Kill Jill (14 page)

Instead of heading south on 55, Jack takes the exit toward Hammond.

“We’re going to rent a truck,” he says. “U-Haul, Penske, whatever they’ve got.”

“Whatever
who’s
got?”

“The fine folks in Hammond.”

“What’s wrong with
this
truck?”

“Bobby knows we’ve got it. So does Officer Hank. We’ll need gas soon, and it’s only a matter of time before the investigating police realize another truck was at the crime scene.”

“You don’t think we’ll be in La Pierre by then?”

“We’re not going to La Pierre.”

Jill looks up. “What do you mean?”

“Change of plans. We’re going to Willow Lake.”

“But—”

“Details to follow.”

He hands her his cell phone. “Let me know when you get internet service.”

She presses a few buttons. “We’ve got service right here.”

“Good. Find us a truck rental company.”

“It’s eleven-thirty at night!”

“This is a small town. Someone will have an emergency number listed, or a home phone number. Or maybe they live above the store. I’m betting we’ll get lucky.”

“And if not?”

“We’ll wake someone up and buy their car.”

“What’ll we use for money?”

“I’ve still got the five grand I stole back from you.”

“Would
you
sell your family vehicle for five grand?”

“No, but I’d lend it to someone for a thousand bucks. And they will, too.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then we’ll steal their car.”

“Are you for real?”

“You want to get away, right?”

“More than anything.”

“I’m taking you to Willow Lake.”

“Don’t tease me.”

“Call the truck places. We’re going to Arkansas. Tonight. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced we’ve got a fighting chance.”

“Because?”

“I was very careful buying the land. I did it over time, under a separate identity. Then waited years before building the house. When it was time, I used an out-of-state construction crew.”

“What identity have you been using there?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“Okay.”

“Jack Russell.”

She laughs.

He says, “It’s a name everyone remembers. Who’d make up a name like that?”

“Good point.”

“If we’re super careful, Bobby might not find us.”

“Please Jack. I’m taking this very seriously. Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not.”

“Then bless your heart!”

She smiles broadly, then fusses with the phone keys a minute. Then says, “I’ve found five listings.”

He leans over, kisses her cheek. “I’m sorry, Jill.”

“For what?”

“Drugging you. Kidnapping you. Being a lousy lover…”

“Here’s the great part: you’ll have lots of opportunities to make it up to me.”

“Especially the last part?”

“Especially that. Assuming we survive the night.”

“Call the truck places. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

She does, but they don’t. Get lucky, that is.

Jack says. “Check the GPS to see which one’s closest.”

After a moment, she says, “Foster’s Hardware.”

Jill navigates, Jack drives. When they get to Foster’s parking lot, he points to the house next door and says, “Perfect!”

“Why?”

“That’s his house. I guarantee it.”

“Who’s?”

“Mr. Foster, of course.”

“The same Mr. Foster who’s going to blow our heads off with his shotgun?” she says.

“These are country people. They’ll help us.”

“What country are
you
from, crazy man?”

“Stay put,” he says.

He turns off the engine, crosses the yard, climbs the porch steps, rings the doorbell.

Somewhere down the road a dog barks.

Then another.

And a third.

Jack rings the bell again.

A shadow moves quickly across the door. Before Jack can turn around and say,
What the hell?
a fist crashes into the base of his skull. He goes down in a heap, tries to scramble to his feet, but his equilibrium is off, and he falls back down. Sees a man preparing to kick him in the face, but also sees Jill coming up behind the guy with something in her hand. Something big, and heavy. Jack turns away from the kick and absorbs a glancing blow, but it’s enough to make him see stars. When he attempts to stand, he’s toppled by the guy who just kicked him, who’s been knocked cold by Jill.

“Are you okay?” she says.

“Never better!”

She laughs at his aplomb, pulls the guy off him, and says, “Omigod, he’s just a kid!”

“Kid?” Jack says. “This guy’s a professional boxer.”

“Don’t be silly. Look at him. He can’t be more than fifteen.”

Jack gets to his feet, stares at the kid in disbelief. “I’ll grant you he’s young, but he’s huge. And anyway, I think he hit me with a baseball bat.”

“Of course he did.”

The door suddenly bursts open, knocking Jack off-balance. His heel catches the porch step, and he falls backward, onto the sidewalk. A little old lady comes flying out the door, jumps on Jack and starts beating him with a rolling pin. He covers up, tries to buck her off, but she’s got her knees dug into his sides, and she’s spry. After raining countless blows on his arms, Jill steps in and hits her over the head the same way she hit the kid a moment ago.

Jack scrambles to his feet, drags the kid and old lady into the house, and turns on the lights. They’re in a small parlor. To the left is the kitchen. Laundry room’s to the right, hallway’s in the center. Hallway leads to the bedrooms and bath.

“What did you hit them with?” Jack says.

She holds up a jack handle.

“From the truck?”

“Uh huh.”

Jack says, “See if you can find something to tie them up.”

