Here Comes the Night (6 page)

The Safari was fully hooked up in a premium spot at the
Cimarron Trail, conveniently without close-by neighbors. The Porsche had been
unloaded so Vivian and Erika could run to a truck stop a few miles ahead. The
men weren’t really interested.

Inside, Dell prepared more lines of cocaine as he and Tony
talked.

“Sure the rich just get richer,” Dell was saying. “But it’s
a capitalist society, buddy. That’s the way it works.”

“That doesn’t make it right, man,” Tony countered. “Some
people never get a chance. It’s like they were born with one hand tied behind
their back.”

“So? You’re an investor. What do you care? You’ve certainly
benefitted from the system.”

Tony, remembering who he was pretending to be, changed his
tune. “Oh, well, me, sure. But…”

“You ever gotten into horses?” Dell asked.

“I like quarter horse racing.”

“Absolutely. Viv and I love horses. We have some Appaloosa’s
on our ranch in New Mexico.” He pushed the tile and the rolled up 100-dollar
bill toward Tony.

Dell waited for Tony to get his rush before he continued,
his tone becoming a little more precise, intimate. “You and your girl seem like…pretty
free spirits. No hangups.”

Tony looked up at him. “I guess. Why?”

“Oh, just…it gets a little dull, you know, after years with
the same person. Viv and I like to spice things up occasionally…if you know
what I mean.”

There was a long moment between them. Tony permitted a smile
to play on his lips. It did surprise him that they were swingers. He played
confused. “You mean, like a swap?” He dropped his eyes to the remaining lines
of cocaine.

Dell motioned to them. “Go ahead, help yourself. I’ve got
more.” He watched as Tony snorted Dell’s lines as well, then continued
casually. “Not a swap, exactly. More like a three way.”

Tony’s look was noncommital. Dell continued, assuming he was
holding out.

“Of course, you could watch if that’s your thing.” He nodded
at the hundred dollar bill still rolled up in Tony’s fingers. “And that little
C-note you’ve been snorting through would be yours, too.”

Outside, the sound of the Porsche pulling in stopped them.

A moment later, Erika came inside with Vivian, who tossed
the keys on the dashboard.

“You were right,” Vivian said to Dell. “That truckstop food
section didn’t have limes, but they did have this.” She held up a bottle of
RealLime.
“Ta da. Margaritas, here we come.”

“What’s all the rest of that?” Dell asked.

“She bought a bunch of stuff for me,” Erika explained. “I’m
not sure why.”

“To cheer you up, sweetie,” Viv said. “You’re just too sad
tonight. That shade of eye color is going to be perfect for you. Here, let me
put it on right now.” She started to apply the makeup.

“How’s your Dr. Pepper?” Viv asked her, then winked at Dell.
“We got her a big soda at the truck stop.”

“It’s fine,” Erika said. “I like the ice.”

The dark SUV glided down the nearly deserted Exchange Avenue
as it neared the bank. Ahead of them, flashing lights from a couple of squad
cars got everyone’s attention.

“Damn, a bunch of cops,” Jorge said.

Twigs’ voice was low, reassuring. “It’s okay. Just drive
like you have a hostage in the car.”

This confused Jorge. “You mean—what do you mean? Drive
slow?”

Twigs patted his arm. “No, sweetie, drive legal.”

“Good one,” Meatface laughed from the back. “Windows are
tinted, anyway. We’re fine.” For good measure, he gripped Buck’s arm. “Don’t
even think of doing anything.”

“I won’t,” Buck said. He wasn’t sure he could even hold his
head up. He had been so out of it, he didn’t know what all Twigs had given him.

As they passed by the Crazy Horse Saloon, onlookers were
gawking as Angie Wesner was being handcuffed and led to a squad car. She was
still plastered, but the fight and excitement seemed to have let a hard dose of
reality creep in.

Buck managed to look up just as red lights flickered across
Angie’s face. He thought he might be hallucinating. He tried to turn around to
see her, but Meatface squeezed his arm until it hurt. “Eyes straight ahead,
Budro.”

A few feet away, Wrangler was sitting in the second squad
car, pounding on his window. “You low life prick tease,” he was screaming at Angie.

The cops were all shaking their heads and trying not to
smile. Just another Friday night in Cowtown.

