Here Comes the Night (20 page)

A light salsa beat ran through the cab of the SUV, which was
so airtight that the music sounded like the inside of a recording booth. It
purred along so smoothly that Twigs, in the front seat beside Jorge, laid her
head on the backrest and closed her eyes.

As they nearly always did, her daydreams traveled to a
European
haute couture
runway, a synthesizer thumping out a metallic
beat, the audience of rich patrons sucking on exotic drinks. Everyone sat in a
hushed air of expectancy, anticipating her entrance, the model famously six
feet tall in her bare feet, trailing gauzy layers of sea greens and muted
aquamarines. Her hair effortlessly whirled around her shoulders as she executed
her turns, shooting cool nymph-like glances to a chosen few.

And, as always in her dreams, her skin exuded creamy
perfection. No trace of the ravaged acne tracks that the best cosmetic work
Twigs could find had been unable to totally smooth over. There on the runway,
the diaphanous glow under her skin made even the most jaded buyers jealous,
desperate to find out how she maintained her youthful dew, especially at her
age.

In the back seat, Meatface was drumming the tops of his
thighs to Jorge’s salsa beats. During his trips to Mexico he had seen the
roaming musicians, gigged out in fat sombreros and silver studs and buckles on
their funny-cut black jackets and embroidered pants. Hell, all they needed was
a Pancho Villa ammunition belt criss-crossing their chests to look really stud.
But they still looked plenty fucking cool, rambling with their acoustic guitars
around the restaurants, sloppy drunk tourists throwing dollars at them and
wetting their pants over the private serenades.

Late one particular night, sitting alone with a view of the
Gulf, he had ordered a high-dollar flaming coffee drink, prepared tableside by
some ancient waiter in a monkey suit, who managed to show enough excitement in
the performance that Meatface believed he might actually be getting a kick out
of it. With a flourish, the waiter had lit a small silver torch and
crystallized chunky, amber sugar on the coffee cup’s glass rim.

Then he’d loaded up the coffee with a sweet almond liqueur.
Just as he placed it in front of Meatface, the tricked out singers strolled by,
singing something the head waiter translated as being about warriors fighting
for their beloved country. It was the classiest Meatface could ever remember
feeling. Like the whole fucking hotel had showed up just to honor him.

In the front seat, Jorge, grateful the ache in his mouth had
left, let his head drift back to Lupe, his voluptuous cousin from their
village. How she would never make out with him, though he had begged until his
cajones
ached. They must have been sixteen, but she had never given in, except for an
occasional kiss. He would swoon about how beautiful her breasts looked under
her embroidered peasant blouses. But Lupe would say that God, and especially
her mother, would never forgive her if she did it with her cousin, or if she
did, maybe she would get pregnant and have a baby with too many toes.

He heard she had married somebody and gotten fat, but he had
never forgotten how he got tired of begging and told her he wouldn’t bother her
again. He couldn’t take any more blue balls. Then, just like that, she got all
sexy on him, like knowing he was going to leave her alone turned her on.

Lupe told him if he promised on pain of death he would not
do anything, she would show him her breasts. Just let him look. That’s all. She
made him swear. Jorge could still remember the way she had removed her
worn-to-gray bra under a pale cotton blouse, as a blue-green moon bathed the beach
by the water. Then, her eyes shyly lowered, she pulled down the blouse’s
elastic top and let him look. She’d leaned back on the sand and told him he
could take as long as he wanted.

That was the greatest turn on Jorge ever had. Even now, he
could still see her breasts, like caramel melons with nipples the size of
thimbles, could remember getting the biggest boner ever, but stayed a
gentleman, a man of his word, even though it nearly killed him. She had lain
back and smiled at him, the moon bathing her breasts until he had seen his
fill.

Jorge never saw the enormous copper motor home ahead on the
road, the way it was swerving into his lane. Nor, as he closed his eyes, seeing
Lupe’s breasts, did he know he was driving right at it.

