Night Vision (27 page)

For the first time since she had met Harris Squires, a pleasant smile appeared on the man’s face. In that instant, Tula could see how the giant must have looked as a little boy. He had been a sweet child, probably, maybe a little shy. It caused the girl to wonder what had happened in this man’s life to make him mean and to do dirty things such as take photographs of naked women.

Squires replied, “Hercules, no shit? Well, it’s all about living clean and using the right vitamins,” as he plunged the needle into his bicep and emptied it.

He wasn’t done. He used two more syringes—one to load the steroids, a second needle to inject—and pinned a darker oil into the cablelike muscle that angled from his neck to his shoulder.

“Dianabol,” Squires said, sounding dreamy and satisfied, rolling his shoulders. “By God, I love a big hit of D-bomb. I don’t need any food now, I’m good to go.”

Tula watched the man, wondering what that meant as he added, “It’s twenty-some miles to Immokalee, but I don’t expect there to be much action on the streets. Not on a Wednesday. But if that’s what you want, let’s do it.”

Tula felt a thrill as the Maiden came into her head again, instructing the girl what to say next.

“We’ll go to the churches,” she told Squires. “On a Wednesday night, people will be praising God and singing. We will find people there who might know about my mother.”

Squires was shaking his head. “Where do you come up with this crazy crap? People don’t go to church on Wednesday nights, not even Catholics. Unless it’s to play bingo or some kind of shit. At least, they didn’t back when they made me go.”

“The Maiden speaks to me,” Tula told him, interested in the man’s reaction. “If she says it’s true, then it will happen.”

Saying it, the girl felt as if she was sharing a secret with Squires, something that increased the weight on her chest and gave her an odd sensation in her abdomen. It was a warm feeling, standing close enough to the giant now to touch her head briefly against his elbow just to see how he reacted.

This time, he didn’t yank his arm away. So Tula took another chance by placing her fingers on the man’s huge wrist as she told him, “We can trust the Maiden. Whenever I need guidance, she is always there for me.”

It felt strange to the girl, her fingers on a man’s skin, but Tula decided that she liked it.

Squires turned off the burner, then the lights, before padlocking the door closed. As they walked toward the RV, he said, “The Maiden ...? You mean that saint you mentioned? Don’t ever tell a shrink what you just told me. They’ll throw you in the damn loony bin. Which is probably where you belong.”

“Joan of Arc is my patron saint,” Tula said, her voice firm. “She
does
speak to me. Usually at night—that’s when the visions come to me.”

Irritated, Squires said, “Night visions, too. You’re even screwier than I thought. Listen, I don’t want to hear every damn detail. You talk too much.”

“But it’s true,” the girl said. “I see things that will happen in the future. Sometimes I see things during the day, too. But it’s better if I’m alone. For me, sitting in a tree is a nice place.”

Remembering that the girl had spied on him from a tree caused Squires to feel the dianabol he’d just injected accelerate to his temple, vessels throbbing. It created a blooming chemical anger in him, and he clenched his fists as he reconsidered what was happening.

Why the hell was he being nice to this crazy little
chula
? He brought her out here expecting to strip the girl’s clothes off, then have some fun. The little brat could send him to Raiford Prison if she wanted. At the very least, he should kill her.

But from the sick feeling Squires got just thinking about it, he knew he couldn’t do it. Maybe later but not now. The reasons had to do with the girl’s irritating kindness ... and also the haunting familiarity of her face.

Even so, it pissed him off the way this know-it-all wettail kept chattering away, so Squires decided to shut her up by saying, “I don’t want to burst your bubble,
chula
, but that Joan of Arc bullshit, it’s all just fairy-tale crap. You’re talking about the girl who carried a sword and dressed like a dude? It’s total bullshit.”

Instead of waiting for the girl to answer, he continued, “She’s a goddamn cartoon character, for Christ’s sake. Like Santa Claus and the Easter bunny. The Disney World people probably came up with that Joan of Arc stuff. What in the hell ever convinced you that she talks to you?”

