Dark Advent (11 page)

An ugly future stretched ahead in Jason’s imagination, bleak and lonely and desolate. And harsh. Providing he actually lived that long. The big IF. “John, what do I
do
now?” he whispered.

Kelly drew a deep, rattling breath. “If you see that things are looking worse and worse in the next few days…”

You mean if I’m still alive and kicking.

“…get out of town. Get off in the country. I know you can handle that.” He smiled. “Remember last summer, after your folks and all, how we used to stay up nights talking? You used to tell me about how your dad would take you on those hunting trips. You remember?”

Jason nodded, couldn’t talk. Apparently it wasn’t enough that his father had to die so prematurely. Now he had to listen to the only other father figure in his life reminisce about it from his deathbed.

“You can do it again. Solo, this time. Take a shotgun, some fishing gear. Stock up on Spam, Beanee Weenees, all that good canned stuff. Come back in a while and see what’s left.”

Jason found one of Kelly’s hands and clasped it. He had the feeling he’d never get much of a chance again.

“I got this funny notion that…that things are gonna get ugly, Jay.
Real
ugly.” For the first time since Jason’s arrival, Kelly winced with genuine pain, trembled, relaxed. His eyes reopened. “Know what I heard once? That the very old and the very young sometimes know things nobody else does. ’Cause they’re both closer to whatever’s beyond life. Only nobody believes them ’cause they’re just little kids or they’re half-senile.” He smiled again, that smile of secret knowledge. “Remember what I said: real ugly.”

He clutched Kelly’s hand harder. “I will.”

“And if you gotta get ugly yourself to hang in there, well, you just go on ahead and do that. You understand?”

Jason nodded, eyes blurry and snot on his upper lip.

“Yeah…I thought you would.” Kelly’s face rolled to the right, so he could peer directly up at Jason. His eyes were bright, almost childlike, but they were also sad. The eyes of a man sending his only son off to college. Or to war. But unlike Jason’s, they were dry. “I think you better leave now. I…I got things I’m about to do.”

Their hands locked again, painfully for both. But no matter; the moment would have to last them each a lifetime. After a few seconds they relaxed, and Jason bent down to lightly kiss Kelly’s glistening forehead. The skin beneath his lips felt hot, feverish, radiant with its intensity. He straightened.

“Bald old fart,” Jason said.

Kelly grinned, and now his teeth were slimed with the same stuff that was in the pan. “Sheepdog.”

There was so much more to say, reams and volumes dammed up inside both. Advice from a substitute father to a surrogate son. Appreciation from son to father. But time had run out. So it all had to pass without words, in a lingering glance, a set of the mouth, a tilt of the head. It wasn’t enough. It never is. But it has to do.

Jason held his head high as he passed through the hall back to the living room, trying to remind himself that Kelly was bowing out the way he’d wanted all along. Earlier than he would’ve liked, but at least the way he wanted. In familiar surroundings, his mind intact, and most of all, with enough love to carry him through to the other side.

Jason almost smiled for him.

He paused in the living room to hold Maude’s hand. Her dark-ringed eyes were soft and gentle as a doe’s. And not unlike her husband’s—she knew something too.

“Take care of yourself, Jason,” she said. “Whatever happens.”

“I’ll try.” For some reason, he’d never looked upon her as a substitute for the mother he’d lost, but in that last moment thought he’d been missing out on something all along. How sad to finally realize these things so late.

“I think I’ll be joining him now,” she said. And she dabbed at her mouth with a well-used tissue.

It was stained red.

13

They were holding him without bail.

Travis was in for five, count ’em, five counts of murder in the first degree. And the judge had decided that in no way would Travis be allowed to walk the streets again for any
amount of money. Smart thinking, Travis had to admit. His mind had been whirring ever since the police had led him away from home on Monday in handcuffs, working on a plan in case a miracle occurred and he was able to post bond. Mexico, he’d decided. Scrape up whatever money he could, maybe secure some loans from a few of the guys he worked and drank beer with, pop a handful of NoDoz and set off on one long marathon drive south of the border. It wouldn’t be any picnic, but in some bizarre way he thought he just might thrive down there, given the heat and the dust and the opportunities awaiting a man unafraid to make his way along by his muscles and his wits.

