Authors: Mark Richard Zubro
Rust On the Razor (17 page)
I glanced at Roy, still eagerly waiting to use his fangs if anybody got too close. He seemed securely in place. I had no experience with poisonous creatures. Trying to kill it could just as easily get me bitten.
Anal-retentive insane people are good for one thing. In one of the drawers I found sets of keys, each in its own little receptacle, neatly labeled. With my wrists still shackled I couldn't reach far enough into the drawer to pick up the correct key. I had to dump the contents out, but I managed to do this with some care so they didn't spill all over. Still, it was good that I remembered what the key looked like. It took painful contortions, and I scraped off large chunks of my wrists before I got the key inserted, turned, and freed myself.
First, I shackled Jasper with handcuffs and rope. Then I hurried to Dennis. Blood still oozed, especially from the last cut, but I didn't bother trying to clean the wounds. Infection was the least of my worries. I covered his face with a towel and hoped he would stay unconscious until I got us some help. My watch told me we'd been captive for over three hours.
I took the car keys from Dennis's pocket. I wedged the shotgun under his belt and stuffed the handgun into my pants pocket. I didn't see any other weapons, nor could I waste time looking for them. I didn't doubt Jasper had an arsenal handy.
Outside, the rain fell in torrents and the sky was dark. The mud squished under my feet as I carried Dennis through the downpour to the car. While in the cabin I'd dried off some, but I was completely soaked again before I'd walked three feet. The path was more mud and puddles than solid ground. I had to plant each foot carefully in front of me so I wouldn't slip. Even then, halfway to the car, I
almost dropped Dennis. A large tree was in the direction of my fall and stopped me, but I had to go to one knee to keep myself up. As I staggered forward again, a bolt of lightning sheared through the top of a mammoth pine tree about twenty yards ahead.
almost dropped Dennis. A large tree was in the direction of my fall and stopped me, but I had to go to one knee to keep myself up. As I staggered forward again, a bolt of lightning sheared through the top of a mammoth pine tree about twenty yards ahead.
While struggling through the downpour, I wondered what to do with Jasper. I remembered the description he'd given of the effect of a bite from a cottonmouth. He was young and strong, so it might take quite a while for the bite to kill him, but even so I was sure that if he didn't receive prompt medical attention he would die. Not being an anal-retentive loony but a man desperate for escape, I had not cleaned after myself. The knives and keys were as available to him as they had been to me. I figured our safety was more important than his life. I decided to go back to at least throw his means of getting loose into the surrounding swamp. I would get us out of danger, then send help back to him. By the time I eased Dennis into the car and closed the door, I knew what I had to do. I couldn't just let Jasper die. I took both shotgun and handgun and turned back to the cabin.
Jasper stood at the edge of sight in the trees. For once I wished I was the neatnik in my relationship with Scott. A little more anal retentiveness and I'd have cleaned away Jasper's means of freeing himself.
Jasper raised a hand with a gun in it and came running toward me. I dropped the handgun, grabbed the shotgun, pulled it up, and fired both barrels. The echoes rivaled the thunder for dominance. Jasper disappeared into the foliage. I didn't know if I'd hit him or not and I didn't want to take any chances. I grabbed the handgun, jumped in the car, started the engine, and realized I was facing the wrong way. I had neither room nor time to turn around.
I glanced out the windshield. Jasper emerged from the undergrowth and began running toward us. I threw the
engine into first and aimed the car at him. I grabbed the handgun, reached outside the window, and fired two rounds. My ears rang from the noise.
engine into first and aimed the car at him. I grabbed the handgun, reached outside the window, and fired two rounds. My ears rang from the noise.
When he saw the gun, Jasper threw himself onto the ground and rolled into cover. I slammed on the brake and jammed the car into reverse. The car fishtailed in the mud. Jasper's arm and head appeared around a tree fifteen feet away. He started firing. I tromped my foot down on the accelerator as the sound of gunfire boomed and roared. It's tough enough to hit something that is standing still, and a moving target is even more difficult. Maybe if I repeated this to myself often enough, it would come true.
Because I was racing backward, I had to grip the wheel tightly with both hands to keep from flying off the road. I'd never driven backwards so far, so fast, much less in such conditions. Not something a lot of us practice.
