Bad Juju: A Novel of Raw Terror (19 page)

And the darkness was soothing,
nourishing.

In that fertile darkness, he began
to plot his escape.

***

Ree snuggled against him and draped
one leg over his thigh. Her breast flattened pleasantly against his chest, and
he could feel the hard nipple poking him. The ceiling fan hummed softly above
the bed, and the air moved languidly over their naked bodies. She moved her
fingernails lightly over his belly, trailing them down, down toward his groin.
His penis stirred against her gentle touch.

“Mmmm, I think it likes me,” she
said, wrapping her fingers around the semi-flaccid shaft and stroking its
weeping head with her thumb.

“Didn’t raise no fool,” Luke said,
then kissed her forehead.

She giggled. “Certainly not. And I
think it’s raising its cute little head again.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Oh, Luke, this is even better than
I dreamed it would be. Please tell me it doesn’t have to end.”

“It doesn’t have to end.”

“You’re not just saying that so you
can keep me in the sack?”

“No. I don’t want it to end. Unless
some jealous ghost comes between us, we can just go on and on.”

“You mean Beau? No chance. That was
in another life. I like my men flesh and blood.” She squeezed his swelling
penis for emphasis. “I don’t think a guardian angel’s duties extend to the
bedroom.”

Luke was thinking of Jenny as a
jealous ghost, but he didn’t voice his thought. Now was not the time to bring
up his deceased wife. Ree gave him another squeeze, and Jenny left his thoughts
like smoke on a stiff breeze.

She climbed on top of him,
straddling his loins with her thighs, then arched her back and guided him into
her. They were both still slick from the first bout of lovemaking, and he went
in with ease. He caressed her breasts while she rode him, slowly at first, then
faster and faster. She threw her head back and braced her hands behind her on
his knees without disturbing the rhythm of her ride.

Luke lay still as she glided up and
down his shaft, savoring the glove-tight fit of their genitals and thinking he
didn’t deserve such ecstasy. It was too good to be true. How could something so
wonderful exist in a world of pain, sorrow, violence and degradation? Unbidden
images of bleeding gunshot wounds and dead flesh jarred him and he started to
lose his erection. He shook his head as if to dispel the grisly images. He
opened his eyes and watched Ree’s fevered movements as she rode him. Light from
a single candle illuminated her jiggling breasts and the ecstatic expression on
her face. Forgetting himself, he concentrated on his partner. Her unrestrained
passion rekindled sympathetic passions within him, and his erection reasserted
itself. He began to move with her, thrusting upward each time she came down.
Their pace became frenzied, and Luke could feel her building to climax. She
threw herself forward, crushing her breasts against his chest and hugging him
tightly as her pelvis pumped and thrust against him, taking him still deeper.
He let himself go and completely gave in to the moment. They came together,
crying out in harsh harmony. Unlike their first time, this orgasm went on and
on, extended in time and rich in blissful release.

When she caught her breath and
could speak again, Ree said, “Praise God, that was good.”

Luke, chuckling, said, “Tell the
truth and shame the devil.”

After a while, Ree rolled off him
and fell asleep by his side. He drifted into sleep with the sound of her feathery
breathing in his ear.

He slept the night through.

Skeeter was finishing his breakfast
when the detective came to question him. The man’s name was Batty, and he
seemed easy-going for a homicide cop. His hair was gray at the temples but the
rest of his buzz-cut hair was black. “How do you like hospital food?” Batty
asked, pulling the chair up to the edge of the bed and sitting down.

“It’s not too bad. I guess I was
pretty hungry.”

The detective smiled. “When I was
your age, I’d eat anything they put in front of me, then ask for seconds.”

Skeeter laughed, being polite. The
windows were glowing with the gray light of a dismal morning. The weatherman on
the TV was predicting a stormy afternoon.

“Mind turning that off?” Batty said,
nodding toward the TV.

Skeeter used the remote and killed
the picture.

