THE GLORY BUS 18 страница

⇐ ПредыдущаяСтр 19 из 24Следующая ⇒

‘Wonder who’s gonna cook the trucker’s breakfast now? ’ Norman wondered.

‘Guy ain’t gonna pull himself, Normy. ’

Norman and Duke started again to haul the body along the dry-as-bones gully.

Norman felt he was in as poor a shape as Terry by the time Duke said, ‘This’ll do. ’

They’d dragged the body into a stand of cholla cacti.

‘No paths nearby, ’ Duke said. ‘No one will see any dead bastard in here. ’

‘Coyotes’ll probably start work on him soon enough. ’

Duke chuckled. ‘Well, that ain’t no skin off of my nose. ’

Norman dropped the corner of the tarp, then stretched his arms up, arching his back. Dragging the corpse this far has nearly been the death of me, too, he thought sourly.

Duke bent down to grip the edge of the tarp where the corpse’s head would be. ‘You wanna give him a good-night kiss, Normy? ’

‘I’ll pass. ’

‘Wuss. ’

‘Duke? ’ Norman swallowed as an unpleasant taste came into his mouth. ‘You’re not gonna. . . ’

‘You prejudiced against a different sorta love? ’

‘Holy shit. ’ Norman looked down in horror as Duke began to lift the tarpaulin away from the dead face. ‘Duke. . . I – I don’t know. . . ’ Oh God, the guy’s out of his mind; is he really gonna—

Duke grinned. ‘Relax, buddy. Ain’t you ever been on the receiving end of a wind-up before? ’

‘You mean you don’t want to. . . to. . . ’

‘Boy oh boy, Norman. ’

‘It’s just that when you asked if I wanted to give Terry a good-night kiss, I – I—’

‘Joke, Norman. Just a laugh, okay? ’

‘But what’re you doing with—’

‘Don’t worry, I’m not gonna make you touch him. ’ Duke opened up the tarpaulin to expose Terry’s body. The corpse was wearing a chef’s apron over his clothes.

Bloody clothes.

Man, Duke knows how to use those fists of his with killing effect.

& nb

sp; Duke explained. ‘You don’t just dump a body without checking it for stuff. Might be gold rings. Cash in pockets. A nice Rolex. ’

‘Anything? ’

‘Plastic watch. Not worth taking it off. Thirty bucks in the shirt pocket. Lousy cheap shitter. ’

Even a victim being dead didn’t soften the wrath of a guy like Duke. He punched the corpse in the family jewels.

The corpse screamed. Norman screamed louder.

‘So the guy’s not dead, ’ Duke remarked. ‘What do you think I am, a brain surgeon? ’

Terry sat bolt upright. He was gasping. Blinking weirdly in the bright sunlight.

Duke pulled the knife from his boot.

‘Norman, pull his head back so I can get at his throat. ’

‘Oh, shit. ’ Norman’s knees felt about as stiff as ice cream on a summer’s day.

‘Don’t take all day about it. We’ve got work to do. ’

Norman pounced on Terry. The young guy fought back like a crazed puma. Slashing at Norman with his hands. Snarling.

Suddenly he was on top of Norman, pushing him against a cactus. Sharp spines stabbed Norman’s arm. He cried out.

And all the time Terry’s bloodied wild-eyed face was jammed up close to his.

Eyeball to eyeball.

Blood from the guy’s bleeding lips sprayed against Norman’s face.

Duke remained patient. ‘Norman. You were supposed to be holding him. ’

Norman managed to put the heel of his palm against Terry’s forehead. He pushed hard. Shoving the head back.

‘Way to go, Norman. ’

With the guy’s throat exposed Duke reached round with the knife. Then drew it slow and deep across the throat just below the bobbing Adam’s apple.

Immediately Terry lost all interest in wrestling with Norman. Instead he became preoccupied with holding the gash closed with both his hands. Even so, blood streamed through his fingers.

Norman rolled sideways, stood up and watched in horror. The guy made like a goldfish with his mouth opening and shutting. He was trying to gulp in air but none was going down into his lungs. Blood covered his hands so he looked as if he’d been mashing raw strawberries with his fists.

