Darkly The Thunder (5 page)

“Yes, baby. It has a lot to do with it.”

“I'd like to see that car, Mr. Jennings.” Sunny punched off the recorder.

Richard nodded. “All right. That can be ... arranged without too much difficulty. Come on.” He rose from his chair. It was the most graceful and fluid movement Sunny had ever witnessed.

He escorted her out the back door. But he did not touch her.

“What song, mother?” Robin asked.

“It was never played in this part of the state.”

“Do you have the record?”

She smiled. “Not anymore. It was destroyed in a fire. But I can probably arrange to get you a copy.

The doors to the shed were unlocked and opened. Sunny sucked in her breath at the sight.

The car was classic. A 1950 model Mercury two-door. Chopped and channeled, lowering blocks in the rear. The interior was rolled and pleated leather. White leather. The exterior of the car had been painted a deep blue, and done so with expert hands.

It was beautiful, and Sunny said as much.

“Yes, it was, Sunny,” Richard agreed.

Was? “Your car, Mr. Jennings?”

“No. It belonged to Sand. He was driving it the night he got killed. Long time ago. Drove it up the side of Thunder Mountain as far as he could push it; car shot all to hell and back.”

“You restored it?”

Richard smiled. “No. Get in and turn on the radio, Sunny.”

Somebody sure restored it, Sunny thought, as she opened the door and slid in behind the wheel. She turned on the radio. Fifties music poured from the rear-mounted hi-fi speakers. She looked out at Richard. He was still smiling at her. She clicked off the radio, not understanding what was taking place. She felt sure he was trying to tell her something. But what?

“Do you drive it much, Mr. Jennings?”

A strange light sprang into his eyes. “That would be, ah ... difficult, at best.”

She walked out of the shed to stand beside him. Even outside, she could still smell that odd odor of charred wood and the sweet smell of flowers, all mingled in with the odor that all funeral homes seem to have.

“So many people dead,” Richard said, his voice no more than a whisper. “And many, many more to die before this is all over.”

“Before what is over? I don't understand.”

“You will.”

Richard closed the doors and locked them. Sunny noticed the hasp and lock were very old and terribly rusty. She wondered about that.

She reached out and touched his arm.

She felt as though she had time-traveled, and her senses had not yet caught up with her. One instant they had been standing outside by the shed, now they were sitting in the house, back in the den, and Sunny, for the first time, was really frightened.

“Don't touch me, Sunny,” Richard told her. “Me or Linda. You were lucky this time. The next time, you might not fare as well.”

“What the hell happened?” Sunny almost shouted the question.

Richard ignored that. “Let's get on with the interview, Sunny. I don't know how much time we have left.”

 

 

“Lee,” Gordie told his chief deputy, “send a deputy down to Hubbard's store and find out what the hell is wrong with him.” He looked at the kids. “Howard and Carly Ingram's kids, right?”

“Yes, sir,” they both said. Like many kids their age, cops frightened them. The guns and the creaking leather and the Mace holders and the handcuffs, all combined with the TV and movie bullshit to give kids a bad image of cops.

“How come you kids aren't in school? You playing hooky?”

“Don't blame her,” Howie said, stepping closer to shield his sister – a move that escaped no one's attention. “Blame me. Actually I like school, but I made her leave and come with me, because of what I perceive to be impending trouble in this community.”

Bergman looked at Howie and winked and smiled. “You're really a midget, right? You're not a kid. I got a sixteen-year-old that can't speak English yet – at least not where I can understand it.”

Howie returned the plainclothes cop's smile. “I'm very advanced for my ten years.”

“So I've been told,” Sheriff Rivera said, not trying to hide his smile. It was nice to have something to smile about. “What sort of trouble are you talking about, son?”

“It's very difficult to explain, Sheriff. But I shall try my best. For the last few days, I have been experiencing a very subtle change taking place in this town. The people are behaving, well, oddly.”

“Gordie,” Watts said, motioning for Gordie to step away from the kids. “Out of the mouths of babes and all that.”