“Your friend Joe Rob has told me
his side of things, and now it’s your turn. Now I like things told from the
beginning, so I can see what comes later in light of what went before. Things
generally make more sense that way. So I want you to start with what happened
out at the dump the day Odell Porch was killed. I want to know what you heard
and what you saw. The truth and nothing but. Now I know you and the Campbell
boy had time to get your stories straight, but if you lie to me, you could find
yourself in serious trouble. You understand me?”

“Yes sir.” Skeeter scratched at the
bandage on his thigh. “Where’s Joe Rob now?”

“He’s in custody for the time
being. That’s not your worry right now. You just concentrate on telling me the
truth of what happened.” Batty pulled out a black notebook and clicked his
ballpoint pen. “Shoot,” he said.

Skeeter told him. He started with
their encounter with Odell, and ended thirty minutes later with the
confrontation between Joe Rob and Luke Chaney, after the Porch men were all
dead. He told the truth, making sure the detective understood that Fate Porch
and his boys were bent on killing him and Joe Rob. “I guess we should’ve gone
to the police after Odell was killed,” he concluded, “but we knew the Porches
would come after us when they found out what happened. That’s the kind of
people they are.
Were
. We knew they’d try to kill us.”

Batty flipped his notebook shut and
stuffed it in his pocket. “All right, son. You did good.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“That’s not up to me. The District
Attorney will go over all the facts, then decide whether or not to prosecute.
But based on what you told me, I don’t think you’re in deep do-do. Maybe just
in up to your knees.”

“Whew,” said Skeeter, “that’s good
to hear. What about Joe Rob?”

“I’d say he’s in up to his neck.
But he’s got a good lawyer, and he’ll likely have public opinion in his favor.
After all, he risked his life to save his friend. Even if he did go about it
the wrong way.”

“Wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be here
now,” said Skeeter.

Detective Batty stood. “When they
gonna turn you loose?”

“Later today. I think they want to
give me some more IV antibiotics.”

Batty nodded, moving toward the
door. “Take care of yourself. And stay out of trouble. We’ll be in touch.”

“Yes sir, I will.”

Skeeter turned the TV back on and
caught the morning news from a Savannah station. The blond newswoman said, “In
a Wild-West style shootout near Vinewood, Georgia, three men were shot and killed
yesterday, and another man was injured. One man is in custody. No names have
been released yet.”

“Holy shit,” Skeeter said. “We’re
gonna be famous.”

***

Luke stopped at the nurses’ station
and asked what room Agnes Porch was in. Though visiting hours didn’t begin till
noon, the nurse allowed Luke to visit. Being the former police chief had its
perks. He knocked on the door of room 106, then entered.

Agnes Porch was sitting up in bed,
pinning her braided hair on top of her head in concentric circles that
resembled a lusterless gray crown. “Who’s there?” she said. She was without
glasses and obviously couldn’t see well.

“It’s Luke Chaney, Miz Porch.” He
stepped closer to the bed. “I just wanted to come by and tell you how sorry I
am things turned out the way they did. I tried to stop it, but I got there too
late.”

“Cain’t
un
sour milk, Luke
Chaney.”

“No ma’am.”

“It was you found me, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“Seemed like a dream. Bumped my
head purdy good. Broke my glasses too.”

“They told you...what happened?”

“They finally got around to telling
me my boys are all dead. That one what killed ’em must be a sure-fire hellion.”

“The Campbell boy didn’t kill
Fate,” Luke said. His voice sounded hollow in his ears.

“Who did?” she snapped.

“I did.”

“They Lord, you did.”

“Yes ma’am. He didn’t give me a
choice. He was coming at me with a shotgun. He would’ve killed us both. I told
him to throw down his gun, but he wouldn’t. He was already wounded. I think
maybe he wanted to die.”

The old woman stared at him with weak,
murky eyes.

