Blood Test (35 page)

Growling, he spun me around, tossed the rifle away,
and grabbed the front of my shirt, pulling it tight. He raised the axe and held
it poised in the air.

“Move and I’ll slice you like cheese.” He panted with
anger, face glistening with sweat. A feral smell emanated from the mass of his
body.

I kneed him hard in the groin. He yelped in pain and
relinquished his grip reflexively. I pulled away, landed on the ground,
scurried backward like a crab, scraping my knees and palms. While fighting to
push myself upright I pressed my foot against something round. A large metal
spring. It rolled, I was upended, and fell flat on my back.

Carmichael charged forward, hyperventilating like a
child coming out of a tantrum. The edge of the axe caught a glint of moonlight.
Shadowed against the blackness of the sky he seemed immense, fictional.

I yanked myself up and crawled away from him.

“You’ve got a big mouth,” he gasped. “No class, no
style. I gave you the opportunity to end it peacefully. I tried to be fair but
you didn’t appreciate it. Now it’s gonna hurt. I’m gonna use this on you.” He
hefted the axe for emphasis. “Slowly. Turn you into garbage piece by piece and
make it last. In the end you’ll beg for a bullet.”

A figure stepped out from behind the oil drums.

“Put it down, Doug.”

Sheriff Houten stepped into the clearing, trim and
sure-footed. The Colt .45 extended like a nickel-plated handshake.

“Put it down,” he repeated, leveling the firearm at
Carmichael’s chest.

“Leave it alone, Ray,” said the blond man. “Got to
finish what we started.”

“Not this way.”

“It’s the only way,” insisted Carmichael.

The lawman shook his head.

“I just got off the phone with a fellow named Sturgis
at L.A. Homicide. He was making inquiries about the doctor here. Seems somebody
took a shot at him last night and gunned down the wrong man. Next day the
doctor disappeared. They’re looking for him in earnest. I figured he might have
ended up here.”

“He’s trying to break up my family, Ray. You warned me
about him yourself.”

“You’re confused, boy. I told you he’d asked about the
back road so you’d find yourself another hiding place. Not to put you up to
killing the man. Now drop that axe and we’ll talk about it calmly.”

He held his gun steady and looked down at me.

“Damn stupid of you to go snooping around, Doctor.”

“It seemed better than being a stationary target. And
there’s a little boy in that trailer who needs medical attention.”

He shook his head fiercely.

“Boy’s gonna die.”

“Not true, Sheriff. He can be treated.”

“That’s what they told me about my wife. I let them
cut her up and fill her with poisons and the cancer ate her up just the same.”
He returned his attention to Carmichael:

“I backed you up to a point, Doug, but it’s gone too
far. Lay down the axe.”

The two of them locked eyes. I seized the opportunity
to roll out of hacking range.

Carmichael saw me and swung his weapon.

The .45 blazed. Carmichael jumped back, screaming in
pain. He clamped one hand to his side, blood seeping out around his fingers.
Incredibly, the other continued to grip the axe.

“You—you hurt me,” he muttered, incredulous.

“Just a flesh crease,” said Houten evenly. “You’ll
survive. Now let go of the damned axe, boy.”

I stood and inched toward the discarded rifle, staying
out of the blond man’s swinging range.

The door to the trailer opened, spilling cold white
light down the pathway. Nona ran out calling Carmichael’s name.

“Get the rifle, Sis!” he yelled. The command emerged
from between pain-clenched jaws. The hand holding the axe was shaking. The one
at his side was glossy red from wrist to fingertips. Blood rolled viscously
over his knuckles and dripped to the ground.

The girl came to a stop, watching wide-eyed as the
dirt at Carmichael’s feet sprouted a spreading crimson flower.

“You killed him!” she shrieked and ran toward Houten,
striking out blindly. He straight-armed her while keeping a bead on the wounded
man. She flailed away at him without doing any damage. Finally he shoved her
aside and she staggered off-balance before falling.

