Shade of Pale (26 page)

Bobby's fist hit Jukes on the jaw, in about the same spot it hit him the night Bobby took Cathy. At the same instant, Jukes felt the rifle jerk out of his hands. The next thing he knew, he was looking down the barrel of his own weapon, past the trigger, past the faded wooden stock, into the distorted face of Bobby Sudden.

“Well, well, Doc. Imagine running into you here.”

“But how—”

“Hey, I'm not stupid, man! I mean, look what I found … you sitting here with a fuckin' gun! What were you gonna do with that? Shoot me? Blow my brains out?”

Jukes's heart sank. Anger and defeat mixed in his gut like two unstable chemicals, causing strange and unpredictable reactions. He immediately thought of Fiona. Was she still sleeping in the bedroom? Had Bobby already discovered her and tied her up? Or worse?

Jukes was genuinely shocked and surprised that Bobby had sneaked up on him and couldn't take his eyes off Bobby to see if the Banshee was still there.

Jukes swallowed hard and grit his teeth.

“I parked down the road,” Bobby continued, “about a mile back. I hiked up the rest of the way, just in case something funny was goin' on. Good thing I did. Beautiful, huh? You know what your problem is, Doc? You think everybody is some kind of fuckin' idiot like all your half-assed patients. You didn't realize that stupid old Bobby was as smart as you, did ya? Nah, your ego's a few sizes too big for your head, and that was your downfall.”

Jukes bit his lip. The scumbag was right; he had grossly underestimated his enemy. That was the kiss of death in any battle. It looked like this one, the battle of Lake Pierce, was over without a shot being fired.

Bobby looked wild and dangerous in the half-light. He held the rifle almost up against Jukes's chest. Sweat was on both their faces, even though the night was cool. Jukes let Bobby talk, wondering what the desperate man was going to do next.

“So now it's down to this. I got a mind to pull this trigger right now. What do say about that?”

Jukes just stared back at him, his lips sealed.

“I said, what do you say about that? Answer me!” Bobby screamed. The sound of madness in his voice shook Jukes to the core.

Fiona must have heard that
, he thought.
Is she OK? Did he already get to her?

“I can't tell you what to do,” he answered evenly.

“You're goddamn right you can't. Save the headshrinkin' for your patients.”

Jukes was right about one thing: whatever he said wouldn't matter much now. He didn't intend to beg, however. A catharsis had taken place, and Jukes Wahler had changed in the past few days. He was stronger now, and he wasn't going to give Bobby one ounce of satisfaction. Instead, he took a different tack.

“Why did you do it, Bobby?”

“Do what?”

Jukes leveled his gaze at him. “Why'd you beat her?” he asked softly. “Why'd you beat Cathy?”

Bobby sneered. “'Cause she wanted it. Shit, man, she loved it. It turned her on. Your sister's a real kink, a freak; didn't you know that? She's a sicko, Doc; all I did was answer the call of nature.”

Jukes's eyes filled with hate. “You're a real asshole, Bobby.”

“You've got a hell of a lot of nerve tellin' me that,” Bobby spit. “I'm the one with the gun.”

Jukes could feel Bobby taking the bait. He'd pulled him into this conversation against his will; now he hoped that it wouldn't backfire on him.

Jukes screwed up his newfound courage. “Fuck you! Go ahead, shoot me, if that'll solve all your problems; shoot me, you pathetic son of a bitch! You think you've got trouble now, shoot me and you can never go back. Think about that. The cops will be on your trail forever. You'll be on
America's Most Wanted
every week; you'll never get a night's rest again. Behind every door, every window, you'll think somebody's watching, and they will be, Bobby; they will be.”

Jukes watched the storm clouds gather in Bobby's eyes. They were locked on his, the gun barrel inches from Jukes's chest.

Bobby said, “Cathy's the least of my problems. And blowin' you away don't mean a thing to me. You have no fuckin' idea what I'm involved in. I make the ultimate art.”

There was a stillness in the air that seemed to numb them both.

Then, in a motion as fast as sudden death, Jukes's right hand flashed out and tried to knock the rifle away. At the same time he tried to snake his other hand around the barrel and jerk it out of Bobby's hands. Jukes put everything he had behind that move. It was, without a doubt, the boldest single thing he had ever done.