Fingers, hands, wrists – all a slick crimson.

Terry stared at Norman. Eyes pleading with him.

Norman stared back.

Then Terry began to make a strange mule-like screaming.

‘Blunt knife, ’ Duke explained. ‘Didn’t cut all the way through. ’

‘Duke, do something. ’

‘He’ll quieten down soon enough. ’

Only he didn’t. He kept that weird braying sound going – louder and louder, too.

Christ, I can’t take this anymore. He’s going to bring everyone running.

Norman dropped down into a squat, found a hunk of stone the size of a football. Then he stood back up. Heaved the rock up high over his head until his arms were straight, elbows locked.

Terry still hee-hawed. Still stared at him.

Duke stood, coolly watching what Norman did next.

I’ve gotta do this, Norman thought. I’ve no choice. Gotta stop him yelling out like that.

Gotta stop him staring at me.

Freaking me out.

The huge hunk of stone that Norman had lifted straight above his head in his two hands must’ve weighed at least twenty pounds. His elbows quivered. Can’t hold it much longer.

Gritting his teeth, Norman brought it down hard onto Terry’s head. The top of the guy’s skull caved in.

One eye popped clear of its socket.

Terry went down.

Lay twitching.

Feet kicking up a swirl of dust.

The mindless hee-hawing stopped. Norman thought the silence was beautiful.

Duke was impressed. ‘Nice work, Norman. ’ He gave the body a casual kick with the toe of his motorcycle boot. ‘He won’t wake from that one. ’

‘I killed him. ’ Norman wasn’t sure if that was a statement or a question.

‘Yeah, and how. You know, you’re getting some bloodlust on you. ’ Duke grinned. ‘You’ve become a killing machine. A real term-in-a-tuh. ’

‘I’d like to go back to the trailer now. ’

‘Sure. You need to clean up. That damp patch in your crotch is unsightly, you know? You’re supposed to leave that in a woman’s pussy, not in your shorts. ’

Norman could only nod. Half staggering, he turned and then walked back toward the trailer.

Duke called after him. ‘I’ll be there in half an hour. It’s time we started work. ’

Chapter Forty-two

‘Anyone seen Terry? ’ Pamela asked Hank who was dragging a plastic sack full of trash from the kitchen toward the utility room.

One of the old-timer’s chores. Part-time mayor, part-time tour guide, part-time trashman.

‘I ain’t seen Terry but I got an eyeful of you. ’ He winked that old-lecher wink of his. His scabbed lips stretched into a wide grin. The grin put his gums on display again with their half a dozen yellow teeth. ‘Yer a beauty, that’s God’s honest truth. ’

‘Thank you, Hank. ’ Pamela smiled. She was used to his ways by now. ‘There’s customers waiting for food and I can’t find Terry. Do you know where he might be? ’

‘I don’t rightly know. ’ Hank scratched his white whiskers. ‘He’s always here by nine. ’

Pamela colored a little as she said, ‘You don’t think he might be with Nicki? In her trailer? ’

‘I knows he’s taken with Nicki, but that ain’t reciprocated. ’

‘Terry’s nice, she might have. . . you know. . . warmed to him. ’

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, ma’am. Nicki likes Terry but not in that kinda way. ’

‘What makes you say that? ’

‘I’ve bin on God’s Earth long enough to know a thing or two. If you ask me, Nicki plays for the other bowling team, if you see what I mean? ’ Hank winked his bloodshot eye again.

‘Hank, that’s not nice; you shouldn’t speculate about things like that. ’

‘It’s not just speculatin’. ’ Again the crusty wink. ‘I’ve got two eyes in m’ head. I seen Nicki entertainin’ ladies in her trailer ’fore now. ’

‘Oh, Hank, you shouldn’t spy on people. ’

‘So I seen Nicki on the old beaver hunt, if ya catch my drift. ’

‘I catch it all right. ’

‘Seen her do the scissor-sister thing. Watched her drink from the hairy cup. Saw her plow a fresh furrow. Took a gander as she—’

‘Okay, okay, Hank, I get the picture. ’

‘Me, too. ’ Hank’s purple tongue licked his lips. ‘A nice clear picture. ’ He patted his chest. ‘Makes the old ticker step up a beat, too. ’

From the cafe behind Pamela came the sound of someone pounding a fist on the counter.