“That is one brilliant kid. Yeah. I see what you mean. I know from personal experience that kids are very quick to pick up on things. What do you know about the Ingram kids?”

“The girl is plenty smart, but Howie's I.Q. is astronomical. Speaks two or three languages. Can make a computer do the diddy wa diddy. And a college professor would be hard-pressed to throw a math question at him that Howie couldn't work. And that's just touching the tip of his brainpower.”

“And the boy is probably shunned by his peers.”

“Sure. But that comes from the home, Gordie. From stupid parents who place more value on sports than on brilliance. I whipped a coach's ass years ago, when he made some dick-headed remark because my youngest kid left sports to spend more time with studies.”

Gordie grinned. “I'm just finding out all sorts of things about you, aren't I, you feisty old bastard!”

Watts laughed softly. “That's why I liked Sand so much. Damn, but that boy was brilliant. Such a waste.”

“But what did he do with that brilliance, Al? He was a rebel, and that's all.”

“Oh, no, Gordie. He was much more than that. As to what he's doing with it ... he just might be working to get our asses out of a very bad crack.”

“You still cling to that theory of yours, don't you,

“You bet.”

“What am I going to do with all these military people? What would you do with them, Al?”

“Keep them around. Bed them down at the best motel in town, compliments of the town. The meeting was okay'd and nobody from the town or county showed up. We owe them something. Besides, if things get tight, I want them on our side.”

SPEAKING OF WHAT PEOPLE WANT! the voice boomed. I WANT A PIECE OF THAT PRETTY LITTLE GIRL.

Bergman stepped over and pulled Angel close to him. “Easy, honey. It's all right.”

Angel didn't buy that for one second, but she felt better with his arm around her shoulders.

The military people looked at each other, all with questions in their eyes. They remained silent.

Howie cocked his head to one side and waited for the voice to speak again.

THANK HEAVENS, FOR LITTLE GIRLS, the voice sang.

Howie listened as the voice sang. It was not unpleasant; not a monotone. And the melody was just about right. Howie enjoyed show tunes and serious music.

“Ignore it,” Gordie told his deputies. “Go on about your duties.”

The singing stopped. Maj. Jackson yelped and jumped as what appeared to be an invisible finger gave him a sharp goose in the butt.

Both Lt. Smith and Sgt. Dixon began slapping at invisible hands that roamed over their bodies, touching and squeezing.

The sheriff's secretary, Sarah, began screaming as her clothes were ripped from her, leaving her in only bra and pantyhose. When Deputy Alan Hibler ran to cover her with a coat he'd grabbed from a rack, something clobbered him on the jaw and knocked him to the floor.

DO BOP DE DO BOP DE DO BOP, DE DO.

The room fell silent.

The men and women and kids stood numbed by it all. Hibler struggled to his boots, helped up by the half-naked Sarah, who suddenly realized a lot was exposed that shouldn't be, and ran toward the ladies room, clutching the coat that Alan had received a sock on the jaw for.

“What the hell was that?” Major Jackson broke the silence.

“Whatever it was,” Howie said, “the voice is not real. Not a human voice. It is electronically produced.”

Sgt. Maj. Christensen said, “What do you mean, son?”

“It's like a computer voice, sir. But a highly refined one. Like a voice out of a game. Not natural. It's very good, but still not human. Not God-given.”

HOLY, HOLY, HOLY! the voice sang. LORD GOD ALMIGHTY. That was followed by the sound of a long fart.

Kathy Smith and John Hishon both crossed themselves, as did Gordie.

YOU'RE A SMART-ASSED LITTLE PUNK, AREN'T YOU, HOWIE BABY?

Howie did not choose to reply.

ANSWER ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT-HEAD.

“You're not real,” Howie said.

NOT REAL? THEN EXPLAIN THIS.

Howie was knocked to the floor, one side of his face red and swelling, a trickle of blood leaked out of one corner of his mouth.

Angel ran to him and knelt down. She glared up at empty space. “Pick on someone your own size, you creep!” she yelled.

THE NEXT TIME, BITCH, HUBBARD WON'T JUST SHAKE IT AT YOU.