The gesture didn't work. Bobby was ready for it and smacked the rifle barrel against Jukes's hand. Pain flared across his knuckles. The hand was knocked away harmlessly.

A split second later, the rifle pointed into Jukes's face. He blinked and held his breath.

Bobby pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

They were both frozen in time, shock settling over them like radioactivity. Then all hell broke lose.

Jukes leaped at Bobby like a pit bull, biting, punching, kicking, scratching, knocking him down in a hail of blows. He wrestled the rifle from Bobby's hands manfully and rammed the stock back into his face. Surprised by his own success, Jukes fought harder and more viciously than he'd ever fought in his life.

The rage had been bottled up inside him for years, going all the way back to the incident with the boy at the boat dock. Now, ironically, within fifty yards of that very same pier, his moment of truth was at hand. Jukes struck out not only at Bobby, but at that kid on the pier, the kids in school, and all his other failures. He struck back at life, and it felt good. The dam had burst.

Yet even now, at the height of his passion, with the rifle butt in Bobby's face and the opportunity to smash his enemy senseless at hand, Jukes hesitated. Somewhere in his mind, he grappled with a fundamental moral question that had plagued him from childhood:
Can I really hurt this person?

Jukes had already made the decision to ram the rifle into Bobby's nose and end the struggle, but in the time it took to reason it out Bobby countered. Ever the resourceful street fighter, Bobby kicked Jukes in the balls. Jukes doubled over, his eyes watering in pain, but bit back the numbing debilitation between his legs and fought on.

Both men battled as if there were nothing else in the world.

They fought their way across the toolshed. Bobby, the younger, tougher man, fought to gain the upper hand. He fought a vicious and dirty fight, repeatedly going for Jukes's eyes.

Jukes did all he could to keep from being blinded, but the doctor was hurting in several crucial places.

They traded blows and Jukes tried to keep up. He felt his strength eroding as the stamina of the younger man became a factor.

Jukes gasped for breath.

Bobby kicked him hard in the chest and sent him flying into the corner, clutching his ribs.

Then something on the workbench caught Bobby's eye. He reached for it. When Jukes saw what it was, he froze. Time froze. Everything froze.

Bobby had gotten hold of a portable battery-powered hand drill with a three-sixteenth-inch drill-bit in it, snatching it from its recharging cradle like a pistol. He flicked it on and the Black & Decker variable-speed, reversible wood drill came to life.

The sound paralyzed Jukes, a hellish whine, as Bobby revved the RPMs up. The drill bit twisted demonically. Jukes could see it was black carbon steel, as hard as industrial diamond.

Bobby held it out in front of him like a knife, letting it whir in Jukes's terrified face.

Jukes had nowhere to go. He put his hands up to protect his face, and Bobby drilled a neat three-sixteenth-inch hole through the center of Juke's palm. Jukes screamed.

Blood squirted out in both directions, spraying the faces of the two men simultaneously. Bobby pulled it out with a rev. The bit was wet and red, spinning a fine mist of Jukes's blood around the room.

It was hard for Jukes to fathom the sadistic cruelty behind Bobby's glazed eyes. He seemed to be in a deep, violent trance. Jukes tried to wedge himself ever deeper into the corner.

This is how it must have been for Cathy
, he thought.

Bobby brought the drill to Jukes's temple and held it there, a mere quarter of an inch away from his brain. “Here's your lobotomy, Doc. Where do you want it? In the forehead?”

Jukes stared at the spinning drill bit, his eyes locked on the tip. His life began to flash before him.

He held his breath. The drill whined and spit blood. Bobby's hand moved closer.

The door banged open.

“What the hell!” It was old Tom Rayburn, his shotgun at the ready, a look of total surprise on his face.

Bobby saw the shotgun first and reacted by throwing the portable drill at Tom's weathered face.

An explosion rocked the cabin. Its percussive, air-shattering effect left all three of them temporarily deaf.

The gun had blown a hole in the ceiling; dust and wood chips rained down on them. Tom had not been careful with the safety. When he raised his arm to block the oncoming drill, the gun discharged.

At first, Bobby thought he was hit, but he soon realized he wasn't. He jumped up and ran past Tom and into the night, knocking down the older man as he went by.