‘Hello! We gonna get any service in this dump? ’

Hank resumed dragging the sack of trash in the direction of the rear door. ‘If you could use some advice, ma’am, it’s not smart to keep a hungry feller from his vittles. ’

‘Oh, great. ’ Pamela simmered.

I can’t find Terry. I’m alone in the cafe. And there’s a trucker and his buddy grumping for food.

‘Catch ya later, sugar pie. ’

Pamela glowered at Hank. ‘Thanks a bunch. If you see—’

‘Terry. Sure, sure. I’ll tell him ya can’t live without him. Tee-hee. ’ He cackled with laughter.

‘Hey! Anyone home? ’ The trucker calling out again.

Pamela made sure her best professional waitress smile was on her face, then walked back into the cafe.

The trucker and his friend sat at the counter. They rested their muscular bare arms on the counter top and glared at her. They both wore white T-shirts with a stylized brown log running across the nipple zone. Beneath that were the words ‘We Love Lumber, Too. ’ Then a telephone number.

Company uniform.

Came with regulation sweat circles in the armpits, too.

The two guys were in their forties. One wore a baseball cap. The other had a mass of curly hair that must have added three inches to his height.

‘Ain’t our money any good here? ’ said the one in the cap.

The other added, ‘Yeah, or do you only take Iraqi pesos? ’

‘I think you’ll find it’s the Iraqi dinar. ’

‘Uh? ’

‘The currency of Iraq, ’ Pamela said, smiling. ‘It’s dinar, not peso. Coffee? ’

‘Oh, a smart waitress, eh? ’ The one with the curly hair said this with a sneer. ‘You got a university degree or just in love with an Iraqi guy? ’

‘I know what she has got. . . ’ This came from the trucker in the cap. ‘She’s got long legs that go all the way up to her fanny. ’

‘Yeah, and what a fanny. ’ The curly-haired one smirked. ‘Nice titties, too. Make a nice soft pillow for a workin’ man. ’

‘You’re dead right. Won’t you pass me my X-ray glasses, Frank? ’

The one called Frank slipped a pair of Elvis-style shades with large aluminum frames from his pocket and held them out to his buddy.

The trucker slipped them on, then looked Pamela up and down and gave an appreciative whistle. ‘Best thing we ever bought, Frank, these X-ray spectacles. ’

‘Oh, very droll, ’ Pamela said. She plucked her order book from her apron pocket.

‘Lovely breasts. The right one has a freckle. Nice flat stomach. And man, oh man, you should see her—’

‘Okay. ’ Pamela plucked the cap from the trucker’s head. ‘Either you quit the commentary or I’ll fry your hat alongside your eggs. ’

‘At least you’ll be fryin’ somethin’, ’ the curly one said with feeling.

‘Yeah, and you can give me my bitchin’ hat back. ’

Pamela’s patience was running low. ‘What’re ya going to do if I don’t give it back? Sir. ’

‘I’ll come round there and give your sweet fanny the slappin’ it deserves. ’ He nudged his buddy.

Both of them laughed.

Maybe they’re thinking I’m all alone here.

They’re getting ideas.

That dessert might not come in a bowl.

Oh, where are you, Terry? Where’s anyone? Lauren? Nicki?

‘Okay, you’re both hungry. I’m a waitress. What can I get you? ’ Pamela stood with her pen poised over the pad, ready to write.

The one called Frank had a look in his eye now that needed no explanation. ‘Oh, I know exactly what I want

. How about you, Joe? ’

‘Sure. Something hot and spicy. ’ Both of them laughed again.

Pamela sighed. ‘Are you two going to keep up this dazzling repartee all day or are you going to give me your order for food, so I can fix you something? ’

‘Give me some tasty rump, followed by—’

Pamela’s schoolteaching experience kicked in. ‘Okay, you two. I’ve just about had enough of this. ’ Her voice was a perfect balance of ice and steel. ‘Either you order your food now or you can go hungry for the rest of the day. ’

‘Hey, listen, we—’

‘No, you listen to me, buster. ’ Pamela slammed her hand down on the counter. ‘The next diner is four hours’ drive from here. So it’s your choice. Eat here or hit the road. ’

‘I—’

‘And if you eat here I expect a modicum of civilized behavior. ’

The two men looked at each other. One handed the sunglasses back to the other.