Jasper was now maybe fifty feet away. Of course, a Volkswagen is a mite or two bigger than a person; but large as it was, we were throwing up showers of spray as we bounded over the ruts and potholes, making accuracy even tougher.
Even if I dared take a hand off the wheel, I hesitated about firing the gun. I had no more ammunition for the shotgun and didn't know how many rounds I had left in the handgun. I had to assume Jasper had an unlimited supply.
Using the side and rearview mirrors for guidance made me keep my head further above the protection of the dashboard than I wanted, but there was no helping it; I had to see our path. The VW's engine was in the back; so except for a tire, which wouldn't have stopped me at this point, the only vital thing Jasper could hit was my exposed head.
I was going faster than I should have on the muddy road. Jasper began to sprint toward us. As the tires slipped in the mud, so did Jasper's footing. He fell twice, and the second time came up limping. Trying to run and limp and
shoot made his aim even more inaccurate. Forget this movie crap where they raise their guns and make dead-aim shots after swinging their guns into position. Nevertheless, we weren't far enough away. The windshield shattered from one of the shots.
shoot made his aim even more inaccurate. Forget this movie crap where they raise their guns and make dead-aim shots after swinging their guns into position. Nevertheless, we weren't far enough away. The windshield shattered from one of the shots.
Then his firing abruptly stopped. Was he reloading, or circling around, or planning a trick, or finally being overcome by snake venom? I had no idea.
I came to the end of the small lane we'd entered last. Finally, there was enough room to maneuver. I swung the car around, rammed the clutch into first, and floored it. The wheels spun in the mud for an agonizing instant. I eased up on the gas pedal. The car rocked back. I gunned the engine again and the car surged forward.
The only thing I can liken to that journey back to the road is Mr. Toad's wild ride. I concentrated on holding on to the wheel, seeing through the rain, and not missing any turns. My thoughts swung wildly through anger and vengeance to memories of Scott and my family to moving to an arid desert and thinking I'd kiss every flat inch of the Midwest if I ever got back to Illinois.
Except for the final turn, we'd taken every right to get in, so now I took every left to get out. I had no idea how far we had to go. Getting here had taken at least forty-five minutes.
Thunder boomed all around us, and I could see streaks of lightning through the thick foliage. Rain poured in through the broken windshield. The only thing wetter I could imagine would be drowning in the ocean. It was odd driving in the rain without wipers.
After one sharp turn, for which I had to slow, I thought I saw in the distance a solid gray spot that could have been the highway. Seconds later I realized that it was Jasper in the middle of the road. I hunched down, tried to swerve the car from side to side as much as I dared, yet aim
straight toward him. Again his gun boomed amid the rain. He must have hit the front of the car any number of times, but I held on, barely keeping my eyes above the rim of the dashboard. Several shots whizzed through the broken windshield and smashed through the rear window.
straight toward him. Again his gun boomed amid the rain. He must have hit the front of the car any number of times, but I held on, barely keeping my eyes above the rim of the dashboard. Several shots whizzed through the broken windshield and smashed through the rear window.
When I was twenty feet from him, Jasper moved off the path and behind a screen of brush. He could simply wait by the side of the road and pour a rain of fire into the car as we passed. I picked up the handgun and aimed it out the front window. Driving forward and gripping the wheel with one hand would have to work. I slowed for an instant. I wrenched the wheel toward the farther side of the road. Water spewed from the tires on the right side of the car. I saw Jasper grinning as he raised his gun. Suddenly I swung the car toward him, accelerated, and began firing. The bushes swayed violently as we rushed past. The car began to swerve. I swung the wheel violently to the left. The car swayed and then rocked back onto the road. I floored it. Gunshots roared next to my ear. I heard them thunking into the car, but we flew on. Unfortunately, now, for the first time, he would have a shot at the engine.
Gunfire continued behind us. White smoke began to shoot from the rear as I drove on. Seconds later we came to the row of weeping willows that had marked our entrance into the swamp. I plowed through their dangling branches and turned back toward Brinard.
