Coven

Splat!

Laughter cracked down the hall. Wade, wet and red faced, looked up. Chief White was standing in the doorway.

“I seen a lotta dumb ass hobnobbin’ in my day, but I ain’t never seen a grown man get his ass whupped by a bucket.”

“What do you want!” Wade yelled.

“Get in the car, St. John. We’se goin’ for a ride.”

««—»»

Wade sat in back, behind the screen, as White drove his souped Buick cruiser. Am I in trouble? he wondered. The mop water stank in his clothes. But the situation stank worse.

White had developed a nervous tic. He chewed a cigar butt and steered wringing his hands. Earlier, Lydia had made Wade and Jervis promise not to speak of the business at the Erblings’ dorm. She wanted to follow up on it herself, assemble more pieces before informing White. She’d implied that White had been covering things up lately, before Lydia could investigate them properly. Wade knew White was a crank, but maybe it was something more than that.

White spat out the chewed butt and parked at the campus substation. He shuffled Wade in and slammed him down in a chair.

“Why the Gestapo treatment, Chief? Is kicking a campus owned mop bucket a felony? What am I looking at, five to ten?”

White sat at his desk. “You’re a two bit pain in my ass, St. John. You know that?”

Two bit? What an insult. “What’s this all about, Chief?”

“It’s about your pal Tom McGuire, that’s what!”

Wade tried to show no reaction. Had Lydia changed her mind about informing White of the break in at the Erblings’?

“The goddamn punk robbed the Town Pump last night,” White spat. “The owner made his vehicle and got his plates, then picked his face out of random student photos. Positive ID.”

“Tom’s got plenty of money,” Wade said. “He doesn’t rob liquor stores. That’s ridiculous.”

Or was it? Jervis claimed he saw Tom breaking into the Erblings’, which was ridiculous too. Then there was always the Spaten cap Wade had found at the campus clinic.

“He beat up on the owner and stole two cases of beer.”

“Oh, yeah?” Wade challenged. “What type of beer.”

White grimaced at the police report. “Spaten Oktoberfest.”

Not good, Wade thought. “All right, even if he did rob the Pump, which he didn’t, why drag me down here?”

“’Cos you and him are buddies. You must know somethin’ about it.”

“Look, Chief,” Wade lied, “I haven’t seen him for days.”

“Bullshit! You were at the inn with him two nights ago!”

“That was the last time I saw him,” Wade lied. “I haven’t seen him since then. I haven’t even seen his car in the lot.”

White grimaced further. “Well, he ain’t gonna be hard to find, not in that mint white Camaro of his, and vanity plates. Got an APB out on him now. He tries to cross the line in that car, the state boys’ll be on him like bugs on flypaper. And what about this other motorhead friend of yours? Jervis Phillips.”

“Jervis isn’t a motorhead, Chief. He drives a Dodge Colt. And what about him?”

“He’s friends with McGuire too. Might know somethin’. But we can’t find him either. You know where he is?”

“Sorry, Chief,” Wade lied again. “Haven’t seen him.”

“Right, and if I was the devil I could stir my coffee with my dick. Holdin’ back knowledge of a crime, or harborin’ a criminal, can make you an accessory. Keep that in mind.” White pointed the cigar like a gun. “And another thing, boy, and I ain’t foolin’ around. I hear you been datin’ one of my officers.”

Wade looked ashamed. “It’s true, Chief. Porker and I have been seeing each other for months now. The wedding’s in September.”

“Don’t get funny with me. You stay away from Prentiss, or else next time I’ll be the one moppin’ the floor— with you.”

“I’ll never speak to her again,” Wade lied. God, it’s fun lying to police! “I won’t even look at her.”

“And next time you see that candy ass drunk Jervis Phillips” —White banged his fist on the desk— “tell him to come down here.”

“I will, Chief.”

White lit a cigar, pinch browed. He waved Wade away with the smoke. “Go on now, get your rich kid face out of my office.”

Wade faltered at the door. “Say, Chief, it’s going on ninety outside, and it’s a mile back to the center. How about a ride?”

“I ain’t a fuckin’ limo. Use your LPCs.”

“LPCs?”

White unreeled a sudden belt of laughter. “Yeah, boy, LPCs. That’s leather personnel carriers.”

White’s Deep South donkey laughter followed Wade out into the sultry day. The heat was bad, the humidity was worse. He was stuck in his own sweat in minutes. A cold Adams right now would go just fine, but he still had work to do at the center, more toilets, more floors…

Half hour later, Wade was back at the center, drenched. He stopped midstep when he entered the supply room.

Tom McGuire was sitting on a lab counter, drinking a beer.

“Wade, my man! I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I…” Wade said. Tom looked sick. His face was…gray. “Jesus, Tom. You look like shit.”

“I know,” Tom agreed, “but I feel great. Come on, let’s get out of here and throw back a few cold ones.”

“I can’t. I have to finish up here.”

“Nonsense,” Tom scoffed. “You’re only young once, believe me. You want to waste the day scrubbing toilets?”

“Well, no, but—”

Tom’s smile turned sad. Suddenly he was pointing a pistol at Wade. “Just do what I say, Wade. I’ll explain along the way.”

Holy shit, Wade thought slowly. Tom led him out to the loading dock, the gun barrel at Wade’s back.

“How do you like the new paint job?”

Wade dumbly approached the Camaro. Tom’s beautiful white lacquered car had been haphazardly painted black. “This is no paint job!” Wade exclaimed. “The run’s ruined! I could do better work than this with a can of spray paint.”

“That’s what I used,” Tom said. “Spray paint.”

Using ordinary spray paint on this Chevy masterpiece was like touching up The Creation of Adam with El Markos. But the reason came quickly to Wade. Camouflage, he thought. Tom’s “Eat Dust” vanity plates were gone too, replaced by normal plates.

Stolen plates, Wade realized.

“I made it look like shit on purpose,” Tom said. He threw Wade the keys. “Get in, you drive.”

Wade shifted out of the back lot. “You painted your white car black,” Wade stated. “You put on stolen tags. You know the police are looking for you.”

“Yep. The cops know my rod on sight, but they won’t give this a second glance. Pretty slick thinking,