“I’m sorry it had to happen that
way. If there’s anything I can do to help you in some way...”

“Ain’t nothing you can do for me,”
she spat. “Ain’t nothing nobody in this goddamn town can do for me. We take
care of our own. I reckon things will be set right directly.”

Luke had nothing to say to this.
His hangover from last night’s wine and tequila suddenly spawned a throbbing
pain behind his eyes, and he felt a twinge of nausea.

“You best make your peace with the
Lord, Luke Chaney,” the old woman said. “And leave me the hell alone.”

He left the room and closed the
door softly behind him. He hadn’t expected to feel so much guilt for killing a
man out of necessity, a man who had
needed
killing, but he did feel the
weight of it, and it conferred upon him a raw sympathy for Agnes Porch.

He left the hospital and walked out
into the dreary morning. The trees in front of the building were dead still in
the breathless, humid air. He glanced up at the overcast sky, then climbed into
his truck and started the engine. He had to see Ree again. He would go to her
shop and offer to take her across the street for coffee in the Vinewood Cafe.
He wanted reassurance that last night had been more than a wonderful dream.

His headache backed off as soon as
he pulled away from the hospital. Even though he was slightly hung-over, he
felt remarkably good. After the vigorous lovemaking, he’d slept the night
through, not waking till Ree’s clock radio came on playing a country &
western song. He smiled to himself, marveling at his discovery of a cure for
his insomnia. He could’ve slept longer, and in fact, he had been reluctant to
leave her bed at all, but she had to get up and get downtown to open the shop.
She did her best business on Saturdays and couldn’t afford to be late. Luke had
declined her offer of breakfast, and had gone home to take a shower and change
clothes before his visit to the hospital. 

He drove into town, found a parking
space close to Ree’s antique shop and was climbing out of the truck when he saw
the “Closed” sign hanging in the shop’s glass door. Had he gotten to the shop
before her? Or had Ree simply forgotten to turn the sign around? She’d had as
much to drink last night as he had, so it wouldn’t be surprising if her own
hangover had left her a little muddle-minded and forgetful. He stepped onto the
sidewalk and approached the shop’s door. He tried the knob. The door was
locked. A glance at his watch told him it was quarter past ten. She usually
opened the shop at nine on Saturday mornings.

He rapped his knuckles on the glass
door, then peered inside. All he saw was assorted pieces of antique furniture
and various house wares and knick-knacks from bygone eras. Looking at an old
vanity’s cloudy mirror, he remembered her guardian angel, Beau, and wondered if
the ghost had done something to her in a fit of jealousy, then immediately
chastised himself for thinking something so ridiculous. He didn’t even believe
in ghosts. If Ree needed to believe she had a guardian angel on her shoulder,
that was her business and he had no right to try and talk her out of the
notion, but why was
he
suddenly thinking along those same superstitious
lines? Luke thought:
Lord forbid. Last thing we need are ghosts hanging
around, mucking up things for the living.
He shook his head at the thought
of being haunted by Fate Porch, then he saw the haggard face of Fate’s mother
leering at him and telling him to get right with God. Even if, as some said,
Agnes Porch was a witch or some sort of voodoo queen, she couldn’t have any power
over Luke, because he didn’t believe in any of that nonsense. As long as you
didn’t believe it, it couldn’t touch you. But if you were foolish enough to
fall for such bull hockey, then all bets were off.

Luke looked around, noting the
sparse traffic and dearth of pedestrians. Unusual for a Saturday, but then
folks were probably afraid to come downtown because of the damned sinkhole. And
who could blame them. Keller had told him last night that Mr. Peters had
arranged for an engineering geologist from Atlanta to come and find out just
how extensive the sinkhole actually was. Until they knew, everyone downtown
would be wondering just how firm the ground under their feet was, and Main
Street merchants would lose customers to the area malls and outlying businesses.

