Here Comes the Night (12 page)

Angie, subdued in a blue suit and low heels, sat opposite
Louis Medlin, the uncomfortably overweight Funeral Director of Heavenly Rest
Mortuary. Each time he shifted in his chair, he self-consciously pulled back
down his gray suit jacket.

If there had been anyone else to do this, Angie would not
have been there. But Gordon had no family, one of the things that had made him
a fine prospect when she met him in Florida. He was the last of his family of
origin, his parents and siblings all gone.

Angie had resisted his sporadic approaches about having
children. She wasn’t about to get saddled with that while he worked nonstop
from six in the morning until well after midnight. Her own mother had basically
been a slave. If that’s what motherhood was, Angie wanted no part of it. But
not starting a family had spurred the distance between Gordon and her.

She could smell Medlin’s heavy cologne, a musky scent that
made her wince.

“Were you aware,” he asked, “that your husband had no
pre-arranged funeral plans?”

“No, not at all.” This made no sense to Angie. She would
have expected him to micro-manage every last detail.

“These things are sometimes a mystery,” Medlin offered
gently.

“He planned everything else in his life with…Why not his own
funeral?” Angie asked no one in particular.

Medlin just shook his head, then, “I can show you a range of
plans. Perhaps we should start there.”

She nodded and pretended to peruse a few of the most
expensive burial plans, then quickly pointed to the one at the top.

Medlin could barely contain his excitement at selling the
platinum of services. “An excellent choice, Mrs. Wesner. If this all looks
fine, you need only choose the casket and order the flowers.”

“Order a large casket spray of white roses and a couple of
standing arrangements. All white. White flowers were the only ones he liked.”

“Very good,” Louis said. “Perhaps you might like some
particular songs?”

“He didn’t like music, really,” Angie said. It was one of
the things that annoyed her most about him. He never wanted it playing when he
was at the house. Even when they had guests. “The usual standards will be
fine,” she nodded.

“Shall we look at caskets then?” Medlin stood and ushered
her into the display room. They gleamed like polished steel, with pale tasteful
tints and shirred velvet linings.

In the course of a minute, looking at the 15,000 dollar
casket in which she was about to bury Gordon Wesner, a wave of remorse washed
over her. Her mouth and jaw trembled so hard she was sure she couldn’t speak.
With no warning, guilt flooded through her.

Somehow she managed to say, “The mahogany one.”

“Men like that one. I’m sure he would be pleased,” Medlin
offered with a small polite smile.

“I hope so,” she said, and was a little surprised to find
that she meant it.

Erika was treated by an off-duty EMT who happened to be
mingling with the onlookers outside the bank. He made her drink a bottle of
water and some orange juice. Even though he had honored her contention that the
fainting spell was just a fluke, he still went over the obligatory warnings
about being dehydrated and hungover and how it was hardly a recipe for
steadiness.

The EMT’s girlfriend had returned from a vending machine
somewhere with a cinnamon bun for her, and Erika wolfed it down. After assuring
her good Samaritan she felt steady, Erika walked back home to change for the
trip to the Police Station.

As she entered her tiny apartment, she was startled by the
mess Tony had made searching the place. She could only sigh. If this was the
price to be rid of him, it was worth it.

The first thing she saw in the bedroom was that the locked
drawer in the nightstand had been jimmied open.

“Dammit,” she said and checked the contents. She knew the
money would be gone—at last count, more than three hundred dollars she’d saved—but
she had been suspicious of Tony’s slippery fingers for awhile. That’s why she
had started locking the drawer.

Then she remembered the envelope. Erika looked around,
frantic. She found it where he had tossed it away on the bed and held it close
to her chest for a moment. It was too late for that dream, yet a part of her
still clung to it.

Erika took off her O.K. Corral pink uniform and pulled on a
black top and pants. In the bathroom mirror, her face stared back a sickly
white, eyes drawn and bloodshot. She put some eye drops in and brushed some
bronzer over her cheekbones, but had no energy to do anything more.