‘Now, do either of you wish to say anything? ’ Pamela shot them her best steel-eyed look. The kind she’d reserved for the hoodlum kids in class.

‘Yes, ma’am. ’ The trucker sagged visibly under the impact of her formidable stare.

‘Well? I’m waiting. ’

‘Please may I have my cap back, ma’am? ’

She handed it back to him.

‘Now, ’ she said briskly. ‘Coffee? ’

The two guys nodded and were quick to say their ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’.

‘That’s better. So, gentlemen. What would you like to eat? ’

Respectful now, they gave their order.

With Terry a no-show I’m going to have to cook, Pamela thought. But no big deal. I can fix bacon, fried eggs and the usual breakfast extras.

As she turned away she heard one of the men whisper to the other, ‘Time of the month. ’

She smiled to herself. They couldn’t resist reassuring themselves that they’d lost the battle to the superior biological force of menstruation. They couldn’t admit to themselves that a waitress had stood up to them. When confronted with the period thing most men yielded like a vampire cringing from a crucifix.

Without turning to them as she laid rashers of bacon on the hot skillet, Pamela couldn’t resist saying, ‘Bathroom’s over there. You might want to wash your hands before you eat. ’

She turned to smile at them as they looked at their grubby fingers in surprise. As if washing their hands before eating was alien to them.

Which it probably was.

They nodded. The one in the cap touched the peak. A respectful gesture.

‘Good idea, ma’am. ’

The pair scuttled toward the bathroom.

Game, set and match.

‘Nice work. ’ Pamela spun to her right.

Duke stood in the kitchen doorway.

‘Oh, ’ she said, ‘I didn’t see you there. ’

‘You soon got the upper hand with those two, ’ he said. ‘I’m impressed. ’

‘Just a little firmness. ’

‘Worked, too. You’re some gal. ’

‘Thank you. ’ She cracked eggs onto the hot metal. The clear liquid turned a sizzling white around the yellow yolk.

Duke slipped a stick of gum into his mouth. He gave Pamela an appraising look as he chewed.

‘You’re not a waitress. ’

‘I’m both waitress and cook now. ’

‘I mean you’ve not been in this line of work long. ’

‘No, I used to be a schoolteacher. ’

‘How come you wound up in Pits? ’

‘Long story. ’

‘Sharpe bring you in? ’

‘Uh-huh. ’ Pamela flipped the bacon rashers over. Bubbles of oil seemed to dance on the cooking meat. Even though she kept her eyes on the food she was aware of the guy studying her.

Yeah, he’s good looking in a bad-boy way. Blue eyes, blond hair. Tattoo. Narrow waist. Broad shoulders.

Course, a guy like that’s gotta be trouble.

‘You could set two plates out here for me. ’

She guessed Duke didn’t take orders from anyone.

But he gave a little nod. As if what he saw in Pamela he approved of. So he was prepared to give a little help.

Oh God, I hope he doesn’t have any romantic intentions. I’m not ready for that yet.

And especially not for a guy like Duke. He looks as if he’s running away from a whole heap of trouble.

Could have broken out of jail.

Or poisoned his grandmother for her life savings.

The two guys returned from the bathroom. They looked cheerful and relaxed now that she’d laid down some ground rules.

They both held their hands up, palms facing Pamela.

‘Nice and clean, miss, ’ said the one in the hat.

‘You’ll pass muster. Grab a seat, breakfast’s ready. ’

Pamela glanced to see how Duke had reacted to her handling of the customers.

Duke had already vanished.

Like he’s got somewhere important to go.

The shiver that ran down her spine wasn’t lost on her.

Someone just walked over my grave.

And as Pamela served up the bacon and egg, hoping that Terry wouldn’t be long in returning from wherever he’d taken himself to, she didn’t know that the cafe’s cook was lying under a cactus with ants busily crawling across the unholy mess of his crushed skull.

