Here Comes the Night (3 page)

Angie pretended to look interested in a fuchsia bandana
while she waited inside a Southwestern boutique. She despised the store, with
all its citified cowgirl outfits, but it had an unobstructed view of Exchange,
and she knew the salespeople wouldn’t interrupt her as long as they saw her
browsing.

She wanted a drink so bad her throat ached. But she didn’t
dare find a bar quite yet. She checked her cell just in case. No messages, no
texts. Of course, they weren’t supposed to contact one another no matter what.
But surely if it’d gone bad, he’d get in touch somehow. Now she wished they’d
gotten a pair of throwaway cells. It seemed so practical in retrospect.

“Isn’t that cute as all get out?” The saleswoman’s voice
startled her. “We got in a bunch of those in the most darling colors. I love
the neon green myself.”

Angie stifled the urge to tell her what she thought. “I’ve
never seen anything like it,” she finally smiled, which was true.
Where
she came from anybody wearing a bandana other than red or blue was considered a
greenhorn.

The saleslady glanced at the wall clock, and Angie realized
why she’d come over to her. It was a few minutes after six, closing time. Angie
put the bandana back on the counter.

“I’ll have to think about it,” she said, heading to the
door.

The evening sun glossed red over the buildings as she
stepped out the door. She remembered someplace where she could get a drink and
still see the street.

With the new snake ring on his finger, Tony’s mood had
improved considerably, even if Erika had been a bitch about his advances.
When
she got horny later on, he’d give her a hard time and make her beg for it.

At the moment, Erika was staring down the alley with a frown
on her face.

“What?” he asked, looking at the same place, where only a
few minutes before he’d noticed an SUV’s doors opening and snapping shut. But
now there was only a fancy Mustang, sitting there empty with the driver’s door
open. And the motor was still running.

“That looks like Buck Dearmore’s car,” Erika said as she
walked toward it.

“Buck Dearmore? What the fuck kinda name is that?”

“Famous O.U. quarterback? Where’ve you been?”

Tony smirked. “In the slammer, remember? How you know it’s
his?”

“The license plate,,” Erika said, pointing out the custom
QTRBACK
tag. “Half the bank eats at the O.K.. They practically bow when he
comes in.” She didn’t add that it gave her a thrill to wait on him, and that
his eyes had a way of making you flush.

When they reached the Mustang, Tony leaned in, checking out
the fancy leather interior. “He’s a showy fucker. Look at this shit.”

“You’re just eat up with envy,” Erika said.

“Dumb, too, leaving it running.” Tony slid into the driver’s
seat.

“Tony, what are you doing?”

“Ever drive an old Mustang?” His eyes got a dark, oily look.

“Get out of the car. If he catches you…”

Tony looked pointedly up and down the alley. “He’s not here.
I think he left in a SUV.” He raised his eyebrows to her in an invitation.

Erika knew the look. “Oh no. Hunh uh.”

He reached over and opened the passenger door. “We’ll just
take it for a little whirl.”

“Are you insane? Tony, you can’t do this.”

Tony shrugged and put the car in gear. He let the car crawl
forward as he teased her. “Okay, see ya.”

Erika ran alongside, still afraid to get in.

Tony leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Come on,
just a quick joyride.”

As they got closer to the end of the vacant alley, Erika
looked around. The few people in the sidewalks across the street seemed
indifferent to them and the car.

“Come on, baby. Five minutes.”

Erika finally gave up and hopped in. “You are so bad.”

Buck came to, enveloped in the putrid smell of a moldy
canvas bag. The guy in the back seat had thrown it on his head, apparently,
after he’d zapped him with a stun gun. He felt the urge to gag, but steeled
himself.

As he stirred, Buck knew from the sound of the engine that
he was in a different car, probably an SUV. Stale cigarette smoke lingered in
the interior.

He could hear another male voice with a Mexican accent
coming from the front seat. The vehicle was moving, he guessed, at about forty
miles an hour, and he could still hear traffic, so they must still be in the
city.

Buck lay in the floorboards, his hands bound in front. The
scratchy canvas of the dank hood rubbed against his neck and face, and his
mouth was duct taped.

In front he could hear the hoarse laughter of the large man
who had grabbed him from the Mustang. Another male voice, who was probably
driving, sounded Hispanic, with a muffled quality.

“This fucking tooth is killing me,” the Mexican voice said.

“You need some good drugs, man.” A rustle of paper. “Hey,
you see Miss September? Big tits.”

“They all got ‘em.”

“I wouldn’t throw her out of bed.”

“You don’t want anyone that pretty.”

The big guy laughed. “
I
do.”

