foot out of her house.
Of course, that was stupid, because if he wasn’t the guy, she was already
fucked, standing here in her robe, an arm’s-length from the masked man.

“No, Mickey fucking Mouse sent me,”
he snarled. He grabbed her arm and yanked her outside, shutting the door behind
her so that they were in darkness.

“Hey! Keep your hands off me, you—”

He clamped a big hand over her
mouth. “Ssshh. Not so loud. Okay?”

Charlotte nodded. He removed his
hand.

“Your friend said you want a guy
done,” he said softly.

“Damn right, I do,” she said in a
loud whisper. “I want him to suffer before you kill him.”

The masked man shook his head.
“That’s a whole different proposition.”

“You mean more expensive, right?”

“Right. More risk, more money.”

“I don’t care. I want the sonofabitch
tortured. I’ll pay the extra. And I want you to tell him it’s from me. When he
dies, I want his last thought to be about me. Can you handle that?”

“For three hundred bucks.”

“Shit,” said Charlotte, “is that
the lowest you’ll go?”

“Bottom line. Three hundred up
front.”

She thought about it for a moment,
then said, “Okay, three hundred. On one condition. You take a couple of
Polaroid shots for me. Like before and after. I’ll give you one-fifty right
now, and when I get the photos, I pay you the rest.”

In the dim moonlight she saw his
lips part in a reptilian smile. “With one stipulation,” he said.

She smiled back. For a hit man, the
guy had an interesting vocabulary. “What stipulation?”

“When I bring the photos, I want a
freebie. I like to get my rocks off after a job. But I don’t like paying for
it.”

After a long pause, she said,
“Deal. Hang on, I’ll get the cash.”

As she went to the bedroom to dig
out her stash of cash, the burning pain in her bumhole seemed to lessen. She
wondered if the medicated pad was doing its job, or if it was some kind of
psychological relief from knowing that her hit man would be doing
his
job.

All spiffed up with a hot date to
boot, thought Luke as he drove into town. The night had turned out cool for
this time of the year, and for that he was grateful. It wouldn’t do to show up
at Ree’s door sweating like a funky field hand. He hit the eject button on the
tape deck, pulled out the old Allman Brothers tape and replaced it with The
Best of Sade. Her sultry, soft-jazz style hit the right notes for the mood he
wanted, but the mood eluded him, and he couldn’t get the afternoon’s carnage
out of his mind. Maybe he needed to talk about it. He knew Ree was a good
listener, but did he really want to mar their first date with such unseemly
talk? No. He didn’t even want Ree Tyler to know that he had killed a man, but
in a town the size of Vinewood, there was no way she wouldn’t find out. Better
that she heard it from him. Tell her. Downplay it. Express regret, but don’t
whine about it. “I hate that I had to do it,” he said aloud, sound-checking it.
“But I had no choice. He was going to shotgun me and Joe Rob.” Yeah. Sounded
all right. And it was true.
But damn, I hate that it had to happen today, of
all days. I should’ve postponed our date. But she was so insistent. Ah, stop
it. Stop debating yourself. You’re worse than a schoolboy.

He turned up the volume and hummed
along with the music. Then he was turning into her driveway and parking behind
her Toyota. Sade was singing “Smooth Operator,” and Luke chuckled to himself at
the irony. A smooth operator he was not.

Ree came to the door of her modest
brick house with a big smile on her lips and a red drink in her hand.

“I made it,” said Luke, already
wincing at his dumb remark.
Of course I made it, or I wouldn’t be standing
here saying something so dumb.
“I mean, you know, I didn’t know if I was
going to. Make it.”

She laughed, took his hand and
pulled him inside, then put the drink in his hand. “Here, I think you need this
more than I do.”

“Thanks,” he muttered. He brought
the cold glass to his lips and took a sip. “That’s good. What is that?”

“Strawberry margarita, with a
double-shot of tequila.”

“Oh.” He took another sip.

She smiled up at him.

“Tasty,” he said.

She winked.

“Kinda sweet,” he said.

She gave him a sweet smile.

“Say something, Shorty. I can’t
carry this conversation by myself.”

She narrowed her eyes in mock
anger. “I’m gonna let that one slide, but if you call me that again...”

“It’s an affectionate thing,” he
said. “You know, a term of endearment.”

“Nice try.”

“Really. I mean it.”

Ree suddenly leaned into him,
taking his free hand in both of hers. His arm found its way between her
breasts.  “I know you do,” she said. “Come on into the den and get comfortable.”

She led him into the pine-paneled
den furnished with restored antiques and a loveseat with plush upholstery,
wine-colored and patterned with pink roses. “Have a seat,” she said. “I’ll be
right back.”

