Raising Demons (10 page)

“Sure,” the little boy said.

“He is
not
all right,” the woman said, pushing past me to grab the little boy. “He is
not
all right,” she insisted, her voice rising, “he's covered with blood.”

“Good lord,” I said helplessly.

“Where you hurt?” The woman began to run her hands frantically along the little boy, feeling the outside of his snowsuit. “You hurt in the head, like me?”

“No,” the little boy said, “I feel fine.” He smiled at me, and I smiled back nervously.

“There's blood on his
hand
,” the woman announced loudly. “Look, blood all over his hand.” She held up his hand and the man and I leaned forward and saw a small scratch and a little blood. The man wiped the blood off with his handkerchief and looked deeply at the scratch. “You hadn't ought to do that,” the woman told him. “Leave it for them to see.”

“I did it before, anyway,” the little boy said. “I did it over to Grandma's house, on the door.”

“It's awful,” the woman said hastily. She put her hand to her head. “I feel faint,” she said.

“I should think so,” I told her sweetly, “traveling at that rate of speed. We're supposed to call the state troopers,” I said to the man. “We can't move either of these cars, and no one can get past us along this road, and anyway an accident has got to be reported. Will you call them,” I said, “or shall I?”

He looked at his wife for a minute, and then said, “I'll do it.”

I watched with irritation as he looked again at his wife, and then moved off toward the nearest house. “Mom,” Laurie called, “can we get out
now
?”

“Just be patient,” I said. “Sing or something.”

Jannie struck up halfheartedly with “The Old Chisholm Trail,” and the woman said, “Are you insured?”

I opened my mouth and then shut it again, reminding myself of the explicit instructions on my insurance papers, instructions about not discussing an accident with any but properly constituted authorities. I turned instead to look at the damage to my car. “Junior's hurt bad,” the woman said as I walked away. The road was covered with bright fragments of chromium grillwork and broken glass, my fenders were crumpled unrecognizably, the front license plate leaned drunkenly sideways, bent almost double. “Oh, brother,” I said, thinking of my husband peacefully asleep at home. The other car gave a momentary impression of deep embarrassment, as though it were hoping to tiptoe away when no one was looking; it leaned backward, somehow, and it was not until I looked at it clearly now that I saw that what I had assumed from a brief glance earlier was wholesale destruction was actually the car's natural condition; the lopsided body and buckled doors were rusty, the back window had been broken long before this morning, and there were grounds for deep suspicion in the clothesline which held one door shut. “Got to keep an eye on you,” the woman said suddenly, from just in back of me, “see you don't tamper with the evidence.”

“I was thinking of lifting my car off the road and hiding it under a bush,” I said, regarding Junior, who was climbing over the front of my car, kicking off loose pieces of grillwork.

“Wouldn't put it past you,” the woman said, “ramming us like that. You better start looking for trouble, lady, because Junior's hurt bad and I hit my head on the windshield and I think I got a concussion.” She rubbed her head vigorously.

“Uh-huh,” I said, and made my way back to my own car and got into it and sat down.

“Mom,” Jannie said, “when we going home?”

“In a few minutes,” I said. “We have to wait until the police get here. The man's gone in to call them.”

“Boy,” Laurie said longingly, “I could sure get a good shot at that kid from here.”

I sighed, and nodded. I saw the man coming back and I rolled down the window and called to him, “Did you get the troopers?” He did not answer me, but addressed his wife. “I got ahold of Carmen,” he said, and she said, “Okay.” Then the man turned to me and said, “Don't worry, lady,” and looked again at his wife.

“Sergeant Smith of Homicide,” Laurie said. “Gotta sew this case up good, Inspector.”

“Crime,” Jannie pointed out conclusively, “does not pay.”

“Right as always, Watson,” Laurie said. “Jeeps, looka the hot rod.”

I blinked; this was surely not the state police? Then the man, who was still standing near my car with his wife, said, “Carmen,” and I was reassured. Carmen's car was perhaps slightly older than the one which had hit me, but it seemed resolutely to be hiding its age; Carmen's car was painted in glorious reds and whites, striped and gaudy; it looked like a chorus girl dressed as an automobile. “In my day,” I said irrepressibly, “they used to write things on them, like ‘Going my way?' and ‘This way out' and—”

“What?” Laurie said. “Write on
cars
?”

The driver of this amateur circus wagon, who was, presumably, Carmen, got himself out of it somehow, and came to stand next to the woman and man on the road. He glanced briefly at me, and then at my car, and reached out to touch the hood tenderly. “Sure did a job on
this
,” he said. “Sure did,” said the other man.