Dennis woke up a mile or so down the road. He variously screeched and moaned, “I'm going to die! ⦠I'm going to be blind! ⦠God, it hurts! ⦠God, I'm sorry! ⦠Make it stop! ⦠Please, let me die!” I tried to comfort him as best I could, with one hand on the wheel and the other patting and caressing him.
Mercifully, he passed out again a few minutes before the smoke stopped pouring out of the back of the car. Seconds later the warning lights on the dashboard lit up. I didn't
care if I drove the car with hazard lights brighter than the lightning around us. However, on the next rise, the car began to lose power. Down the next decline we picked up speed, but the next incline was impossible. The car coughed, shuddered, and stopped in the middle of the road.
care if I drove the car with hazard lights brighter than the lightning around us. However, on the next rise, the car began to lose power. Down the next decline we picked up speed, but the next incline was impossible. The car coughed, shuddered, and stopped in the middle of the road.
Two cars had passed us going the other way; none had caught up and passed us going this way. I got out and hurried to the passenger side. I had no idea what resources Jasper might have. Perhaps even now he and his favorite tank were rumbling toward us. I wasn't going to feel safe until I was in the middle of some kind of civilization. I opened the door, made sure Dennis was breathing, and carefully lifted him from the car.
I began to carry Dennis. I was halfway up the next incline when I heard a car engine behind us. I turned. I didn't know if it would be Jasper in full pursuit or a stranger willing to help. It turned out to be neither. An old man in a straw hat glanced at us once and accelerated over the rise.
I started forward again. I was almost to the top of the hill when a police car topped the rise in front of us. I saw the brake lights flash on. The car skidded until it was half off the road. Using the shoulder, the driver righted the car, turned around, flipped on the Mars lights, and parked behind us. Cody hurried over.
“What the hell?” was his only question. Then he saw how badly hurt Dennis was. Quickly he helped me carry him to the backseat of the police car. I flopped into the front. I barely noticed the cool air flowing from the vents. I realized how drenched I was and then noticed that my hands and arms were trembling worse than a junkie in need of a fix.
Despite the humidity, I continued to shiver. We used both the blankets from the trunk on Dennis. I wrapped my arms around myself. Cody put the heat on. We kept the windows open wide enough for fresh air but closed enough to keep out the rain. He radioed ahead so they would be ready for us at the emergency-room entrance when we got to the hospital.
“How'd you happen to be on the road?” I asked.
“Violet insisted I at least check the road to the swamp. She can be pretty persuasive. She got worried when you didn't come back.”
As we raced toward Brinard, I told him what had happened. I did not relate all the leads Jasper had given us about who might want to kill the sheriff. I did ask, “What's the story on Jasper's dad? How could he protect an insane son?”
“Lots of tolerance for eccentricity in the South.”
“Violet said the same thing the other night. This isn't eccentricâthis is stark raving, totally, entirely, certifiably nuts.”
“His dad owns more than half that swamp. Jasper lives there legally. The family was one of the first to settle the county. They've got cash and history on their side.”
Our trip was slowed by the elements. By the time we were halfway to the hospital, Dennis was shivering and sweating. He became conscious enough to begin moaning. If nothing else, the shock and loss of blood could kill him.
After several miles of silence I asked, “Did the autopsy report come back on the sheriff?”
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
“He wasn't killed there. We've only identified your fingerprints so far. He had a mild narcotic in his system.”
“He was given knockout drops?”
“Probably. Enough of something to make him sleepy and easy to control, happy and goofy.”
“He died laughing. Good for him. Where was he the night before?”
“Wife says he left at eleven. He told her he had police business to take care of. She didn't ask. As sheriff he was always on call, no matter what the hour. If something came up that needed a decision or was a major problem, his orders were to call him in.”
“Was there a real police call that night?”
“We haven't been able to confirm one. They found his car in the middle of the forest. None of your fingerprints so far.”
“So he was out cavorting in the countryside at all hours on any given night.”
“Sometimes there really was police business to do.”
“And I'm the Easter bunny.”
“I thought you were the good fairy.” The man had a little bit of a sense of humor.
“Has anybody tried to figure out what he was doing or where he went that night?”
“I haven't heard anything.”
“Nobody's asked. Somebody must have seen him.”
“If they did, they haven't come forward.”
“Jasper talked like he was best buddies with at least one person in the police department.”