A few blocks later, safely out of sight of the cops, the SUV
hooked a U-turn and glided to a stop at the northwest corner of Cattlemen’s
Bank. An enormous elm tree umbrella’d them, its branches throwing patterns of
moonlight on the four faces inside.

“Now what?” Jorge asked.

“Now we wait,” Twigs said. She bent down so she could look
up through the windshield at the looming dark bank building. She checked her
watch. “If Bucko here is right, it shouldn’t be more than a half hour.”

A few minutes later, red and blue lights flashed on their
faces as the squad cars from the bar moved their way, hauling their prisoners
to lockup. Everyone instinctively sunk lower in their seats. Except for Buck,
who came more alert, twisting his head to try and see inside the cruisers.

And sure enough, there she was, looking sullenly out the
side window as the police car moved slowly past them. Although she couldn’t see
inside the SUV’s tinted windows, it was uncanny how she seemed to be staring
right back at Buck.

He leaned forward, but Meatface gripped his shoulder,
pulling him back down. “Don’t you fuckin’ look at them,” he warned with a
repeat of his
Blue Velvet
schtick.

He had no idea how much time had passed when a pale beam of
light could be seen moving along the row of windows. Twigs checked her watch
and snapped her fingers at Buck. “That him?”

Buck looked up at the bobbing flashlight on the second
floor. “That’s him.”

“So after he finishes his rounds, we’ve got one and a half,
maybe two hours. Right, Boobie?”

Buck nodded, but Twigs jumped on him. “Hey, speak up. It’s
fucking dark. I can’t see your head moving.”

“Two, right,” Buck slurred.

“So set your watches, everybody,” Twigs instructed.

Hooked up to enormous, humming generators, halogen lights
bathed the countryside area, now cordoned off by yellow Crime Scene ribbons.
They stretched around Candy’s dead horse and a large area of land surrounding
the hill. Uniformed officers were crawling the area, setting up plaster molds
for tire tracks, checking for anything, even debris, that might provide some
clues.

Standing on the dirt road, Mickey Mullin, his face puffy
from crying, talked with James Edgars, whose cowboy hat, jeans, and leather
jacket didn’t suggest a Homicide Detective, which was his rank.

In his late 30's, Edgars had climbed the law enforcement
ladder quickly. He proved to be not only bright, with good instincts, but
thrived on soaking up information from everybody he was around. He’d handled
plenty of major cases, but this was his first involving a celebrity.

Edgars knew he needed to reassure the shaken boy. “Now,
Mickey, remember, the fact that I’m Homicide does not mean we expect your
girlfriend to die.”

“But she could. They said as much.” Mickey started to cry
again.

“Who’s they?” Edgars asked.

“Her family’s talked to the doctors. They called me from the
hospital.”

“But she’s still alive. Let’s try to concentrate on that,
alright? I’m going to let you go see her as soon as we finish. But I need you
to tell me what happened first, while it’s fresh in your mind, understand?”

For the next twenty minutes, Edgars used his phone app to
record Mickey going through the events.

“We were racing and yelling at each other. And the sound of
the horses…I should have heard the loud music, though,” Mickey said. “If I’d
been more…hollered at her sooner.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. No one thinks you should have
realized what was about to happen. How could you?” Edgars said.

Mickey gave him everything he could remember, including a
description of the Mustang and its unique license tag. After a few minutes,
Edgars could see the kid was too traumatized to offer much more.

“Here’s my card, Mickey. We’re done for now, but call me if
you remember anything else. No matter how trite it may seem to you.”

“Thank you.”

“I know you need to go be with her. We’ll talk again.”

Edgars took down Mickey’s cell number and gave him a card
with his number at the police station and his personal cell.

“Have you got someone to drive you to the hospital?”

“My parents,” Mickey said, motioning to a car parked outside
of the crime scene ribbon, where his father and mother stood, waiting for him.

“Okay, I’ll call if there’s anything else,” Edgars said.

Mickey ran to his parents, where they hugged one another in
a circle and cried for a few moments before getting in the car and taking off.

Edgars felt for the kid. He knew Mickey would take the
vision of her sailing off that horse to his grave. A veteran of Iraq, Edgars
knew all too well how impossible it was to erase the memories of twisted and
shattered bodies. His buddies were bad enough, but the innocent children caught
in the madness had nearly torn his heart out.