Tula was a couple of steps behind Squires as they walked toward the RV, but she hurried ahead and grabbed the man’s wrist, which caused Squires to stop and peer down at her.

“Don’t ever say that again,” Tula told him, her expression fierce. “The Maiden is real. I can show you in the history books! She led King Charles’s army, carrying her banner and sword. She forced the English sinners out of France. At first, even the king didn’t believe that she was sent by God, but the Maiden proved it to him.”

Tula gave the man’s wrist as shake. “She was a great leader and her soldiers loved her. The Maiden lived a
pure
life. She died a virgin, as a woman without a husband should. Have you committed so many sins that you don’t want to believe such a good person could exist?”

Squires didn’t know what to say. He felt ridiculous, allowing himself to be lectured by this skinny little teenager with her boy’s haircut, breasts just beginning to blossom.

“And something else,” the girl continued, giving the man’s wrist another shake. “Stop calling me a
chula
. My name is Tula. Please show me respect. And no more profanity! It hurts me when you use those words. Why do you intentionally hurt me when you know I care for you? I want to help you to be happy again, but then you say such awful things!”

Harris Squires got a funny feeling in his throat when the girl said that. It was stupid to react that way, he knew it, but there it was.

He stood silently as he watched the girl march off toward the truck, then turn with hands on her hips before saying to him, “If we’re going to Immokalee, let’s go. But you can’t go like that—not into a church. You have to change your clothes.”

Squires growled,
“What?”
He was carrying his shirt in his hand, wearing baggy shorts and flip-flops.

The girl didn’t back down. “If you hadn’t thrown me into your truck this morning without even asking, I would have brought my extra shirt. But you have clean clothes hanging in the trailer. I saw them.”

Squires thought about arguing, maybe even threaten to slap the girl’s face to let her know who was in charge. But then he thought,
The hell with it
.

The little brat was exhausting. Besides, it wouldn’t kill him to get cleaned up a little. It might even make him feel better, because his shirt was soaked with sweat—he could smell its hormonal stink—and he hadn’t showered since almost having his ass eaten off by Fifi the night before.

“You mind if I take a little nap first?” he said to the girl, being sarcastic, but he meant it. He was suddenly very tired despite the fresh D-bomb juice and testosterone pulsing through him.

“Will you put those steel things on my wrists again, the handcuffs?” the girl asked. It made her nervous, the idea of being alone with the man in the trailer. He might start drinking again. Drink himself into a different mood, and Squires might even try to force her into his bed—Tula would have preferred a bullet in the head to the horror of a man’s hands on her body.

But then she studied the giant’s face, seeing how empty and tired he looked, and decided no, he would not hurt her. Not now, at least. So the girl added, “If you think you have to chain me, I won’t fight you. If it will allow you to sleep for a little while, I think it’s what you should do. I won’t mind.”

The Maiden had been imprisoned in chains, and Tula felt an unexpected thrill at the thought of sharing the experience. It was exciting, the prospect of being locked up alone, but safe with God and Jehanne in her head, while the giant slept nearby.

But the man disappointed her by saying, “If you promise to shut your mouth for a little bit, I don’t care what you do. Run off and get eaten by panthers, that’s your decision. Just stop your damn talking for a while. My ears are starting to hurt.”

Four hours later, when Squires exited the trailer wearing slacks and a polo shirt instead of shorts and flip-flops, his hair wet and slicked back, Tula tried to compliment him by saying, “You look very nice. Blue is a nice color, it shows your eyes. When you were sleeping, you looked so peaceful, I hated to wake you. But it’s getting late.”

The girl was nervous because Squires was carrying the iPhone she had used an hour ago to type a quick message to her
patron
, Tomlinson, while the giant slept. She had done it just to let him know that she was safe and not in trouble. It was the first text Tula had ever attempted and she had hit the sEND button accidentally before she was done.

Would the big man notice?

Tula watched Squires glance at the phone, then held her breath as he looked at it more closely.