Luke walked down the street and
around the corner to City Drugs. He craved a second cup of coffee, and Doc
Taggert was not one to refuse an impromptu coffee break and an opportunity to
chew the fat with an old friend.

Doc was in his elevated glass cage,
counting pills. He acknowledged Luke with a nod and an arched brow, finished
his count, then exited his exalted lair through its side door and joined Luke
in their usual booth near the lunch counter. The smell of frying bacon and
pancakes on the griddle made Luke’s stomach growl, though he didn’t feel up to
solid food just yet. A couple of people were seated at the counter and two
other booths were occupied with diners whose hunger was apparently stronger
than their fear of being swallowed by the sinkhole. 

Looking officiously debonair in his
starched blue smock, Doc caught Betty Lee’s attention and held up two fingers,
signaling that he wanted two coffees post-haste.

“So you finally got him,” Doc said.
His voice and inflection reminded Luke of Walter Cronkite reporting the news.

Luke said, “Yeah. But not the way I
wanted to get him.”

“He was really going to shoot you,
huh?”

“No doubt about it. It was him or
me. He was already wounded and I think he was ready to die, but he was hoping
to take me with him.”

“That sounds like the Fate Porch we
all knew and loved,” Doc said with a nod.

“Yeah. I just came from the
hospital. I had to tell Agnes Porch it’s was me who killed her son.”

“Ah, and was the confession good
for your soul?”

“No. I didn’t expect it would be.
It was just something I had to do. I wanted her to hear it from me. I was
trying to stop the whole damn thing from happening, but I was too late. She
knows that. Not that it makes a damn bit of difference to her.”

“No, of course not.”

Luke looked down at the table. “I
think she’s probably gonna do some backwoods voodoo on me.”

“What?”

“She said things would be set right
directly and told me I’d best make my peace with the Lord.”

Doc shook his head. “She’s a senile
old woman. Surely you aren’t really worried about a voodoo curse.” 

“No, I’m not. But she’s not senile.
She’s too full of hate to be feebleminded. I hope I’m as sharp as she is if I
make it to
my
nineties.”

Betty Lee set two mugs of coffee
down in front of them. “There ya go, gentlemen,” she said with a lipstick
smile. “Drink it in good health.”

“Thanks, Betty,” said Luke.

She breezed away to tend to one of
the other booths. Luke watched her rounded backside moving against her
close-fitting blue skirt and thought of Ree’s sweet, supple cheeks. He pictured
her above him, her breasts inches from his face, nipples erect and aureoles as
big as silver dollars.

“Tell me about the Campbell boy,”
said Doc, bringing Luke out of his brief sexual reverie. “They say he was hell
on wheels.”

“Our law officers shouldn’t be
saying a damn thing about it. I shouldn’t either. But he was something, all
right. When I got there, he had a gun in each fist, blasting away at Luther
Porch, who was already down. He was like a mad-dog gunslinger out of the Old
West. He’d already shot and killed the younger brother and wounded Fate with a
shotgun. How he came out of it unscathed, I don’t know.”

“You think they’ll file charges
against the boy?”

“Hell, Doc, I don’t see how they
have a choice. Joe Rob went there armed to the teeth with the intention of
killing them. He told me that himself before he went out there. Called me at
home to tell me.”

“But he saved Skeeter Partain.
People are already saying he’s a hero.”

“And Mookie Vedders is representing
him. Ol’ Mookie’ll have the jury recommending the boy for a medal.”

 “Wouldn’t surprise me,” said Doc,
sipping coffee, then wiping some from his mustache. “Hell, I’m not sure myself
he shouldn’t get one. Boy’s got guts.”

“Something about the boy spooks me.
I’m not sure he’s right in the head.”

“How do you mean?”

Luke shrugged. “He’s not the
All-American clean-cut football jock he used to be—if he ever was. There’s
something dark in him. I can’t explain it, really. But when you look into his
eyes, you’re not sure what’s in there looking out at you. But you know you
don’t want it to come out.”