“What do you want?” Watts asked, his voice strong and firm.

HOW INTERESTING! NOT: WHAT ARE YOU? NOT: WHERE DID YOU COME FROM? JUST: WHAT DO YOU WANT?

“It's a fair question.”

PERHAPS.

“Did you kill Carol Ann and the Branson boy?”

THE GIRL WAS DELICIOUS.

“Why them?”

WHY NOT, OLD COPPER?

Howie was listening intently.

“All right. I'll ask. Who are you?”

I THOUGHT YOU'D NEVER ASK.

Silence.

“Are you going to answer the question?”

The voice sang a few lines from the song
Too Old To Cut The Mustard Anymore
, then dedicated it to Al Watts.

All felt the following silence. Whatever it was, it was gone.

“What in the hell is that thing?” Norris asked.

A deputy pushed over the front door and shoved in a redfaced Hubbard. His face turned even redder when he spotted Angel, glaring at him. Gordie had to stifle a laugh when the pretty little girl popped him the bird.

“You're a dirty old man!” Angel yelled at him.

“Take Angel into my office,” Gordie told Lee. “And her brother. See if Howie needs medical attention.”

The kids gone, Gordie faced the hardware man. “Angel says you exposed yourself to her.”

“That's a vicious lie, Sheriff.”

“Then why did your face turn red, when you spotted her in here?”

“I want my lawyer!”

“All right, Hubbard,” Gordie said with a smile. He turned to Mack, who had recovered from swallowing his chewing tobacco. “Contact social services. Have them send a female over here. Alan, read Mr. Hubbard his rights and then lock him up.”

“Wait a minute!” Hubbard hollered. “I can explain what happened.”

“Please do,” Gordie said.

“I'd just gone to the bathroom. I forgot to zip up my pants. That's all there is to it.”

Judy had entered the office. She looked at the man with open disgust in her eyes. “You always walk around the store in the middle of the day with your dick hanging out?”

Hubbard began cursing and screaming insanely. He charged Judy, shouting that he was going to kill her. Judy sidestepped and tripped Hubbard, sending him tumbling to the floor. She pulled a leather slapper out of her back pocket and popped the man on the noggin. Hubbard went to sleep.

“Toss him in a cell,” Gordie ordered. “Charge him with disturbing the peace, assaulting a peace officer, threatening a peace officer, indecent behavior with a juvenile, and anything else you can think of.”

Watts rubbed the side of his face with a finger. “I've known Hubbard for forty years. I've never seen him behave like this.”

Before anyone could offer any opinions as to the hardware man's bizarre behavior, Maj. Jackson said, “What in the name of God is producing that voice?”

Gordie cut his eyes to the man. “We don't know. Still want to stay in this town?”

“We're under orders to put the finishing touches on a training base not far from here. The government has spent a lot of money in this area, as you well know. We'll just go on up to the base. We have MREs to last us a week. More supplies will be brought in if we need them.”

“I think not,” Gordie said coolly.

“Then you'd better have one hell of a good reason for detaining us, Sheriff.”

“You think you're immune from civilian law; is that it?”

“You know better than that, Sheriff. But we are acting under orders from the government, and we all have high security clearances. If you're going to detain us, I want the charges all spelled out, nice and legal.”

Gordie smiled. “You have a radio with you, Major? Shortwave, perhaps?”

“Whether I do, or not, is certainly none of your business, Sheriff.”

“I just made it my business, Major Jackson. You want it spelled out? Okay. I've got two murders on my hands. I have some
thing
in this town that is making people and electronic equipment act nuts. Whatever it is just goosed you in the butt about five minutes ago, and did some titty-squeezing with your lieutenant and your sergeant. You saw it slap a boy down, rip the clothes off a lady, and knock one of my deputies to the floor. What I don't need at this time, Major, is a lot of press types in here. You get my point?”

“You can't detain us, Sheriff; not with our credentials. But we might be of assistance if we stayed here.”

Gordie walked to a window and looked out onto a side street. The view was somewhat less than awe-inspiring. With his back to the military people, he said, “You didn't offer to stay.”