“No, man. I’ve had a lot of pussy, and, trust me, a girl
like that—even when you’re doin’ ‘em, they’re still posing like for pictures.”

“Yeah, like you’d know, Elvis.”

“I do know, Meatface,” the other man insisted. “They’re a
cold piece of ass. They don’t even see you, you know? They look at you
like...like what they’re
really
watching is how you’re lookin’ at them.”

Buck heard the magazine slap closed. The big man shifted his
weight in the passenger seat and said, “What in hell, you say? Fuck you, Jorge,
you can even ruin a centerfold.”

The Hispanic man chuckled. Then after a moment, “Here we
are.” Buck felt the voice directed toward him. “Don’t try anything now. My
tooth is killin’ me and I’d love to beat the shit out of you.”

Angie stepped inside the Wrangler Bar and Grill, a cowboy
water hole a block down from the boutique. She found a place at the bar where
she could see the traffic on Exchange.

A bartender dressed like an Old West card dealer came over.
“What can I get ya?”

“Extremely dry Stoli martini, straight up, no fruit,” Angie
said smoothly, then added. “Make it a double.”

When her drink came, she asked, “You got a pay phone?”

“Down the hall, ma’am. You need change?”

“No, I got it.” She took her drink with her and nearly
drained it in the hall while she weighed calling him or not. Her own anxiety
won out. He was more than hour late driving his car down the boulevard.

Finally, she dropped some coins in the pay phone and dialed
Buck’s cell.

Tony steered the Mustang down Exchange Avenue with two
fingers while he slithered his right hand between Erika’s thighs.

She giggled and half-heartedly pushed him away.

“Come on,” he teased, “tell me you don’t love it. All this.”

“Just make sure we don’t get caught.”

“I’m gonna take this out in the country and throw you in the
back seat. That’s what—”

A phone ring of the
Boomer Sooner
fight song
made both of them jump. After a second Erika figured out what it was and
started checking the front seat. She found the cell where it had slid under the
crease of the seat back and looked at the screen.

“Don’t answer it,” Tony warned.

“I’m not, silly. I just wonder who it’s from.”

“Does it say?”

“No, it’s an UNKNOWN number, it says.”

“Wipe it down and put it in the glove box.”

“Okay.” Erika wiped the phone off on her uniform, then
discovered the glove box was locked.

“Now why would it be locked?”

Tony thought about it a few moments, then pulled the car
over into a parking meter spot. He killed the motor and handed her the keys.

“Open it.”

“I don’t know, Tony.”

“Hey, how many people you know really lock their glove box?”

Erika thought a second then shrugged.

“Right. So let’s see what this fucker’s got to hide.”

Angie stood at the pay phone, listening to it ring on the
other end of the line.

“Dammit,” she muttered to herself and gulped down the rest
of her double martini before stepping back into the bar area. As she glanced
toward the street, the hair on her arms shivered.

She couldn’t believe what she was looking at. Buck’s Mustang
was sitting right there in front of the bar, parked not fifteen feet from the
entrance. Instinctively, she ducked back.
She leaned back against the
hall wall, sighing with relief that at least he was there.

Angie slowly stepped out for a quick surreptitious look.
This time she froze at what she saw.

There was a young woman talking in the passenger seat. Angie
couldn’t see Buck clearly, just his silhouette on the driver’s side. The girl was
doing something by the dashboard, but she couldn’t tell what.

The ground dropped out from under Angie. She had to brace
her hand against the wall to keep from sinking to her knees. She couldn’t very
well go to the car and find out what was happening, so she just stood inside,
trapped and immobile.

After a minute, the Mustang fired up and drove away, leaving
her more confused than ever. She knew better than to call him again. There
could be something here she wasn’t getting. But she had to do something.

After a few minutes, she headed back to the bar for another
double.

Rough hands yanked Buck out of the SUV and dragged him
inside. The big man said, “Here on the cot. Leave his hood on.” They dumped him
without ceremony and moved away.

The Hispanic voice whined, “Man, what have we got here? My
tooth is on fire.”

Buck could hear a rustling, and then Meatface said, “Here,
take a couple of these. You’ll feel no pain.”

“Oxy? Shit, she’ll know.”

“You kidding? She’ll be high herself.”

The sound of a bottle opening and closing. Then nothing.
Buck waited, totally spooked. It seemed unnaturally still.

Then a loud voice jumped into his ear. “Don’t you fuckin’
look at me.” Buck nearly went through the roof. He could hear the man cracking
up at his expense.

The laughter dried up as a set of high heels clicked across
the concrete floor. A dry as dust female voice asked, “This guy shit his pants
yet?”