“That’s weird,” he said, swiping his fingers over the screen. “Usually, I don’t get service out here at the camp, but it looks like someone called. No message, though—probably because of the shitty reception.”

Tula relaxed a little when the man swore again softly, adding, “It was Frankie, I bet. I bet she is one pissed-off chick. If I’m lucky, I won’t never see her again.”

As they approached the truck, the redheaded woman with muscles was still on Squires’s mind because he asked the girl, sounding serious, “Tell me something. At Red Citrus, you ever talk to Frankie? Did she ever try to get you off alone?”

“I saw her at the trailer park twice,” Tula said. “I had a bad feeling about her, though. So I stayed away from her.”

Squires was interested. “A bad feeling? What do you mean by that?”

“A feeling that there is something dark in the woman’s brain. That’s the only way I can explain it. She scared me. I’m glad you don’t want to see that woman again. I think she is a bad influence for you. And she’s too old, anyway. A man who looks like Hercules could choose any woman in the world. You should marry a nice woman. A young girl who cares about you and can cook you food.”

Realizing how that sounded, Tula threw her hand over her mouth, embarrassed.

But Squires didn’t appear to notice. Sounding like it was hard for him to believe, the man said, “That surprises me. Frankie never said even a single word to you?”

“Her eyes watched me when she saw me,” the girl replied. “I could tell she wanted to speak with me, but I didn’t give her the chance. Her eyes are very blue. I felt like she was trying to see through my clothing. And that there might be something bad inside her. Maybe evil, I’m not sure. So I stayed away.

The man appeared satisfied, maybe even relieved. “Good,” he said. “That was real smart of you. Never ever let that bitch get you alone.”

Squires grunted as Tula, getting into the truck, tried to buoy his spirits by saying, “There’s no need to worry about the redheaded woman now. The Maiden is my protector. Now she is your protector, too.”

“Sure, yeah, right,” the man replied. “Whatever you say, sis. But if you really want to impress me, try shutting that mouth of yours for a while.”

“You’ll see,” Tula insisted. “Jehanne is right about the churches tonight. We will find people there who can help us. And that woman—Frankie? Even if she is evil, you and I have nothing to fear.”

 

 

By the time
they’d spent a couple of hours in Immokalee, with its Circle Ks, tomato-packing warehouses and migrant housing, Squires had stopped trying to figure out how the weird little Jesus freak had gotten so famous among all these Mexicans who came out of the woodwork to see the girl, once word got around that she was in town.

Squires knew that the
chilies
back at Red Citrus had built some kind of voodoo-looking shrine to Tula. Why? He had no idea. But how did these Mexicans know about the girl way out here in cattle-and-tomato country, sixty miles from the Gulf beaches and his trailer park? Christ, Tula had been in Florida for only a week or so. Now here she was with strangers fawning over her like she was some kind of damn rock star.

Something else that surprised the man was that the Maiden—whoever the hell
she
was—was right about churches being open on a Wednesday. Not all, but a couple.

More likely, though, credit went to the strange little girl who heard voices but sat quietly, hands in her lap, during the twenty-mile drive from the hunting camp to this city linked to the outside world just by train tracks and a winding road.

The only time Tula had stirred was once when they passed a state trooper’s car going the other way. When the girl saw Squires’s knuckles go white on the steering wheel, she stroked his forearm and said, “If a policeman stops us, don’t worry, I’ll tell them you’re my friend. And that we’re looking for my mother. They’ll believe me. Know why? Because it’s the truth.”

Squires had tried to catch the news on the radio, hoping for an update on the dead woman they’d found. It was also in his mind that Tula could have been reported missing and that the cops might make the connection.

Hell, for all he knew, Frankie had blown the whistle on him herself, once she discovered that all their cash missing. Blame the dead girl’s body on him, that would be easy enough for Frankie to do—and maybe even try to prove it, the bitch was such a good liar.

But no luck with the radio—there were only FM stations out here in the boonies. So Squires decided, screw it, he would just go with the flow and stick with the girl. He couldn’t make himself kill his crazy little eyewitness, so maybe he was better off joining her. For now.