Luke settled in, sipping his
margarita and staring at the dark screen of an old console TV. He was feeling
better already. The tequila was rushing to his head, relaxing him and dulling
the residue of emotion left by the shootout at the Jenkins place. Even when Ree
was out of the room, he could feel the warmth of her presence. He let go and
immersed himself in it. By the time she came back into the den, he had finished
his drink and his mood had turned almost as rosy as the loveseat’s upholstery.
He watched her walking toward him, drinking in the graceful movement of her
supple body and the tantalizing bounce of her abundant bosom.

    “You look great,” he said,
shaking his head as if in awe.

“I wish.” She sat beside him,
holding her own drink in both hands.

“You do,” he said. He rattled the
ice cubes in his glass.

“I’m glad you think so. You need a
refill. After one more of those, I’ll probably
really
look good to you.”

“You always look good,” he said.
“The booze just loosens my tongue enough so I can tell you.”

“You’re sweet,” she said, then
amended: “Sweet in a manly way.”

“What’s that wonderful smell coming
from the kitchen?” he asked, deflecting attention from himself.

“Poppy seed chicken. It’s my
grandmother’s recipe. I think you’ll love it.”

“My mouth’s already watering.”

“Give me your glass and I’ll mix
you another drink.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk,
young lady?”

“What if I am? You afraid I’ll take
advantage of you?”

He laughed. “No. I’m afraid you
won’t.”

She took his glass. Gave him a
look. “Have no fear.”

Luke watched the provocative play
of her buttocks beneath her thin cotton slacks as she walked back to the
kitchen. For the first time since losing his wife, he found himself feeling
real desire for a woman. That he felt it for a woman he really liked and
respected only deepened the desire, adding the emotional dimension that could
easily transform desire to love. He didn’t know if he was ready for love, but
right now he was in no mood for self-inventory. He was content to bask in Ree
Tyler’s sunny presence. And to let the proverbial chips fall where they would.

When they sat down to eat in the
candlelit dining room, Ree was obviously as tipsy as he was, and her mood
equally rosy. They drank white wine with the poppy seed chicken, cranberries,
tossed salad and buttered crescent rolls, and by the end of the meal, the wine
bottle was empty and they were both pretty soused. They had kept up the
suggestive banter and playful innuendo, and Luke’s desire was turning into
out-and-out lust. He sensed that she was feeling the same thing.

She put a cigarette between her
lips, leaned forward and drew fire from the candle flame. She inhaled deeply,
then blew a stream of white smoke toward the ceiling. Luke’s eyes were on her
pursed lips and on her tongue that flicked out to moisten them. His
long-dormant penis awakened, twisting slightly against his thigh.

“You never told me what you were
doing at the police station,” Ree said.

If she had thrown cold water on his
crotch, it would’ve had the same effect on his fledgling arousal. “Ah, I don’t
want to get into that now. It’s a definite downer. And I’m feeling too good.”

“Oh, okay. We’ll let that sleeping
dog lie. But I do want you to feel like you can talk to me, you know, about
any
thing.”

“Okay. Just not now.”

She nodded. Took another puff on
her smoke. “I have something I want
you
to know. It’s not a downer, not
really. But it’s something I’ve never told anybody, and I feel like I should
tell you so you’ll know what you’re getting yourself into...with me. I hope you
won’t think I’m crazy, but...”

“What?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Don’t tease.”

“No, I just...Well, okay. But trust
me, I’m not a nut case.”

“No, you’re not.”

Ree took another sip of wine and a
draw on her cigarette, then said, “I have a guardian angel.”

Luke looked at her with a blank
face, waiting for her to elaborate.

“Do you believe in guardian
angels?” She smiled self-consciously.

“I dunno. I never thought about
it.”

“I hadn’t either, till one came to
me.”

Luke smiled.

“You’re laughing at me,” she said.

“No, no, I’m not. I just...it just
made me smile. You’re so cute.”

“Cute? I’m trying to be serious
here. I knew I shouldn’t tell you.”

“Come on, Shorty. I want you—”

She jabbed a finger at the air and
said, “Ah-ah, don’t call me that.”

“Sorry. But I do want to hear about
your angel. Honest.”

She stabbed her cigarette out in
the ashtray. “All right, but you’d better not laugh or I’ll come over there and
slap you silly.”

“Fair enough,” he said, trying not
to smile.

“Okay.” A look of displeasure came
into her face. “I think I had too much to drink. I hope to God I don’t
embarrass myself too much.”

“You can tell me anything,” he
said. “It won’t change how I feel about you.”