Twigs, Jorge and Meatface all had their eyes shut when they
crashed head-on into the 45-foot Safari. The SUV’s front grill compacted like
an accordion.

Jorge woke up just as the steering wheel cut through his
chest with a horrific moan.

Twigs opened her eyes in time to watch her legs crumple up
under her and into her stomach, like a grim stick figure cut in half.

The front seat literally pushed through the backseat,
smashing Meatface like a garbage compactor.

As the SUV exploded into flames, black garbage bags of money
shot up into the sky and rained dollars over the two lane road. Buck Dearmore’s
football helmet sailed off Meatface’s crushed head, revolving like a red ball
against the gunship gray clouds.

Moments earlier, Vivian had stared out the passenger side
window, noticing the dam of steel gray wall clouds. She was on the edge of an
epiphany which hadn’t quite risen to the point of articulation yet. But it was
burning to reveal itself.

For the moment, though, she just knew she was ready for some
really rough sex, no holds barred. She wished there was a way to bring Dell up
to where she was, turned on and hot, instead of calm over there behind the
wheel.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You seem…way out there.”

“I’ve never felt this…
alive
.”

Dell laughed. “I haven’t heard you talk like that since
college.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

Now Dell’s voice had a trace of annoyance. “Come on, Vivian,
what’s this about?”

She knew this new sort of turn-on she was feeling was
impossible to describe. Vivian needed to make it real for him, make him
experience it as she had, let it stun him as it had her. “Just let me show
you.”

He seemed unsure. “What are you going to do?”

She put her finger over her lips and got on her knees in the
aisle by his seat.

“Oh, honey, not now.” Dell sounded impatient, but his
partial erection by the time she unzipped his pants negated the caution in his
voice.

“Don’t look now. Just sit back and relax.” Keeping it out of
his sight, Vivian slid the .38 out of her pocket and pushed the cool metal
barrel inside his thigh, toward his crotch.

He jumped like he’d been slapped, almost climbing out of the
seat, like a wasp had flown into his trousers. “What the fuck are you—?”

“It’s okay…” Vivian tried to explain.

“The hell it is.” Dell was swatting at his pants, with his
free hand barely on the steering wheel.

“Honey, don’t,” she laughed. “I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

“Have you gone nuts?” Dell reached for the .38, trying to
take it away.

At that moment, Vivian felt the R.V. swerve and push her
backwards into the floorboard beneath the passenger seat.

Dell pulled both hands back to the steering wheel and tried
to correct it, but the R.V. was too enormous to react so quickly. He was tossed
back against the driver side door.

Stunned, they both turned to see out the wrap-around
windshield. But it was already happening.

The Walkers stared numbly as a dark SUV rushed headlong
straight at them.

Dell and Vivian turned and looked at one other from opposite
sides of the cab, already realizing their fate.

As the huge copper beast began to tip on its side, Vivian
stretched her hand toward Dell.

He reached back for hers, both grabbing for a last touch.
But the gap between them was too great. They spoke no final words before their
bodies were shattered by the impact. But their emotions surged toward one
another. In their eyes, surprise at this abrupt end, sadness for things left
unsaid. And finally, a melancholy gratitude for their small, inconsequential
lives.

As the doors to a clean, spartan cell clanked shut, Erika
felt sweat beads pop out around her neck and temples. Resisting a wave of
claustrophobia, she found herself circling the cell, with its desperate
messages, names of loved ones, and vulgar jokes, written and scratched on the
walls.

Every sound from the station beyond echoed in the hall
outside. There was no window to the open air, just a bare fluorescent fixture,
and a lumpy mattress with gray ticking on the bunk bed.

It was barely five minutes before she started to feel antsy.
It was hard to believe people existed like this for years, in a room barely the
size of an area rug.

Tony had lived like this for the past ten years, not only
locked up in a cell, but thrown into the general population, with potential
enemies everywhere. He had told her the only time he finally felt safe was with
his last cell mate, a long-timer called Chuckles.