I edged closer to the rifle.

Nona picked herself up.

“You filthy old fuck!” she screamed at the Sheriff. “You
were supposed to help us and now you’ve killed him!” Houten looked past her
woodenly. Suddenly she flung herself at Carmichael’s feet. “Don’t die, Doug.
Please. I need you so bad.”

“Get the rifle!” he screamed.

She looked up at him blankly, nodded, and marched
toward the weapon. She was closer to it than I and it was time to move. As she
stooped to retrieve it I dove.

Carmichael saw me out of the corner of his eye,
pivoted and slashed down at my arm with the axe. I jerked back. He grunted in
agony, his wound leaking copiously, and slashed again, missing me by inches.

Houten crouched, two-handed the .45, and shot
Carmichael in the back of the head. The exit trajectory tore open his throat.
He clutched at his neck, sucked in air, gurgled, and dropped.

The girl snatched up the rifle and cradled it
knowingly. She stared at the body on the ground. Carmichael’s limbs twitched
autonomically and she watched, transfixed, until they were still. Her hair was
loose and blowing in the night breeze, her eyes frightened and moist.

Carmichael’s bowels opened with a burst of flatulence.
The beautiful face hardened. She looked up, pointed the weapon at me, shook her
head and arced around, aiming at the sheriff.

“You’re just like the rest,” she spat at him.

Before he could reply she shifted her attention back
to the corpse, began talking to it in a singsong voice.

“He’s just like the rest, Doug. He didn’t help us
because he was good, because he was on our side like you thought. He did it
because he was a fucking coward. Afraid I’d tell his dirty secrets.”

“Quiet, girl,” warned the sheriff.

She ignored him.

“He fucked me, Doug, just like all the other filthy,
evil old men with their filthy cocks and their sagging balls. When I was just a
little girl. After the monster broke me in. The righteous arm of the law.” She
sneered. “I flashed him a sample and he lapped it up. Couldn’t get enough. Had
to have it every day. In his house. In his truck. Picked me up while I walked
home from school and drove me up to the hills to do it. What do you think of
our old friend, Ray, now, Doug?”

Houten shouted for her to shut up. But his voice
lacked conviction and he seemed to sag, looking shriveled and helpless despite
the big gun in his hand.

She continued to address the body, sobbing.

“You were so good and trusting, Doug… You thought he
was being our friend, helping us hide out because he didn’t like doctors any
better than we did… Because he understood. But that wasn’t it at all. He would
have given us up in a minute but I threatened to expose him if he did… To tell
everyone that he fucked me. And
knocked me up.”

Houten looked at the Colt. Harbored a terrible thought
and dismissed it. “Nona, you don’t wa—”

“He thinks he’s Woody’s daddy, cause that’s what I’ve
told him all these years.” She stroked the rifle and giggled. “Course now,
maybe I was telling the truth, maybe I wasn’t. Maybe I don’t even know. We
never did do any blood tests to find out, did we, Ray?”

“You’re crazy,” he said. “You’ll be locked up.” To me:
“She’s crazy. You can see that, can’t you?”

“Is that so?” She put her finger around the trigger
and smiled. “I guess you know all about crazy. All about crazy little girls. Like
little old fat crazy Maria, always sitting by herself, rocking and writing dumb
crazy poems. Talking to herself, wetting her pants, and carrying on like a
baby.
She
was crazy, wasn’t she, Ray? Fat and ugly and a real head case.”

“Shut your mouth—”

“You shut yours, you old bastard!” she screamed. “Who
the hell are you telling me what to do? You fucked me every day, taking sloppy
seconds without complaining. Shot your scum into me and knocked me up.” She
smiled eerily. “Maybe. Least that’s what I told Crazy Maria. You shoulda seen
the look in those piggy little eyes. I gave her
all
the details. About
how you lapped it up and begged for more.
Sheriff.
I must have upset the
poor thing, cause the next day she took a rope and—”

Houten bellowed and came at her.