Tom struggled to his feet and saw the blood on Jukes's hand. “Holy shit! Looks like he drilled ya!”

Tom Rayburn helped Jukes into the cabin. They found Fiona tied up in the bedroom.

“Jukes!” she cried. “Oh, my God! Are you all right?”

“He's been drilled through the hand!” Tom shouted. “He's bleeding like a son of a bitch! Help me get him bandaged.”

Fiona rubbed her hands together, trying to get the circulation going. The ropes had been too tight, and she'd suffered. But now, with Jukes hurt, she had to be able to help.

Tom got Jukes to the bed. A trail of blood followed him.

“See if there's a first-aid kit somewhere in the cabin! They usually have something for emergencies!”

Fiona ran through the house, opening drawers and cupboards. In the bathroom she found a blue-and-white plastic Johnson and Johnson box.

Jukes was on the bed, blood running down his arm, when Fiona came back.

“Do you know how to do it?” Tom asked.

“Yes! We have to wash the wound first, then treat it and get it bandaged. Get some towels; I'll do the rest.”

Together they managed to get Jukes's hand bandaged.

“Wrap him in blankets!” Fiona said. “Hurry! He's probably going into shock!”

Tom brought blankets from all over the cabin, and they wrapped Jukes like a mummy.

“Is there a phone around? We have to get some help.”

Tom nodded. “The closest one is at my place, on the other side of the lake.”

Fiona looked at Tom. “You'll have to go for help. Call an ambulance, and the cops, too. How soon can you get there?”

“Takes a while, but I'll hurry.”

“We've got to get Jukes to a hospital.”

Jukes opened his eyes and spoke through clenched teeth. He said, “What if Bobby comes back?”

“I'll leave her my shotgun,” said old Tom.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

O'Connor heard a gunshot.

He rounded a turn and saw the lights of a cabin up ahead.

He stopped the darkened Jeep Cherokee and turned on his flashlight. From the duffel bag in the seat next to him he pulled out the stainless-steel cylinder, the human skins, and the bones.

He tightened the skins across the top of the cylinder, using a bracket to fasten them snug against the rim. He twisted the screws until the skins were stretched taut across both ends.

He quickly attached a gun belt to the cylinder and slung it across his back. The bones dangled from a piece of rawhide around his neck. He took his night goggles, some rope, and his gun and left the vehicle.

O'Connor stepped into the woods and disappeared.

Bobby ran through the trees like a wounded bear.

The forest was dark and the moon shadows deep and deceptive. Branches slapped and scratched at him as he ran at a full gallop into the night.

He smashed his knee against a tree and yelped. As he bent over to rub the painful spot, he looked over his shoulder and saw nobody coming.

He hurried back to the clearing where he'd left his motorcycle and Cathy, handcuffed to the handlebars.

Bobby crashed into the clearing and cursed. “Come on! We gotta get outta here!” He came at Cathy with such animal aggression that she flinched as if preparing for a blow. “I'm not gonna hit you! Jesus Christ, Cathy! What do you take me for?”

“Don't touch me!” she screamed. “Why did you have to handcuff me? It hurt my hands.”

Bobby looked exasperated. “You were whacked-out. I can't have you wandering around out here in the dark. It's for your own good.”

Cathy shook the hair out of her eyes. “Oh, give me a break! There's nobody around here for miles. The place is all closed up for the winter.”

“There's people up in the cabin.”

“People? But who … Oh my God, is it Jukes?”

“Wait a second; I have to find the handcuff key.”

Cathy stamped her foot. “Is my brother in the cabin?”

Bobby ignored her and fumbled for the key.

“Answer me!” Cathy demanded.

“Yeah. He's up there with some chick.”

Cathy's tears erupted suddenly. A damn of pent-up emotions had burst inside her. Her voice trembled slightly. “I heard a gunshot.… What happened? Did you shoot him?”

“No.… He tried to shoot me.”

“Jukes wouldn't hurt a fly, Bobby. And you know it.”

He fitted the key into the lock and snapped the cuffs open. “Come on; let's get outta here right now.”

Cathy rubbed her wrists. “If you hurt my brother, I'll—”

“You'll what? You can't do a thing, little girl. I own you, remember?”