Erika shivered and crossed her arms around herself. One
thing Tony had been dead-on about. It did feel like being in a tunnel, except
you weren’t moving. And it screwed with your head to look around and see
yourself entrapped in concrete. No matter what you’d done.

Erika leaned in to decipher an awkwardly scrawled message.
It began with a quote she’d read somewhere in high school:
ABANDON ALL HOPE…

The rest of the quote had been scratched out and a new line
added. Now it said, “
ABANDON ALL HOPE—Get dope.
”

When Buck unlocked his apartment door, his shoulders dropped
with relief to be home again. But the first glance inside stunned him. Papers,
books, lamps had been thrown everywhere, his knock-off Greek sculptures toppled
and chipped. Drawers pulled out, with whatever was in them streaming out onto
the floor.

With everything else going on, he had forgotten that Twigs
and the boys had rifled through the place, looking for the money. And he knew
the detectives had been there as well. It didn’t matter much who’d done the
ransacking, though. The sense of violation left him shaken. His own things
suddenly seemed dirty after strange hands had handled them.

Buck picked up a lot of it off the floor, then fell,
exhausted, into his couch. He slumped there, rubbing his hands over his swollen
face. The doctor had been wrong about dropping off to sleep after eating. His
body had wanted to, alright, but his head wouldn’t allow it. The vigilance he
needed to get through this couldn’t take a break. To rest somehow meant it was
over.

Still, Buck felt desperate to wash himself. He found some
plastic wrap and stretched it around his injured hand to protect the new
bandage, then stepped inside his huge shower stall. He couldn’t stand another
second of the caked-on blood and its raw odor. Not to mention the stink of old
fear coming off his body. It had festered inside and come back out his pores
smelling rotten.

He stood under the high pressure showerhead and let the hot
steam wash off the night. Afterwards, he awkwardly dressed himself in some
jeans and a sweater. On opening his medicine chest, he realized someone had
absconded with all his prescription bottles. He should have known that, he
thought, remembering Jorge’s glazed eyes.

He brushed his teeth forever. Then he realized, even though
his mouth tasted of sweet mint, that he would kill for a drink. Naturally, all
his liquor, especially his premo scotch, had taken a hit. He could just see
Meatface and Jorge guzzling it while they ruined his place.

No matter. He poured a double shot and downed it in one
swoop. He rolled his head back and savored the warm sting trickling down his
throat. Immediately, he wanted another, but forced himself to put the lid back
on the bottle.

He walked to the picture window, with its view of Devon
Tower and Bricktown, the unpretentious skyline that was Oklahoma City, and
wondered what would happen next.

The answer that came, his doorbell buzzing, was not what he
expected. His head immediately raced to the possibility of its being Angie.
Buck knew she surely wouldn’t, couldn’t come here, but she also had a wild
streak. Hoping it wasn’t her, and wanting it to be, he opened the door.

Waiting there were Detectives Edgars and Douglas.

His head dropped.

“Mr. Dearmore,” Edgars began, “we’re going to need to ask
you a few more questions.”

Without a word of greeting, Buck gestured them into the
chaos of his home. “If you can find a seat, make yourselves at home.” He let
the detectives clear away their own spots and get settled. “I’d offer you
something to drink, but I don’t know whose hands have touched my glasses.”

“Rest assured they were not ours,” Edgars said.

“Do I need to call my lawyer? Because I’m not…”

“Just a few quick questions. You can call him if you want,
of course, but we only need to confirm a couple of things,” Douglas said.

Buck’s curiosity gave him a second wind. “About what? I
thought you had identified the kid who stole the Mustang.”

“Oh, that, right,” Edgars nodded. “No, we’re dealing with
Gordon Wesner’s murder now. We figure since you office next door to him, you
might be helpful.”

Buck instinctively put up his guard but tried to sound
relaxed. “I doubt it. Like he
ever
wanted to talk to me.”

“No?” Horse looked surprised. “We figured your status as
state hero earned you all kinds of respect.”

Buck’s grin was tired, spent.
“Wesner hired me for my
football trophies, not my mind, and he never let me forget it.”