But all that was now so much fantasy, pictures to play in his mind as he kicked back on his mattress in the jail cell.

One consolation: His lawyer—a court appointee, and Travis felt she actually seemed to give a damn about what she was doing, certainly not the attitude he’d expected in a P.D.—thought he might be able to successfully sue the city of St. Louis over an incident that had occurred when they’d brought him in. Apparently a drug bust, no small potatoes deal either, had gone down that morning, complete with dope-sniffing dogs and everything. One of the narcotics officers was in at the same time as Travis was being processed, with his dog in tow. And while Travis was doing nothing more than standing there acting the part of the contrite felon, the fucking beast made a lunge for him. It was a big German Shepherd, and it briefly managed to clamp its jaws onto his upper right arm. The cop made a mad scramble for the leash, but Travis was even quicker. With his hands cuffed behind him, he still managed to kick the dog away. It moved in again, snarling with bared teeth, and Travis let fly with his elbow, leaning his whole body into it. The dog went down hard on the tiled floor, skidding and yelping. Only then did Travis notice his arm bleeding at a pretty good clip. But it was worth it, considering the satisfaction he got out of being able to think he’d just decked a member of the St. Louis Police Department and had gotten away with it.

Dogs had never liked him anyway.

After a quick side trip to get his arm cleaned and patched up, the boys in blue introduced him to his new home. The bars, the walls, the floor, the mattresses, even the narrow slice of sky visible through the short window bars at the top of the rear wall…all were tastefully colored in cheerful shades of gray, with all the warmth of a dungeon. The cell held accommodations for four, though Travis brought it up to only half-capacity.

When the cell door clanged shut behind him, soon followed by the steel door down the corridor, the pit of Travis’s stomach gave a quick flutter. Caged like a rat. This was the real thing.

“Sheeeit, man,” said his new roommate, cloaked in shadow on a lower bunk, and the voice was ghetto. “You a mess.”

It had been a while since Travis had seen a mirror, but with his bandaged arm, singed hair, and raw cheek, he figured the guy on the bunk was making an accurate assessment.

Travis grunted and made for the lower bunk across the cell. His roommate sat up and into better light; the voice belonged to a wiry black fellow with a scruffy beard, a splashy Hawaiian shirt, and a bushy Afro. Travis hadn’t seen one of those for years. Give the guy a headband and he could’ve doubled for Jimi Hendrix.

“What brings
you
to these parts?” the man asked.

“Long story,” Travis said. Inside he was playing a mental movie complete with pyrotechnics and worthless kids who tried in vain to clamber through flaming windows; it made him feel better.

The black man chuckled. “Sheeeit, man, I got nuthin’ but time.”

* *

His name was Cletus Snow, as Travis eventually learned, but he said he wasn’t too crazy about that first name, so he went by Diamond instead. When Travis finally felt conversational enough to ask him what he was in for, he found that Diamond had stuck around too long during an after-hours smash-and-grab at a jewelry store, trying to stuff a few more of his namesakes into a canvas bag.

“Rule number one,” said Diamond, popping his knuckles. “Don’t get too greedy when your ass gonna be up for grabs soon.”

Diamond didn’t shrink from Travis after he’d told his
own story, so in Travis’s eyes he was an okay guy so far. Put Diamond on a trial friendship, see how things fared over the next few days.

The next day, Tuesday, a violently coughing boy in blue brought a third man into the cell. He had a hatchet face and a blade-thin nose that he looked down at everybody. Miles, he said his name was, but not whether it was his first or last.

“Fucking tremendous,” he said, standing in the entrance to the cell and appraising Diamond, then Travis. “A welfare cheat and a chewed-up, third-rate Charles Bronson.” He shook his head and strolled for the bunk above Travis.