When Erika stepped out into the morning air, she smelled the
familiar aroma of manure and heard the distant whistle of a train. Cattle headed
to the slaughterhouse. As she trudged to the bus stop, she wondered if she was
one of them.

Trisha had always been curious about the bad boys who ran
around on their bikes in leather jackets, who smelled a little like engine oil.
And this Tony had actually flirted with her, like she wasn’t just some
pimply-faced kid from Eakly, but a real woman.

She dropped his chili dogs on the table and the extra big
order of French fries. She cooked everything just right, dogs good and hot,
fries crispy. She hoped he’d notice. “Here ya go.”

He looked up at her with bedroom eyes, like the food didn’t
even matter. She had never been this aroused so early in the morning. But she
ignored it and tried to take care of business.

“You ready for a refill on that Dr. Pepper?” she asked.

“Sure,” Tony said, “if you’ll come back and help me eat
these fries.”

“I’m supposed to be workin’.” She didn’t want him to think
she was easy. She might not be the prettiest girl in her little school, but
plenty of boys had told her they would like to get in her panties. She saw how
they looked at her.

By the time she returned with his soda, he was already on
his second chili dog. “Everything taste okay?” she asked.

“Real excellent,” he said.

“Okay. Just thought I’d check.” Reluctantly she started to
move away. He stopped her by putting down his chili dog and lightly grabbing
her by the knee.

“Come on, Trish, you can sit down with me. Nobody else
around.” He rubbed his hand further up her leg, then looked down at it. “Uh oh,
look at that. I got some chili there on your leg.”

“Oh, that’s okay.”

“No, here.” Looking into her eyes, teasing, he slowly lifted
her leg up onto the seat beside him, until her bent knee was even with his
eyes. Then he pushed her skirt out of the way and leaned back to look up her
leg.

“Wow,” he whispered and whistled.

Trisha was so turned on she moaned.
No boy at high
school was this sexy.

Then Tony leaned his head into her thigh and licked up the
spot of chili.

“Oh. Oh my god,” she mumbled.

He moved his tongue higher on her leg, then leaned back with
a grin. “Could I ask you to do something?”

Not trusting herself to speak, she simply nodded.

“Would you show me your breasts?”

Most guys just fumbled for your blouse, but this one was
polite. He asked first. Instead of saying no, Trisha was surprised that she
looked outside. Nobody in sight. Heat rushed through her body.

His voice was so low she could barely hear him. “You know
you want to.”

Heart pounding, she shyly pulled down her top.

“Oh yeah,” he encouraged her.

Then she pulled down her bra.

He groaned lightly when he saw them. She just stood there,
feeling a little awkward as he looked her over.

“Oh Trish,” he whispered finally. “They’re perfect.”

After a moment, she started to pull her top back up. “I feel
silly.”

“No, don’t. Come on, we’re going to have some fun now.”

In a flash he was all over her. He swatted away the napkin
dispenser and salt and pepper and laid her on the formica tabletop. It was hard
but she didn’t mind. He had her bra off before she could take a breath.

Outside, a couple of trucks roared past.

“What if someone comes in?” she panted.

He ripped off her white cotton underwear.

“Here, like this,” he said, pulling her up and then bending
her over the table and roughly spreading her legs.

“Oh. That hurts,” she cried.

He acted like he didn’t hear her, and was inside her before
she could take a breath.

She cried out in panic and tried to look around at him. He
pushed her face back down on the table.

Her eyes flashed with fear. It had gone bad so fast, but it
was too late to stop it now. He breathed heavily as he pounded his body into
hers, each thrust an angry stab at the world.

Trisha felt herself go numb. The only thing to do was lay
there and stare out the window at the flashing OPEN sign. A noisy cattle truck
lumbered past.

Finished, finally, out of breath, he pulled up his jeans. He
sighed and grinned. “Now that’s what I call fuckin’.”