She heads to the kitchen, hears Jack shout, “Fuck!” and comes back to find a shriveled old man hitting Jack over the head with a cane. She throws herself into the old man’s knees. He goes down and hits his head on the floor hard enough to knock him unconscious.

“Jesus, Jack!”

“What?”

“Is there
anyone
you can beat up?”

“What are you
talking
about?”

“Brutus?”

“I wanted to see what you were up to.”

“The little old man?”

“I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“The little old lady?”

“Same thing.”

“The grandson?”

“Lucky punch.”

She crosses the floor, picks up the jack handle and says, “
You
find something to tie them up with. I’ll stand guard.”

Jack and Jill stand over the squirming bodies, surveying their work.

“What now?” she says.

“We take their car.”

“Whoa,” Jill says.

She motions Jack to follow her into the kitchen. When he does, she lowers her voice so the Fosters can’t hear. “We can’t just
leave
them here. Sooner or later they’ll get loose, call the cops, report their car stolen. Plus, they’ve seen us. They can identify us.”

“Any suggestions?”

“Unless you’re prepared to kill them, we’ll need to put them in the trunk and take them with us.”

“They could die in the trunk. Assuming they fit.”

“They’ll be fine till we get to the Baton Rouge airport.”

“Then what?”

“We’ll park in long-term. Then we walk away from the car, pop the trunk from a distance, and never look back. We’ll catch a cab to Memphis, catch another cab from there to Willow Lake.”

“Memphis is out of the way.”

“True. But that’ll make it harder for Bobby to track us down.”

“I like the way you think,” Jack says. “Let’s see if we can find the car keys.”

“And the car.”

“Right.”

The car turns out to be an eleventh-generation Oldsmobile Ninety-Eight. A classic.

“We’re in luck,” Jack says.

“Why?”

“Oldsmobile made eleven versions of the Ninety-eight. The final version was produced between 1991 and 1996. This model had nine more inches of trunk space.”

“Thanks, Mr. Wizard,” Jill says. “What I want to know is will it hold three coon asses?”

“I think so.”

“Then help me carry them.”

Jack gives her a mock salute.

When the bodies are loaded, he says, “If you need to use the bathroom, do it now.”

“I’m good. How about you?”

“Give me a sec.”

He goes to the kitchen, finds some paper and a pen, writes something on two pieces of paper, gives them to her.

“What’s this, a love letter?”

“Even better. The first page has my cell phone number, lake house address, and describes my cover story. I’m a builder, from Saint Louis, by the way. Oh, and we’re engaged. The second page is a letter I’ve written to Bill Cox, sheriff of Willow Lake. It gives you permission to use my home as long as you want, and to charge things on my credit card till I get there.”

“Credit card?”

He hands her one. “This is good up to ten thousand. Feel free to use it all, if you need to.”

“I thought we were going together.”

“We are. But just in case we get separated, or something goes wrong.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe we get stopped by the police and I get detained for a few days. Maybe we have a car wreck and I have to go to the hospital. Maybe—”

“Stop. I get the point.”

She folds the papers, puts them in her back pocket, and says, “This is thoughtful of you, Jack, but we’re not going to be separated. From here on out, I’m sticking to you like cold spaghetti.”

Heading west on I-12, Jack says, “Are you sure your Emma Wilson ID is clean?”

“Far as I know.”

He reaches in his jacket, hands it to her. She puts it in her jeans’ pocket.

“Is it stolen?” Jack says.

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean?”

“The real Emma Wilson would be my age if she were still alive, but she died in a car wreck on her ninth birthday.”

“She never paid taxes?”

“Nope.”

“Shit. And the only work history’s the Pancake House?”

“That’s the downside.”

Jack frowns. “If there’s an upside, I hope you’ll share it with me.”

“No one in Willow Lake will have any reason to check my ID too closely.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because we’ll be a couple. And they already know
you
.”

“You make it sound like you’re actually going to give us a try.”

“I said I would, and meant it.”

A car comes roaring up behind them, draws even, and honks.

“What now?” Jack says.

“He’s pointing to our trunk.”

“What about it?”

“I don’t know. Let’s pull over and check it out.”

Jack waves a thank you to the car, slows down, pulls over.

Jill jumps out, yells, “
Damn
it!” Then climbs back in the car and says, “We’ve got to get off the interstate, and quick.”

“Why?”

“The Fosters kicked both our tail lights out!”

“Shit!”

Jack takes the next exit, turns south.

“What’re you
doing
?” Jill says.

“There’s bound to be a right turn soon. It’ll take us straight to Baton Rouge.”

“I’m
from
here, remember?”

“So?”

“There
is
no right turn. Not till you get to French Settlement. We’re going
way
off course. They’ll have that trunk kicked open before you know it.”

“All the more reason not to go back to the interstate. What’s near here?”

“Nothing but swamps.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes, of course!”

“Then what the hell is that?” Jack says, pointing straight ahead.