“Man, you
got a serious attitude problem,” Diamond said from the shadows of his bunk. But from the light tone of his voice it was apparent that Miles’s opinions meant nothing to him.

Travis held his tongue. Instead, he sat clenching and unclenching his fists. Yeah, it would feel good to let one fly. But it was time to think smart; let the rage build slowly, let it simmer, let it work for him. Give it time to channel it constructively instead of venting it at whoever happened to piss him off the most.

But, he vowed, Miles would get his soon, whenever the time was right.

* *

The hour was unknown. Somewhere between late Wednesday night and dawn Thursday.

Travis lay half-asleep, hovering in that state where thoughts come and go as rapidfire as numbers in a random generator. He fixed on one of his favorite movies,
First Blood
…Sly Stallone trashing a stationhouse full of cops on his way out the door. Wouldn’t
that
go down smooth right about now?

And he thought of Sheila. Come to think of it, it was
her
fault he was in here. If she’d never run off, if she’d stayed where she belonged, where she had a good thing going and a man who knew what she needed, there was no doubt she would’ve calmed him down the other night.

Was she still around St. Louis? What would she do if she learned where he was now? Probably laugh her ass right off. That ass, once so compact and shapely, had gotten broader than he wanted it. But right now, it’d still be a lot easier on his eyes than that perpetually arrogant smirk on Miles’ face.

It had taken less than a day for both Travis and Diamond to realize that, speaking of asses, Miles was a gigantic pain in theirs. He’d actually gotten worse once he’d grown accustomed to how much there was to complain about in the cell.

Travis reminded him that it was no fucking picnic for anyone.

Miles said that maybe
they
were used to such conditions, but
he
sure as hell wasn’t.
He
was here as a result of a misunderstanding.

Why not just kill him in his sleep?
Travis wondered sourly, crossing his ankles.
It’s not like I don’t have five counts of the same thing already against me.

Let it go, he decided. For now. Miles’s mouth would get him in over his head sooner or later.

The corridor door rattled open, and in came the sound of scuffling footsteps. Closer, closer…stopping outside his cell…and then the cell door clanged open and shut. Diamond and Miles hadn’t stirred. Miles slept like the dead, and Diamond had apparently been around long enough to get used to the nightly comings and goings.

Then came the eclipse.

The new guy blocked out a good portion of the light from the corridor’s naked bulbs. Travis watched as he stood gazing from bunk to bunk in search of the free one. His bald head reflected a bit of the light, his massive shoulders twitched. With his rapid and shallow breathing, he looked as if he might be hyperventilating. His deepset eyes, protected by prominent ridges of bone, darted wildly about the cell. He looked for all the world like a hugely overgrown child, suddenly realizing he’s lost in a big, bad department store, with no mom in sight.

He looked familiar, as well. Though how Travis could forget a specimen as unique as this one, he didn’t know.

Travis watched as he slowly, with head hung and shoulders drooping, climbed into the bunk above Diamond. Shoes and all. Facing the wall, he curled himself into a surprisingly small fetal ball. Soon, Travis thought he heard the muffled sound of sobbing. And maybe, just maybe, a softly whispered name: “Al.”

Suddenly he put his finger on it.

Travis couldn’t be sure until the morning, but he thought he’d seen the guy on televised wrestling. Only there he’d blended in a lot better. No small number of freaks running loose there.

So what had brought him to this dead end?

Guy looks totally lost.
Travis had never been impressed by the brains exhibited by the typical pro wrestler. He’d seen smarter pack mules. Without his trainer or manager, this giant probably
was
lost.

Maybe he needed a friend.

And if you harnessed the power in one of those guys, brought it over to your side…you just might have one hell of a formidable weapon on your hands.

* *

“Would you. Look. At this.” Miles—who else? He was pointing his finger at the cell’s latest arrival, who was urinating into the heavily stained toilet along the rear wall.

“Must’ve dumped him off on us during the night.” Miles got to his feet and strolled over for a closer inspection. “Put you in a white T-shirt and you could pass for Mister Clean’s retarded brother.”