Trisha rubbed her mouth and tried not to show anything. She
bent and picked up her ripped underwear as she scuttled back into the kitchen
to get away.

A minute later she heard him belch as he got up. “Thanks,
Trish,” Tony hollered through the kitchen window. “I’ll be back real soon for
some of that soft-serve.”

Trisha felt a chill run through her body as he drove away.
She looked down at his unpaid check, smudged with chili, and cried.

Edgars and Horse had found Mickey Mullin at the hospital and
were talking quietly in a row of chairs at one end of the ICU Waiting Room.
Mickey was still shaky, but dry-eyed and helpful.

“Now can you remember anything more about who was inside the
Mustang?” Edgars asked. “You saw two people.”

“Right. A white guy with dark hair and a woman. Her hair was
weird colors. Or maybe I was seeing things.”

“Weird,” Horse repeated. “Like, was it light in color, or
dark?”

“I guess kind of dark. It was just a glimpse.” He sat a
moment, wrinkling his forehead trying to remember. Then he looked up. “You know
how some girls color their hair with Kool-Aid?”

“Kool-Aid?” Horse shot Edgars an incredulous look.

Edgars smiled at how out of touch the older detective could
be with young people. “Yeah, greens and purples, strange colors that you can do
at home.”

“That’s it,” Mickey said. “It was maybe a dark purple like?”

“That’s a good detail then,” Horse encouraged him. “Purple
all over?”

“Uh, maybe streaks?”

“That’s good, real good.” Edgars was impressed. A lot of
people who’d been through an experience such as the boy had would be falling
apart and useless.

“Anything else come to mind right now?”

Mickey shook his head.

Edgars tipped his head toward Horse, a nonverbal signal that
he was done if Horse was. Horse nodded back and Edgars put his hand on Mickey’s
shoulder. “That’s all now, son. We appreciate it. You can go back in to your
family.”

“Thank you, sir.” Mickey stood up quickly and started back
into the waiting room.

Horse followed the boy’s back as he walked away. In his
years in homicide Horse had seen too many decent people caught up in tragedies
not of their own making. Lives ripped apart, ruined. Sometimes he would talk to
them a year or more after the worst day of their lives and often find their
faces still drained of life, smiles worn into wrinkled foreheads, the world
just another day to be endured. There was no predicting who might weather the
storm, either. It was a grim equalizer. Horse wanted to see Mickey make it out.

Mickey turned back to them from the doorway.

“Something else?” Edgars asked him.

“I just remembered—oh, it doesn’t matter, probably,” Mickey
answered.

“Son, anything could turn out to be important,” Horse said.

“I just remembered the music blasting from the Mustang,”
Mickey said. “It was an old Steve Earle song.
Copperhead Road.
”
His
eyes brimmed with tears.

Edgars walked to him and squeezed his shoulder. “You did
good, Mickey. You did real good.”

The boy nodded, ducked his head, and hurried in to the
others in the waiting room. Edgars and Horse put their heads together.

“The description of the driver could be Dearmore,” Horse
said. “I just don’t get what the hell he was doing on a country driveway.
Especially if he was running from the bank.”

“And why abandon the car there? It was dark, the car still
runs. Why not ditch it a hundred miles from here if he was on the run?”

“Yeah,” Horse agreed. “Reads more like some stupid punk.”
They were silent a moment.

Edgars’ cell pinged. It was an officer on the local desk. He
put it on speaker. “Edgars. You got something for us?”

“Maybe. Thought you might want to know that Angie Wesner was
arrested last night for public drunkenness and assault.”

“She was in jail?” Edgars asked.

“Yep, but bailed out within a few hours.”

Horse jumped in. “Where was it?”

“Crazy Horse Saloon, Cowtown’s finest.”

“Thanks, can you shoot me the arrest report?” Edgars said.

“On it right now.”

They clicked off.