“That's hard for me to believe.”
“Not for me. I'd suspect the police department would be a good place to find Klan members, or Nazis, or skinheads.”
“The guys are okay. Jasper was too crazy. Nobody would hang around with him.”
“Who on the department would be most likely to want to join Jasper in a group?”
“Nobody.” I couldn't tell if he was covering up or just being loyal to his own, which could have been the same thing.
“What killed him, officially?”
“A dull and rusty razor blade. Whoever did it kept cutting after he was dead. Report said it wasn't just a quick slit. Somebody had to saw away for at least a little while.”
“Somebody was very angry. Did he struggle?”
“No evidence of it. You saw the body. No tissue under his nails. Gun with bullets in it just sitting there on his hip.”
“He must have made a lot of people very angry.” I thought I knew the names of some of them. I wanted to talk to the people Jasper had mentioned as soon as possible.
On the outskirts of Brinard I said, “I know you don't have to answer this, and I'm not trying to make you angry, but why do you dance in front of guys? It can't be just the money. As a cop in this town, wouldn't you be able to get a reasonably decent part-time job?”
He rubbed his chin and shifted in his seat. “I'm straight.”
“I'm not disputing that.”
“The money is unbelievably good. I'm in good shape. I work out a lot at home. I feel like a stud when I do a strip. It's a trip to have people watch me naked.”
“Why not work in front of women in one of those exotic places I saw signs for on the highway?”
“Our good southern women can take their clothes off in them, but they can't go there to watch a man take off his.”
“What about afterwards, when you leave with guys?”
He looked at me carefully. We were a block away from the hospital parking lot. He said, “I just lay there. I let them do what they want, but they know the rules. No kissing. I don't touch them.”
“You don't enjoy it even a little?”
“I lay there and think about women and having an orgasm. I concentrate on that.”
If it worked for him, who was I to disagree? He had his reality all rationalized and in comfortable pigeonholes in his mind.
Â
At the emergency-room entrance, they rushed Dennis in.
A small cluster of reporters, including one television minicam, formed a crowd around me. When Cody called the hospital, someone must have been listening to the police band on the radio and tipped them off.
The reporters flung questions at me. I marched to the doors leading to the emergency room and followed Dennis in. Cody kept the reporters out of the unit.
I called up to the CCU. Mary, Shannon, and Mrs. Carpenter were there. Scott had left to find Violet and to hunt for me. The hospital personnel brought me some dry clothes. Taking off my wet garments was a joy. Drying off was heavenly. I put on white hospital orderly pants and a letterman's jacket from the lost and found. I'd had a choice of that or a Bullwinkle sweatshirt, which I'd have taken except it was three sizes too small.
They rushed Dennis into surgery. They insisted I lie on a gurney and be examined in the emergency room. The nurse took my temperature and blood pressure. I was exhausted, desperately in need of sleep and a warm blanket. If somebody suggested a trip across the Sahara for our
next vacation, I'd have leapt at the idea. A heaping gallon of chocolate-chip-cookie-dough ice cream smothered in tons of hot chocolate syrup would not have been amiss, either. I was too keyed up to rest. I had the goods on half the county. I wasn't planning to rest until several people gave satisfactory answers.
next vacation, I'd have leapt at the idea. A heaping gallon of chocolate-chip-cookie-dough ice cream smothered in tons of hot chocolate syrup would not have been amiss, either. I was too keyed up to rest. I had the goods on half the county. I wasn't planning to rest until several people gave satisfactory answers.
Dr. McLarty came in to examine me. Good. One of the people on my list. He poked, prodded, asked me where it hurt, and declared me to be fine. He seemed clinical and distant, not like the kindly local practitioner who'd spoken softly and at great length with the Carpenter family about their father.
He did ask what happened. Telling him the physical stuff in this antiseptic surrounding caused me to begin shaking again. Not enough time and distance had passed to begin to diminish the horror of the situation. He saw me shivering, called for the nurse, and directed her to bring me a blanket.
The nurse brought in several. She and McLarty gently wrapped me in three layers of warmth. The nurse left.
I felt myself stop shaking. I eyed McLarty as he made notes on my chart. He sat on a stool with four legs with wheels on the ends.