Meatface sounded like a dutiful soldier with his response.
“He was late leaving the bank. We just got him here.”

“Fuck, Meatface,” the female voice said. “And you didn’t
think to call me? Christ, I cancelled drinks at the Petroleum Club for this.”

“Sorry,
jefe
. I was just getting ready to call.”

“Well, let’s take a look, long as I’m here,” the female
said.

Buck felt the hood being pulled off his head. He sucked in
the air as fast as he could. He was barely aware he’d been holding his breath
to keep from gagging. They’d brought him to a garage stuffed with piles of
boxes marked as stereo systems, plasma screens, and laptops. A thief’s
paradise. A ratty sofa and a folding chair were the only furniture besides the
cot, where they’d thrown Buck.

Meatface, the man who abducted him, looked like an
out-of-shape lineman with a deeply pockmarked face. Beside him was Jorge, a
Latino in a black turtleneck and Elvis hair, his cheek puffy and his mood
nasty.

In back of them, and now parting her way to him, was a
basketball-tall, mean-looking brunette with ancient acne scars over a thin
face. She stood observing him as she scratched a rash on her arm with long plum
fingernails.

Buck was struggling to breath by now, liquid dripping
through his stopped up nose. The woman made a motion to Meatface, who pulled
the duct tape off Buck’s mouth. He winced at the sharp pain.

“Hello, Mr. Dearmore. I’m Twigs.” She removed some alligator
stilettos and curled her sprawling legs under her in a corner of the sofa.

Buck’s hands were tied in front, but he was able to motion
to his lips, which were so parched he could barely squawk. “I can’t–-.”

Twigs said, “Somebody get him a drink.” Both Meatface and
Jorge just stood there, neither willing to acknowledge this as their duty. This
time she growled, “Christ, let’s don’t have a pissing contest over a glass of
water.”

Begrudgingly, Jorge left and returned a moment later with a
bottled water. He opened it and Buck drank almost half of it in one long gulp.

“So, Buck—may I call you Buck? I assume you know why you’re
here. Have you got our money?”

Buck swallowed hard. “I was going to get in touch this
weekend. It’s just that—well, I didn’t have—”

He was interrupted by one of her flying heels. It clipped
his forehead. He felt blood running down into his eye.

Twigs leaned forward. “You’re completely full of shit.
Unbelievable. Somebody get me my shoe.”

Jorge jumped to perform this duty. Twigs signaled Meatface,
who threw the hood back over Buck’s face.

“No, wait, I—” Buck tried to say, but a punch to his gut
stopped him, nearly raised him off the cot. He could feel Jorge coming in to
him as well, landing another hard shot to his face. They were both laughing,
pummeling him in turn.

Through the sound of his own grunts he heard Twigs’ heels
click away on the concrete floor.

“And don’t call me in again until the sonuvabitch is ready
to talk business,” she said, and the door shut behind her.

Austin style country music wailed at unsuspecting cattle as
the Mustang roared down asphalt country roads west of Oklahoma City. Erika,
just as spooked as the livestock, white-knuckled the door handle as Tony goofed
around, careening from one lane to another, flirting with the sandy shoulders.

“Tony, slow down,” she cried above the music and squealing
tires.

“I’m just havin’ some fun with Jockstrap’s car,” he laughed
as he whipped the car onto a side dirt road. “Come on, loosen up.”

“I have to pee so bad I can hardly stand it.”

“What?”

“I told you way back there I’ve got to go.”

Tony jammed on the brakes, nearly throwing her into the
dashboard. When she recovered, Erika shot him a go-to-hell look. He shrugged
and smiled. “That’s why I turned off here. Go pee.”

Fuming, she climbed out of the car. There wasn’t a bush in
sight so she had to squat by the back wheel. A few months ago when they’d
hooked up, Erika had known this was a temporary bad boy thing, but she didn’t
care. It had been fun at first, with great sex, just rough enough to thrill
her. Something about the base way he talked got her excited.

Then almost immediately, he had gotten possessive,
controlling. He pushed her in ways that made her uncomfortable. Like asking her
to chat up a cashier while he lifted a couple of things at a quick stop. Or
showing her a wallet he’d lifted when they’d been together in a crowd. Stuff
that could get her arrested too if she was with him. Those things ate at her
conscience, but today he’d really crossed the line.

If they weren’t out in the middle of nowhere, she’d walk
away right now and go home. As soon as they got back to the city, that was
exactly what she would do. He could find somebody else to get into trouble.

While he waited on her, Tony used the opportunity to rifle
through the rest of the glove compartment. In the still country air, Steve
Earle wailed about how the rains had come down somewhere in Texas.