“One thing we don’t have, since no official report has been
filed yet, is the contents of your safe,” Edgars said. “How much money did they
take?”

Buck quickly went over it in his mind.
“Maybe five
thousand? I’m not really sure.”

“Anything else taken?”

“I’d have to see an inventory of what was left to figure
that out,” Buck said.

Horse looked through a file and pulled out a printed sheet.
“Here’s what they didn’t take, according to the on scene officer.”

Buck studied it for a moment. His insurance policies, will,
legal papers seemed to be intact. He noticed none of his jewelry was listed.
“Looks like they might have gotten off with a couple of diamond rings, and my
national
championship ring.”

“Sorry to hear it,” Douglas said with sincerity. “People got
no respect for sentimental items.”

“Maybe they’ll show up at a pawn shop. We’ll put them on the
list,” Edgars said.

“So, is that all?”

Edgars studied him. “When we can get you into your office,
probably later today, you can do a walkthrough and see if there’s anything
else.”

“Anything you can tell us about Wesner’s personal
relationships with friends, family, staff?” Horse asked.

“He ruled the roost, often with an iron hand, I thought, but
people stayed with him. People will put up with a lot if you pay them well,”
Buck said.

“How did he act around his wife?” Edgars’ question threw
Buck off balance. “Like when she came by the bank?”

Buck took a couple of moments. “I never saw them together at
the bank, I don’t think. Only at social functions.”

Edgars looked doubtfully at him, a smile just behind his
steely blue eyes. “How well do you know her? Really?”

“Not at all, really,” Buck answered.

Horse tilted his head, as though confused. “No kidding?”

“Because the way she looked at you down at the station
earlier…” Edgars looked at his partner. “What is it Hollywood calls that?”

Horse took his cue. “Chemistry.”

“You two have got it in spades,” Edgars said, his eyebrows
raised, like he was waiting for Buck to deny it.

If Buck’s face hadn’t already been red with injuries, his
flush would have been apparent.

“What are you talking about?” Buck said, staring hard at
Edgars. “Mrs. Wesner got the bank to put up my bail. That’s all. And I was
grateful.”

“So, just for the record, you and the lady have no
relationship. You barely know each other.”

“That’s right,” Buck said.

“Fine,” Edgars said, unruffled.

“Why? Has something happened?”

“You ever hear rumors of affairs, that sort of thing?” Horse
asked. “She’s pretty hot.”

“No,” Buck said. But the photographs Twigs showed him from
Gordon’s safe leapt to his mind. He looked from one detective to the other.
“You think she was cheating on him?”

“Seems there may have been a bit of trouble in paradise.”
Edgars offered it up like a tiny bone.

“I really don’t see what it has to do with me,” Buck finally
said.

Horse leaned forward in his chair. “Maybe nothing. But my
partner’s instincts are pretty good…what he saw this morning, I mean. If you
are
having an affair with her, then trust me, we’ll find out about it. It’d be
better for you to come clean about it now than if we hear it first from her.”

“Buck, she’s fucking around with you,” Edgars said. “I saw
the look. I’m not wrong.”

“You are way off base. I think you ought to go now.”

The detectives rose from their chairs. “That’s fine, we
will,” Horse said, moving toward the door. “But you ought to talk with her,
Buck, see what’s going on in her head.”

Buck steeled himself not to respond and opened the apartment
door for them to leave.

Edgars paused at the door. “See, we’re talking to everyone
now. This investigation has broken wide open. If I were you, Buck, I’d look to
protect myself. That’s what she’s doing.”

“Goodbye, detectives,” Buck said. When they’d finally gone,
he stood there by the door for a long time, not sure what exactly had just transpired.
It was pretty clear they wanted him to contact her so they could put the two of
them together. If she had admitted to it, they wouldn’t have showed up.

He barely let himself consider what would happen if it did
come down to just the two of them. Buck really could not answer that. It was
certainly possible that she would save herself first.

It was just as possible he would do the same thing. He knew
that now.