Chapter Forty-three

Norman sat drinking cold, sweet water from a glass. He was back in the trailer.

Changed his underpants before his jism dried and formed a crust. His mind was full of all kinds of shit.

Boots and Nicki making naked whoopee in the old house.

Duke hauling Terry in the tarp.

Norman killing Terry with a rock.

Oh Christ, I’m a killing machine.

Three men in less than a week.

Norman shook his head. He let his head rest against the back of the sofa. The fan blew air to cool his face. But that desert heat was seeping into the living room of the trailer.

Gonna be hot today.

Have a feeling it’s gonna get hotter than hell yet. In more ways than one.

Norman swallowed another mouthful of water.

Felt good, that cold liquid sliding down his throat.

I wish I could stay like this for the next zillion days. Do nothing but feel the fan on my face. Drink cold water.

’Cos every time I move from one place to another I wind up killing someone.

Or nearly getting killed myself.

Dangerous times, Norman. So stay in the trailer. Hey, stay on the fucking couch. That way no one gets hurt. Least of all me.

A tap sounded on the door.

Now you’ve got a dilemma, Norman told himself. Either answer the door. Or stay here. If you answer the door it’ll be someone trying to kill you. Or you’ll trip on the mat and head-butt them to death by accident.

Oh, shit.

The tap came again. This time followed by a croaking voice. ‘Young ’un. You in there? ’

Holy cow. The old-timer. What’s his name?

Hank. Yeah, Hank.

Only old Hank. Should be no danger.

To the old mule skinner or to Norman.

Norman headed to the door. Then suddenly paused.

Maybe Hank had heard that Norman had been bitten by a venomous snake.

I haven’t, of course, but that might not stop the guy wanting to suck out the poison. Norman couldn’t stop himself remembering the mind movie that his imagination had made for him. Of Norman being struck by a rattlesnake that had planted its fangs in his fanny. Then lurid mental images of toothless old Hank with the cracked lips and bushy whiskers taking his own sweet time in sucking out the poison.

Shit.

What an imagination. Why did it have to torture him 24/7?

‘Huloooo! ’ More tapping.

Norman went to the door.

He opened it. The sunlight hit him in t

he eye like a couple of pistol rounds. He recoiled, blinking at its brilliance.

‘Had a mind you were in there, young feller. An’ I was right. ’

‘Good morning, ’ Norman said politely, wondering why the hell the old guy’d shown up at his door.

Hank stood in the dust at the bottom of the trailer steps. He looked up at Norman. His eyes were puckered into folds of skin to stop the sunlight dazzling him. His nose showed through a foliage of bristles. It was as red as a strawberry. An over-ripe, stood-upon strawberry. The coot could have been an old-time prospector in those clothes. Even in this heat he wore a plaid flannel shirt that had long sleeves. Below that were blue jeans. On his feet were dusty black cowboy boots. Good scorpion-stomping footwear, those.

Norman saw that the old man was grinning. He was holding that filthy hat of his that was probably held together by nothing more than dust and the old coot’s sweat.

‘Figured you might want to take a look-see in my hat. ’

‘Look in your hat? ’

‘Yessiree. ’

My God, why do I want to stand here admiring the inside of the old shit-shoveller’s hat? What’s the man thinking of?

‘See what I got fer ya and yer two buddies. ’

Norman peered into the shadowy interior of the hat. Were those poop stains on the brim?

Come to think of it, toilet tissue could be in short supply when you’re walking out in the desert.

And the brim of a hat’s got to be softer than cactus leaf.

Norman began, ‘I don’t quite see. . . ’

‘Right there in the bottom. ’

‘Oh. Eggs. ’

‘Damn straight. Fresh today. ’

‘Thanks, but we’ve got some in the refrigerator. ’

Hank’s lopsided grin broadened. ‘No, these ain’t come from no hen’s tush. ’

‘They’re not hen’s eggs? ’ Duck, goose, quail?

‘These eggs are the best ya’ll ever taste. ’ Hank smacked his lips. ‘Rattler eggs. ’

Norman’s jaw sagged. ‘Snake eggs! ’

‘Sure they’re snake eggs. You never tasted ’em afore? ’

‘Never. ’

Never likely to, either.