She laughed and shot him in the face.

He collapsed like wet tissue paper. She stood over him
and pulled the trigger again. Braced herself against the recoil and put yet
another slug into him.

I peeled her fingers off the weapon and let it fall
between the two corpses. She offered no resistance. Put her head on my shoulder
and gave me a lovely smile.

I took her with me and went looking for the El Camino.
It wasn’t hard to find. Houten had parked it just outside the gap in the fence.
Watching her closely, I used the radio to make my calls.

LATE ON a quiet Sunday afternoon, I stood on the lawn
across from the entrance to the Retreat and waited for Matthias. Furnace-blast
winds had strafed the southern half of the state without letup for thirty-six
hours and though sunset was drawing near the heat refused to dissipate. Sticky,
itchy, and overdressed in jeans, chambray shirt, and a calfskin jacket, I
sought the shade of the old oaks circling the fountain.

He emerged from the main building encircled by a
cocoon of followers, glanced in my direction and bade them disperse. They moved
to a hilly spot, sat and began to meditate. He approached slowly and
deliberately, staring downward, as if searching for something in the grass.

We came face to face. Instead of greeting me, he
dropped to the ground, folded himself into a lotus position, and stroked his
beard.

“I don’t see pockets in the outfit you’re wearing,” I
said. “No place to hold a substantial wad of cash. I hope that doesn’t mean you
didn’t take me seriously.”

He ignored me and stared off into space. I tolerated
it for a few minutes then made a show of losing my patience.

“Cut the holy-man, crap, Matthews. It’s time to talk
business.”

A fly settled on his forehead, walked nimbly along the
edge of the crater-scar. It didn’t seem to bother him.

“State your business,” he said softly.

“I thought I was pretty clear over the phone.”

He picked a stalk of clover and twirled it in his long
fingers.

“About certain things, yes. You confessed to
trespassing, assault on Brother Baron, and burglary. What remains unclear is
why there should be any—business for you and me to conduct.”

“And yet you’re here. Listening.”

He smiled.

“I pride myself on maintaining an open mind.”

“Listen,” I said, turning to go. “I’ve had a rough
couple of days and my tolerance for bullshit is at an all time low. What I’ve
got will keep. You want to think about it, go ahead. Just add a thousand a day
in late fees.”

“Sit down,” he said.

I settled opposite him, crossing my legs and tucking
them under me. The ground was as hot as a waffle iron. The itch in my chest and
belly had intensified. Off in the distance the cultists bowed and scraped.

His hand left his beard and stroked the grass idly.

“You mentioned a substantial sum of money over the
phone,” he said.

“A hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Three
installments of fifty thousand each. The first today, the following two at
six-month intervals.”

He worked hard at looking amused.

“Why in the world would I pay you that kind of money?”

“For you it’s petty cash. If the party I saw a couple
of nights ago is typical, you and your zombies shovel that much up your noses
in a week.”

“Are you implying that we use illicit drugs?” he
asked, mockingly.

“Perish the thought. No doubt you’ve removed the
stash, stowed it somewhere else, and would welcome a police search with open
arms. Just like you did the first time I was here. But I’ve got Polaroids from
the party that would make great porno for the geriatric set. All those worn-out
bodies grinding away. Bowls of snow and straws up noses. Not to mention a
couple of clear shots of the cache under your bookcase.”

“Photographs of consenting adults having sex,” he
recited, sounding suddenly like an attorney, “bowls on a table containing an
unknown substance. Plastic bags. It doesn’t add up to much. Certainly not a
hundred and fifty thousand.”

“How much is avoiding a murder rap worth?”

His eyes narrowed and his face changed into something
lupine and predatory. He tried to stare me down but it was no contest. The itch
had grown nearly unbearable and gazing back at the brutal mask was a welcome
distraction.