That’s why this case was already pulling at him. Candy Myers
was just a down-to-earth kid. He’d seen “Miss Candy” do her stuff at the Lazy E
Arena, cheered her on, thought she was one of finest riders to come along in an
age. Now the doctors said she might not even live, much less ride again. And
according to Mickey, it was some asshole racing his Mustang down the Myers’
driveway.

Edgars wanted this guy bad. His cell beeped. “Yeah, Edgars,”
he said into the phone.

“It’s Horse. We just found the car.”

Edgars hoped that meant this would turn into a slam dunk.

Erika was surprised how out of it she felt, looking at her
newly made up face in Vivian’s dressing mirror in the bedroom. She had only had
a couple of tokes and a glass of champagne.

Standing beside her, Vivian squeezed her hand. “You are one
of the greatest natural beauties I’ve ever seen. You okay, Sweetie?”

Erika made a stab at politeness. “Oh, it looks great. But,
I’m not feeling—I need to go to the bathroom.”

As Erika stepped back into the living area, she stumbled and
nearly fell from dizziness. Tony looked up from the table where he and Dell
were still sitting. “You’re so drunk you don’t even know what’s going on, do
you?”

Dell gave him a
cool it
gesture with his hand. “She’s
fine.”

Vivian grabbed her by the waist. “Here, honey, let me help.
Dell, give me a hand.”

They both stood her up, each taking small liberties with
touching her body. Dell turned and gave Tony a pointed look. Tony got the
message, unrolled the C-note and put it in his pocket.

Vivian was saying, “Hey, Erika, want to try out that shower
you liked so much?”

Erika slurred, “Yeah, it might sober me up.”

Dell was practically holding Erika up as Vivian guided them
into the bedroom area.

“What about my clothes?” Erika said.

Vivian came up behind her, taking off her own top. “Here,
hon, let me help you.”

Tony’s last glimpse before the bedroom door closed was
Vivian in her bra, undressing Erika as she lay across the bed, and Dell taking
off his shirt as he shut the door.

Tony sat for a moment, overcome by a sharp pang of guilt.
What bothered him was the similarity to his prison days, when he’d been a pawn
himself. Nobody understood how it worked inside. They thought it was about guys
going queer. But it was just what happened there. It was the only way to get
off. It was what it was, and when you got out, you went back to what you’d done
before.

His first month in prison, Tony had been dragged into a cell
where a 250-pound Aryan brother had pounded him for days. Tony was finally replaced
with the latest newbie. But not before the Aryan brother had literally torn him
a new one. The prison doctor had sent Tony in to the city where surgery
repaired most of the damage, but nothing was quite the same again. His basic
bodily functions were now filled with pain, for which there seemed to be no
remedy.

Usually, Tony detached quickly from any sense of
responsibility for anyone else. But he considered going in there and putting a
stop to it.

Then he remembered Vivian dropping the Porsche keys on the
dashboard. He didn’t let himself think about them anymore. He just snagged the
key ring on his way out.

Lying on the bed, Erika had felt so nauseated she couldn’t
get her bearings. Warm hands had pulled her underwear off and then begun
massaging her legs with lotion. “This is French stuff,” Vivian was saying as
she knelt on the floor in front of her. “Isn’t that creamy?”

“Where’s Tony?” Erika asked, trying to look around.

Dell knelt behind Vivian and put his hands up his wife’s
skirt. “He’ll be back in a second. Just relax.”

Vivian moaned at what Dell was doing. “Oh yes. You are so
bad.”

Erika thought she was talking to her. “No, I’m not. What are
you—?”

“Not you, hon,” Dell said. “Me. Can you move just a little
to the side, Viv? I want to see her better.”

Vivian shifted so Dell could get a better view. “Doesn’t she
have the greatest little tits, Dell?”

“Sure does.”

“Wait a minute,” Erika slurred. “I need—”

Dell patted her thighs lightly. “Just relax, sugar girl.
We’re gonna have some fun.”

“What are you…?” Erika could barely hold her head up. She
couldn’t escape Vivian’s heavy musk perfume.

“It’s okay. Your boyfriend’s right outside. He doesn’t
mind.”

Erika’s stomach heaved. “I don’t feel so good.”

Vivian started to moan. “Just enjoy it. Dell and I are going
to make you feel so good.”