The big guy didn’t say anything; he just shook himself off and zipped up again. And stood there, facing the wall.

Miles looked back at Travis and tapped his own ear, then turned back to the new man. “Deaf-mute, right?” He paused and got no answer. “Deaf and dumb? That you? Huh?” His face was like that of a scientist probing the boundaries of some newly discovered dimension.

Travis pushed himself up, feeling pangs of hunger for a breakfast that hadn’t been served yet, and walked over to stand by the big guy’s other side.

“Just leave the man alone.” Travis clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder. He felt heavily bunched muscle, even more solid than his own. “He’ll talk when he’s good and ready.” He moved a few steps away, but stayed near. And noticed the guy watching him from the corner of his eye.

“I don’t care if he talks or not,” Diamond said, still flat on his back and grinning. “I just don’t want his ass falling through that bunk and landing on me.”

The new man started to climb back up into his bunk, without so much as a single word.

Miles laughed and shook his head. “Look at his eyes, man. What do you want to bet he’s in here for chopping up his grandma with an ax?”

The guy paused, put his hands on the bunk’s iron frame.

Miles planted his fists against his hips with the air of a man assuming total control. “Listen, if they expect me to sleep in the same cell with this
mongoloid, they got another thing coming. Shit. Look at him! The guy’s fucking
creepy
!”

For an instant, every muscle beneath the guy’s tattered blue work shirt seemed to flex. And then, well, Travis couldn’t recall ever having seen anyone so big move so quickly, and with such deadly silence. All at once the big guy had Miles by the throat with one hand, one
hand,
lifting him up off the floor and sliding him up the back wall by the toilet. His other hand drew back into a claw, fingers hooking into something that looked absolutely lethal, something that in the next second would be plunging into Miles’s red squirming face.

“Easy now…don’t,” Travis said, and sidled up beside the big guy to pat a hand on his quivering shoulder. The guy looked down at him, and Travis thought he must be at least six-five in his stocking feet. The expression in his eyes was tough to read. He saw a taut wariness there, but something else along with it. A kind of longing, maybe. A desperation.

“Just let him back down. This asshole? Hell, he’s not worth the piss you just flushed.” Truth be told, Travis would’ve loved nothing more than seeing Miles staggering around the cell with his face dangling from strings of gristle, but a lot more than pre-breakfast entertainment was at stake here. Could he stop the big guy? Control him? If so, that would be some mighty leverage he’d have over Miles from now on.
Under my thumb.
A pleasure that would last long after Miles’s blood would’ve dried on the cell floor. “Just ease him back down.”

The guys in the nearby cells, those who could see what was going on, were hooting and calling for action, telling the big guy to tear his head off and piss in the stump, telling the little guy to kick the giant in the balls. But their voices seemed far away. The world had been reduced to a tight little triangle.

Miles slid an inch or two down the rough concrete, past the coarse, uncreative graffiti. His face was now a lovely shade of maroon.

Travis offered a tight smile. “That’s it. Back to the floor.”

Inch by inch, the big guy let Miles down until his feet touched the floor again. Miles stumbled back across the cell to the front corner, the farthest point away he could get to. And finally he was at a loss for words.

“Good man,” Travis said, never taking his eyes from the giant beside him…who now finally seemed to thaw. “I’ve seen you on TV, haven’t I?”

Tentatively, the guy nodded. “Maybe you did.”

“Thought so. You’re good. Damned good. One of my favorites. No one in the ring like you, that’s for sure.” The lies were rolling smooth as silk. “What was the name again?”

“Pit Bull Pearson.” The voice was soft, not as deep as you might expect.

“Pit Bull, right, that’s the one.” Travis slapped his forehead. “How could I forget that name? Yeah, you can really kick ass and not fuck with taking names at all.’’

Pit Bull’s mouth curved upward, almost a smile. “You don’t tangle with Pit Bulls, ’cause Pit Bulls bite.”