“How's Dennis?” I asked.
“They're still working on him,” McLarty said. “They think the eye should be fine. The lid got sliced, but that's all.”
“He's a great kid.”
McLarty sat at a small desk and finished filling out hospital forms.
I said, “Dennis said you wanted to talk to me. Do you have information about the sheriff that might help me find his murderer?”
He put down his pen and rotated the chair so that he
faced me. He folded his arms across his chest and crossed his ankles.
faced me. He folded his arms across his chest and crossed his ankles.
“It must be nice,” he said. “Living in Chicago, prancing around in the gay pride parade ⦔
“What the hell does that have to do with anything? That does it! Nobody else in this town gets to say another nasty thing about my being gay. Not you. Not anybody. If you have something useful to say that will help me discover who killed the sheriff, fine. Otherwise shut the fuck up and keep your bigoted opinions to yourself.”
“I'm gay,” he said.
What was I supposed to say to that: “Okay, since you're gay you can have bigoted opinions”?
“Then why start out with an attack on me?”
“Because I'm envious and jealous. You've got a beautiful lover, a famous baseball player, and every gay man on the planet would give anything to be in your position. Yet you two come down here and stir things up. The rest of us have to live here.”
“I didn't âstir things up.' They were pretty well boiling when I got here. I still don't get your problem.”
“I just want to live a quiet life. Not bother anybody. My mother and aunt are here. I can't leave. I have to stay here to care for them. You running around town flaunting the fact that you're gay just upsets everybody. I'm the âbachelor' in town. I know they whisper about me, but I don't want my mother to know.”
“You really don't think she knows you're gay?”
“I never press the issue.”
I shook my head. “You told Dennis you wanted to talk to me.”
“I don't usually work in the ER, but with the rain we've had a lot of accidents. However, I took your case deliberately. I wanted to ask you to tone down your behavior, if
not for the sake of the few gay people in town, then to warn you that bad things could happen.”
not for the sake of the few gay people in town, then to warn you that bad things could happen.”
I glanced down at the blankets I was wrapped in. “Gosh, you were right. Congratulations.”
He frowned. “I don't think sarcasm helps.”
“Do you have information that might help me find out who killed the sheriff?”
“If I tell you anything, I cannot have my name associated with you in the paper. Talking in here this long could begin to look suspicious.”
“Somebody has a stopwatch timing visits with each patient? This is absurd. What do you know?”
“If this got out, I could be drummed out of the profession.”
I waited.
“The sheriff came to me four times in the past five years to be treated for sexually transmitted diseases.”
“Did he have AIDS?”
“He was tested. No. These were the run-of-the-mill, garden-variety, cheating-on-your-wife kind.”
“She never knew?”
He shrugged.
“Why didn't he go out of town to be tested?”
“He knew I'd keep quiet. He figured out I was gay and threatened to expose me.”
“How can you live like that?”
He unfolded his arms from his chest, reached a hand up under his glasses, and began to massage the bridge of his nose. When done, he said, “I just do.”
“If you're the âbachelor' in town, what difference does it make if he tells everybody you're gay?”
“You don't understand.”
“No, I don't.”
“People might think I'm gay, but unless I have naked lovers dancing in my front yard, they can ignore it. I can be
friendly Dr. McLarty. If it's out in the open, then something has to be done about it. Preachers have to make statements, the bigots in town have to fling slurs and become physically violent. Silence equals survival.”
friendly Dr. McLarty. If it's out in the open, then something has to be done about it. Preachers have to make statements, the bigots in town have to fling slurs and become physically violent. Silence equals survival.”
He gazed at me evenly. His life was a chilling one that I would never want to live, but I suspected it was all too common among too many gays and lesbians. I wasn't going to change him or the people with narrow minds by berating the compromises he'd made to live his life. I switched topics.
“From whom did the sheriff catch the diseases?”
“He wouldn't tell me. I always guessed it was women he picked up at the Rebel Hell.”
“Did his wife catch any of the infections?”
“He claimed they never had sex after he slept with other women and before he got tested.”
“You believed that?”
“I wasn't in a position to challenge what he said. If she was ill, she never came to me for treatment. The gossip in town never included them having fights in public.”
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