‘Fresh rattlesnake eggs are good fer whatever ails ya. ’

‘I don’t think that—’

‘Just pick ’em up, like so. ’ Hank took a round white egg from his hat. ‘See, they’re soft. Ya can squish ’em. ’ Hank squeezed gently. ‘Ya can pickle ’em, or boil ’em in milk. ’ He winked at Norman. ‘But ya can’t beat ’em just as God made ’em. Just like this. . . now you watch, young feller. ’ He chewed on one with the remains of his yellow teeth. ‘Gotta tough outer membrane. But you stick with it, you’ll bite a hole clean through. Now tilt yer head back, open yer mouth. And squeeze. ’

Hank followed his own instructions. Norman watched in a kind of horrified fascination as the old coot squirted the contents of the rattlesnake’s egg into his mouth. It shot from the hole in the membrane like a ball of green mucus streaked red with blood.

‘Ah. . . ’ Hank crowed with relish at such a delicious morsel. ‘Betcha ya’ll have tasted nothing like it! ’

‘I bet you’re right. ’ Norman swallowed. His mouth tasted of bile. His palms were sweating.

Dear God, that looked just awful.

Hank held out the hat so that Norman could see the cluster of glistening white eggs nested in there. ‘Want me to get one started fer ya? ’

‘No, thanks. I’m a. . . I’m a. . . ’ Norman’s stomach twitched. ‘I’m a vegetarian. ’

‘Shit, is that so? I’m a Libra. ’

Norman muttered something about leaving the shower running, then closed the door on the grinning man standing there with his hatful of snake eggs.

Norman went back to lie on the sofa. Air played on his face from the fan.

He had to work hard not to recall the image of Hank gulping down with gusto the slimy green contents of the snake egg.

Had to work very hard.

Ten minutes later he realized he wasn’t going to puke after all.

But it was a close-run thing.

And just when Norman began to think that life was looking better the trailer door opened. In stepped Boots and Duke.

They had guns in their hands.

‘Norman. Time to start the show. ’ Duke sat down in the armchair opposite him.

Boots chose to park her butt on the arm of the sofa.

Norman remembered how a naked Boots had made love to a willowy naked Nicki. The thought made him warm.

Made it hard to look Boots in the eye as well.

But then, the guns they carried had their own magnetic attraction for his attention. Boots carried a revolver. Looked like a. 38 home-protection model. Duke carried a. 357 Magnum in his right hand and in his left a Glock automatic. It was gold-plated, too. A rich man’s toy.

Norman had to ask an obvious question. ‘Where’d you get the guns? ’

Boots said, ‘While you were sleepin’ on the ride down here we got them from a guy driving a motor home. ’

‘Guess he didn’t complain. ’ Norman wore his fixed smile, so as not to rile Duke.

‘Boots worked the ol’ Boots magic, ’ Duke said. ‘While he was on top of Boots pluggin’ her water hole like their lives depended on it I—’ He made a clicking sound as he ran his thumb across his throat, miming a knife slicing a trachea. ‘I relieved him of these beauties that he’d got stowed away. ’

‘Nice work, ’ Norman said, nodding.

‘Boots is the gal who gets all the praise. ’

‘Oh, I did nothin’, ’ she simpered. ‘Just smiled and opened my legs. ’

‘Like I said, ’ Duke told him. ‘The old Boots magic. ’

‘They look like formidable pieces. ’ Norman eyed the guns. ‘Know your way around them? ’

‘Sure we do. ’ Boots spun the ammo cylinder of her revolver. It made a clicking sound. ‘While you were sleeping we got some practise in, too. ’

While I was sleeping? While I was unconscious, more like. After the beating Duke gave me it’s a miracle I woke up at all.

‘Here’s your piece, Normy. ’ Duke handed him the Glock automatic.

‘But I don’t know anything about—’

‘Nothing to it. It’s an auto, a Model 20. Just point and pull the trigger. It’s a ten-millimeter. A fucking cannon. Course, you gotta remember to take the safety off first. It’s this little doohickey here. ’ Duke showed him how to slide the safety catch across.