“Wow. This woman has been within shouting distance of the
bank for the last 24 hours,” Edgars observed. “And then this morning. You ever
see a wife show up across the street from where her husband just died?”

Horse just grinned. “Not without knowing something about
it.”

Del Walker poured half a finger of bourbon into his morning
coffee as he watched the local news on the R.V.’s big screen. Vivian was
putzing around in the kitchen. She never really cooked, but always arranged
ahead of time for their caterer to cook travel meals for them, all with strict
attention to what froze well and could be microwaved to such perfection that it
was like coming fresh out of a skillet.

“Del, we’ve got omelets, asparagus and brie, with fruit and
pommes
frites
, or…” Vivian’s voice trailed off as she looked in the freezer.

“Omelet’s fine, sweetie,” Del answered back.

A few minutes later, she emerged from the kitchen with two
steaming plates and a mug of coffee for herself.

He got up to take one of the plates from her and then pulled
her chair out. “Thanks, darlin’. I love it when you cook from scratch.”

She gave him a weak smile. They sat down and ate in silence
as the weatherman went over the forecast at the top of the program.

His wife looked particularly sallow and old this morning. He
knew from past experience that one of their trysts gone wrong, like last
night’s, could spiral her into an indefinite depression.
If things went
well, she could float on a cloud for days, but this wasn’t going to be one of
them.

Things usually fared better with a boost of some kind. He
reached across the table and took her hand. “Thank you. You look beautiful this
morning.”

She didn’t look up from her plate. “Liar,” she said.

He laughed. “True, but never about you. You know that.” But
her mouth did look pinched, formed by years of smoking before she finally quit
a few years back. She had always had a hungry look, even back in college when
he had wooed her. Like she was always on the lookout for something more.
Whatever it was, he had never been able to completely provide. But they never
talked about that. Ever.

Their sexual games were the closest thing to happiness they
had found together. It had started back when they were both still young and
beautiful. They had been in a five star restaurant in Dallas. Dell had noticed
Viv giving the eye to the young
maitre de.
After dinner, Dell sat with a
Remy Martin and espresso, waiting for her to return from the bathroom. He
realized that she’d been gone nearly twenty minutes and grew concerned.

He knocked at the women’s room, even stuck his head in, but
got no answer. He headed into the men’s room and was stunned to hear Viv and a
man, moaning with pleasure. The sounds led him to the corner handicapped stall.
Quietly, Dell went into the stall next to it and stood on the toilet, looking
over the metal wall.

Vivian was leaned back against the wall while the
maitre
de
was screwing her with an abandon that immediately turned Dell on. He had
never seen Viv so alive and could not take his eyes away.

Then she had suddenly glanced up and caught him watching.
Breathless, she nudged the
maitre de
and pointed Dell out.

The
maitre de
looked back over his shoulder at Dell.
“Join us.”

Viv laughed. “The more the merrier.”

Dell had shocked himself by doing just that. It was the
first time he’d been with a bisexual. His and Viv’s heat seemed to roll over
Dell, and it turned into the most erotic experience of his life.

A far cry from this morning, as they ate in silence like old
people. It was good to have the television distracting them.

“The rising young rodeo star remains in critical condition
at Baptist Hospital in Oklahoma City,” the local anchor was reporting. Then her
father came on and thanked everybody for their prayers and support.

“That’s that poor girl we saw on the ten o’clock news,” Del
commented.

Vivian looked up but couldn’t make the connection. “I don’t
remember,” she said.

“Police are now looking for a couple,” the reporter
continued. “The man is described as white with dark hair, and the woman, also
white, possibly with an unusual hair color. If anyone has any knowledge of
their whereabouts…”

His voice faded away as Del stared at Vivian. “Jesus. It was
them.”

“Who?”

“The couple they’re looking for. On t.v. They were the ones
last night.”

Vivian still shook her head, not understanding his point.

“We probably should report them,” Del said.

A moment passed as Vivian studied him in astonishment.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” she said, and took a big
bite out of her omelet.