She pushed her plate aside, folded
her arms across her chest and leaned her elbows on the table. “After Ben died,
I got really depressed. So depressed I actually thought about killing myself. I
was taking a lot of tranquilizers, but they didn’t do anything but make me feel
out of it all the time. It was like I was in a deep, dark hole and couldn’t get
out. I started thinking how good it would be just to take the whole bottle of
pills and go to sleep forever. I knew suicide was a mortal sin—at least
according to the Catholics—but I was so pissed off at God for taking Ben away
from me, I just didn’t give a damn. It was like,
screw God
, you know? I
was really messed up. Then I decided to do it. To end it all. I closed the shop
for what I thought would be the last time. It was just getting dark outside. I
shut off the lights in the shop and headed for the door, and that’s when he
appeared. At first I thought I was seeing things, like my eyes playing tricks
and all. But when I got closer to the mirror, he didn’t go away.”

Luke folded his fingers under his
chin, listening closely but showing no reaction to her tale.

“He always appears in the mirror of
the same antique vanity. The wood’s so old, it’s almost black. I had several
offers, but I never could bring myself to sell that piece. Now I know why. When
he started talking to me, I realized I’d always known he would show up. Like
I’d been expecting him. See, we were lovers in a previous life. That’s what he
told me. He was killed in the Civil War. Anyway, Beau—that’s his name—told me
to stop taking the tranquilizers and to stop feeling sorry for myself. I knew
he was right. That I would be okay if I followed his advice.”

“And you don’t think it was some
kind of hallucination?”

“I really didn’t think so, but I
wasn’t sure. Not until Beau saved my life again by telling me not to step in
front of a car. I guess I was preoccupied that day, ’cause I didn’t even see it
coming as I stepped off the curb. But there was Beau—just his voice that time,
I never see him except in the mirror in the shop. How can I not believe he’s
real, after he saved my life two times?”

“That’s...really something,” said
Luke.

“You believe me? You don’t think
I’m out of my mind?”

“No. You’re about the most
down-to-earth person I know.”

Ree reached for the brown sack
containing her smokes, fished one out and lit it in the dancing flame of the
candle. “There’s more,” she said, exhaling smoke. “It gets freakier. This is
the part I’m sort of afraid to tell you.”

“You don’t need to be afraid. Not
of what I may or may not think. You obviously want to tell me, or you wouldn’t
have brought it up. So go ahead. I can handle it.”

“It gets weirder. And more
personal. For you, I mean. For us.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “Go
on.”

“Beau appeared again this
afternoon. He said, ‘Darkness is gathering,’ and that I must be careful where
you’re concerned because the darkness may
gather
you. And me if I get
too close to you.”

Luke shook his head. “I don’t get
it. Your angel was talking about me?”

She nodded.

“What does that mean?
Gather
me?”

“That’s what I don’t know. That’s
the way Beau talks, like an educated Southern gentleman of the eighteen
hundreds. I asked him if he was trying to tell me I should stop seeing you, and
he said he couldn’t tell me that, that I should follow my heart.”

He stared into her eyes, unsure of
what to say. So he said nothing.

Ree said, “There’s more. He said
the darkness has made ‘inroads’ and that there is one who would open
flood-gates.”

Luke shrugged. “That mean anything
to you?”

“
No.
Not specifically. I
suppose he’s talking about evil. But I don’t know. And when I asked him what he
expected me to do, he said I should give up tobacco.”

“What?”

“That’s what he said. Then he faded
away, like always. Maybe I
am
a nut case. Hearing myself say all this
out loud, I know I sound crazy as a loon. You’re probably wondering how you can
get the hell out of here before it rubs off on you.”

Luke stared at his empty wine
crystal, then said, “I had to kill a man today.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Fate Porch. He was going to shoot
me with a shotgun. That’s what I didn’t want to talk about.”

“Oh, Luke.” Concern deepened the
lines of her face.

“There was a shootout at the old
Jenkins place.”

“The haunted house?”

“When I got there, Joe Rob Campbell
had already killed two of Fate’s sons. Porch and his boys had kidnapped Skeeter
Partain, cut his finger off and had him strung up on a chain in the barn. They
used Skeeter to lure Joe Rob out there so they could kill him. Because Joe Rob
had killed Odell Porch several days before.”

“Holy...”

“I never killed a man before. I...I
can’t get it out of my mind. Well, I couldn’t until tonight. With you, and the
booze and all.”

“But you had to do it,” she said.
“He would’ve killed you.”

“I know. But it still makes me
sick.”

She reached across the table and
held his hand. “Maybe this is what Beau was trying to tell me. Fate Porch could
be the one who opened the flood-gates.”

“I don’t know about that. But it’s
all over now. Porch and his boys are all dead. There’s nobody left but the old
lady. Fate’s mother. And she’s in the hospital.”

“I’m so sorry, Luke. I can’t even
imagine how you must feel. But you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself. You
didn’t do anything wrong. You’re not in trouble with the law, are you?”

“No. I was working with the police.
Keller knew I was trying to stop the whole thing from happening. We were just
too late. That damn sinkhole on Main Street had Keller’s people tied up. Almost
like fate had a hand in it. Not Fate Porch.
Fate.
Like it was meant to
happen the way it did.”