‘But we’re not actually gonna shoot anybody? ’

‘I guess not. ’ Boots sounded disappointed.

‘These are to back up our suggestion that we take over the running of the town, ’ Duke said.

‘They’ll be powerful persuaders, ’ Norman allowed as he felt the weight of the gun in his hand. And when he remembered what Duke had told him, about Nicki being his when the plan was complete, he began to smile.

Duke asked, ‘What’re you smiling about, bud? ’

‘I’m just thinking about the future. About how much we’re going to enjoy ourselves. ’

‘Damn straight. ’ Duke smiled too. ‘Okay, if you guys are ready. ’ His smile became a leer. ‘Let’s do this crazy thing. ’

Chapter Forty-four

‘Cafe first, ’ Duke told them.

Holy shit. This is like a Wild West showdown.

And we’re the Jesse James gang.

Mean, dangerous, armed.

The time was nearing high noon. Norman walked to the right of Duke, Boots to the left. They walked purposefully across the parking lot, their feet raising puffs of dust with every step. Boots wore her white cowgirl boots. Duke strode manfully in his motorcycle boots. Norman wore sneakers. The sun burned down from directly above, hardly casting a shadow.

Deserted.

Not a sound.

No vehicles on the road.

No people.

No birdsong.

Only a death silence. Like the grim reaper had put his bony finger to fleshless lips and breathed, ‘Shhhh. . . ’

Old Mister Death knew what was going down.

He’d seen it happen before in Pits. This was frontier country. A hundred years ago there’d been plenty of shoot-outs. Some gambler, maybe, who’d slipped an ace from his cuff once too often. Or two guys arguing over a burlesque dancer.

Story’s the same.

Out come the guns.

Blam! Blam! Blam!

Then comes the solemn procession behind the long pine box up to the desert cemetery.

Norman felt terrified.

Felt excited.

Now, this is a hunk of history repeating itself.

The three of us walking in a line with guns in our hands. Three desperados.

Gonna make this town of Pits our own.

They’d chosen their time. Waiting for a lull in customers.

Duke squinted against the sun. ‘Sharpe’s gone, ’ he said.

‘One less to worry about, ’ Boots added.

‘Yup. ’

They crossed the furrows in the dust left by Sharpe’s bus. He’d gone out ‘saving people’ again. Ahead lay the line of abandoned trucks and cars. Then the cafe itself.

‘In through the back way? ’ Norman asked.

‘Nope. The front door. We own this place now. ’ Duke spat into the dust.

Above them vultures glided in circles.

Norman nodded. ‘Okay. ’

They circled round the front. There were customers after all. Two big Harleys stood by the front door.

‘I never saw those arrive, ’ Boots said.

‘It’s not a problem. Come on. ’

Duke shoved open the cafe door. They followed him in.

Inside were two bikers. Chunky guys in black leather. They were a couple of hard-asses. They sat at the counter.

Waiting tables was Pamela. Cooking the food was Lauren.

Norman ran the mental file. That meant Wes, Hank and Nicki were absent.

‘Cafe’s closed, ’ Duke announced.

‘Hey, ’ one of the bikers snarled. ‘We ain’t eaten yet. ’

Duke raised the hand that held the Magnum. Its six-inch barrel in blue steel looked wicked beyond belief.

‘Take that fucking gun out of my face, ’ the biker warned. ‘Like I said, we ain’t eaten yet. ’

‘Steak’s off but here’s your dessert. ’ Duke fired. The heavy round smacked into the biker’s forehead. He flopped back like a dead seal. Rubbery. Heavy. What was left of his head made a loud smacking sound as it hit the floor.

‘It’s cool, ’ the other biker said. ‘I don’t want no—’

Boots fired. A cock shot. The biker squealed and clamped both hands between his legs.

Duke nodded at Norman. ‘Finish him. ’

Norman fired the Glock automatic. The big cartridge filled the cafe with an ear-splitting noise. A glass on the table beside him shattered, the report was so loud.

⇐ Предыдущая 14 15 16 17 181920 21 22 23 Следующая ⇒