his busted couch. “They took me on to drive for them, and Eagle verified that they’re trying to undercut another dust distributor in the area—”
“Natter?”
“I’m sure,” Phil said. “And they also told me their point people have been disappearing right and left, so that just verifies our suspicions even more. We were supposed to meet some drop-man named Blackjack last night, and the guy never showed. I’m convinced now. Natter’s putting contracts out on anyone trying to move dust on his turf.”
Suddenly Susan looked distressed. “Phil, you’re getting too close too fast, aren’t you? This is really getting scary.”
Phil wasn’t sure what she meant. “How so?”
“How so? Natter’s hitting the outside competition, Phil, and with you driving for Eagle, that makes you as big a target as any of them. If they catch you with Eagle, they’ll kill you.”
“And if I flash my badge—”
“They’ll kill you anyway.”
Phil shrugged at the undeniable reality. “I’ve been doing stuff like this for years. And I’m very careful.”
“You better be,” she whispered more to herself than to him.
It seemed strange, the way she was acting, but by now it was occurring to Phil very clearly that something was up. As always, her plain, honest beauty was tuning him up. Here she was, in an old nightshirt, her hair mussed, and her eyes puffy with fatigue, but she still seemed more beautiful to him than a thousand centerfolds. She’s gorgeous even when she’s a mess, he thought. He could tell she was braless beneath the nightshirt, and probably pantiless too, judging by her obviously conscious effort to keep her legs closed. Any other guy, he knew, would be making a move now, but Phil also knew that Susan was not a woman men made “moves” on; she didn’t live by typical social games and sexual tactics. He’d like nothing more right now than to take her to his bed and make love to her. But…
“You look tired,” he said.
Her sleepy blue eyes fluttered. “Yeah, I guess I am. Getting used to midnight shifts is harder than I thought. Anyway, what’s your next step with Eagle?”
“I’m supposed to meet him tonight at Sallee’s. He doesn’t know that Sullivan’s busted—I’m betting that he’ll think the guy ‘disappeared’ like the others.” Phil grinned. “I can’t wait to see his reaction.”
“What did Mullins say about you busting Sullivan?”
“He—” Phil’s train of thought collided with a brick wall. “Damn it! I’m supposed to be keeping him posted on this, and I haven’t even told him yet. Be right back.”
Phil rushed to the den and dialed the station. The last thing he needed was the county detention center calling Mullins and asking him about the jurisdictional processing of a prisoner he didn’t even know had been arrested.
Fortunately, Mullins was at his desk when he called, and Phil gave him the rundown.
Mullins, once Phil explained his plan, was ecstatic.
At least I’m making things happen, Phil told himself. Hope it works out.
When he came back to the main room, Susan was asleep on the couch. He didn’t want to wake her; she’d been up for hours, worrying about him. So he put her legs up and turned off the light.
Before he went to bed himself, he went into the bathroom to take a quick shower. And while he was showering…
Susan, nude now, came into the bathroom. She didn’t utter a word when she got into the shower with him.
— | — | —
Twenty-One
Ah-no-prey-bee…
Ona-for-blood…
Gut shuddered.
The dream-words siphoned round his head. His eyes bugged open. He felt cold and hot at the same time; he felt drenched in sweat yet dry as pumice.
It was always dark in here, and the darkness was his nemesis. It seduced him with its comfort, then dropped the memories into his lap like freshly severed heads.
The darkness whispered the dream-words again and again as he lay helpless and churning…
But they weren’t really dream-words, were they?
Ah-no—
They were real…
prey-bee…
The hideous face, like a cracked mask, was always there, hovering in the dark. Day or night, asleep or awake—it didn’t matter.
It was simply…always…there…
Gut shuddered fiercer this time.
He peed his pants again.
The screams were there, too. How could he forget them? And how could he forget what they’d done to Scott-Boy?
Christ…Scott-Boy…
“Fergive me, God,” he whispered.
It had to be God, sending demons after ’em for their sins. Gut knew they’d done terrible things, all the razzin’ and dope-sellin’, sellin’ all that shit ta kids just ta turn a buck. Not ta mention all the rape and throat-cuttin’. He’d rucked plenty of guys for their green, and he’d laughed right along every time Scott-Boy busted some chick’s coconut with that hickory pick handle of his.
We deserved it.
Yeah, that was fer shore. He and Scott-Boy, they had done some down-an’-dirty things all right, and now God was gonna fix their wagons fer it, an’ He was gonna fix ’em so they’d never roll again. Tears streamed down Gut’s blubber face, glistening like slug trails. Aw, shit, God, I’se really sorry fer all the razzin’ we pulled an’ all the splittails we fucked with, an’ all them poor folks we hooked on the dust so’s we could git reg-ler scratch out of ’em. Yeah, God, I’se really shore’s shit sorry fer it all.
It was a fine time ta get religion. But maybe God had fergiven him ’cos, if not, weren’t He have let the same thing that happened ta Scott-Boy happen ta him, too?
Oh, yessir, Gut remembert what they up and done to Scott-Boy. One thing he remembert expressly was how one of ’em got ta whittlin’ the flesh offa Scott-Boy’s fingers like he was just plain whittlin’ bark off a pine switch…
Gut’s sweat turned rank as dead fish gone belly-up in a swamp. He felt grimy in his layin’-down-goin’- nowhere-sheer-fuckin’ terror, like somebody had throwed him smack-dab in a shithole and made him roll around in it fer awhiles.
And the memory of the face hovered.
We give you this day your daily flesh.
Yeah, ol’ God had sent demons.
Thing was, Gut reckernized one of ’em.
Yessir.
He shore’s shit did.
««—»»
Phil’s alarm went off at 4 p.m., another unwelcome reminder of his queer night hours. He turned irritated in bed, then noticed the unfamiliar warmth of the sheets on the other side.