Carmen glanced thoughtfully at the other car, at the woman, who immediately rubbed her forehead, and then at Junior bouncing on what was left of my front bumper. “Anybody hurt?” he asked.

“Junior's all cut up,” the woman said.

“That so?” Carmen turned toward Junior. “Where you hurt, kid?” he asked, and silently the little boy held up his hand for inspection. “Yeah,” said Carmen. He shook his head. “Sure did a job on that car,” he said.

“I know him,” Laurie said suddenly. “Mom, I—”

“Shh,” I said.

“But Rob and me've seen him
hundreds
of times, and—”

“Here are the troopers at last,” I said thankfully. “
Now
we can get home soon.” The troopers' car was black and smooth and very official; its license read “State Police” and the men inside wore the wide hats and faintly gallant uniforms which I had seen before and admired secretly; I was a little shocked to see how
very
state-trooperish they seemed, but when they stopped their car and got out and came striding toward us, I opened the door of my car with a feeling which Laurie, in a whisper, expressed to perfection.

“
Jeepers
,” Laurie said.

“You suppose they ever caught a cattle rustler?” Jannie wanted to know.

“Daddy!” Mr. Beekman said with satisfaction.

The two troopers, who looked almost exactly alike and acted with almost identical motions, glanced at the other driver. “You the man called?” one of them asked, and the other driver nodded. Then both the troopers moved to look at the two cars and the debris in the road. One of them took out a notebook and pencil, and the other asked the questions; they glanced briefly at me, standing next to my car. By this time, anxious to co-operate fully with the law, I was holding in my hand my driver's license, my car registration, my insurance card, my gas credit card, and the receipt for a registered letter to a coin dealer which I had sent off several days before for my husband. “Anyone hurt?” the trooper asked.

“My little boy,” the other driver said swiftly, “he cut himself bad. My wife got a bad crack on her forehead, maybe a concussion. No one in the other car got even scratched.”

“Medical attention?”

“My cousin here, he's waiting to get them to a doctor. They wanted to stay, make sure everything was legal, first.”

“That's right,” said the woman. “Junior's all covered with blood, but we didn't want
her
getting away with anything.”

“Hey,” I said. I turned to the nearer of the troopers. “Look,” I began, hesitating because I was concentrating on not raising my voice, on sounding as reasonable as possible, “listen,” I said.

The other driver cut in smoothly. “Y'see, officer,” he said, “we were coming home from church, my wife and me and the baby, and coming along the road here like we do every day, and this lady here, and I'm not saying she was out of her senses with drink or anything, but she come along over this road maybe fifty, sixty miles an hour, and—”

“I did not,” I said flatly. “He—”

“Well, now,” Carmen began, “I don't want to make any trouble for the lady, and I suppose what I say favoring my own cousin won't count for much, anyway, but she's got to admit she was on the wrong side of the road. I noticed her around here a lot, that big car, and maybe she doesn't always care about what happens to other people.” He looked blandly at the trooper. “I guess that's what she's got insurance
for
,” he suggested.

“But he wasn't even
here
,” I said wildly.

Carmen and his cousin smiled understandingly at one another, and Carmen shrugged and said, “Not that I want to counterdict a lady, but
she
knows I saw what happened, and I guess I ought to kind of point out to her that it won't do no good to
lie
about it. I was right behind Verge here, following him down the road. From church,” he added faithfully.

The trooper looked at me. “Well?” he asked coldly.

“Teaching her little children to tell lies,” Carmen said sadly to his cousin, and they both nodded.

I stood there literally helpless with fury. I do not remember that I have ever been so angry in my life. Everything I tried to say ended in a gasp, and I gestured violently; perhaps the trooper thought I was reaching for a shoulder holster, because he took a step backward, and then Laurie spoke cheerfully from beside me. “Mommy's mad,” he said, “so
I
'll say what happened. Recognize that guy, sheriff?” He spoke over his shoulder to Jannie, nodding at Carmen at the same time.

“Sure do, cowboy,” Jannie said. “Toughest hombre in—”

“I'm the Black Knight of the Forest,” Laurie said graciously to the troopers, “and my squire and me recognized this fellow because we see him a lot, him and the guy he calls his cousin here, because they go up and down these back roads all the time, stealing horses.”

“Rustling cattle,” said the Black Squire.

“And one day we were playing in that old hot rod the guy has, and it's got a false bottom and the bottom's full of drug traffic.”

“Admirable, Watson,” said the Black Squire approvingly. “Cattle rustlers and addicts,
they
are. And the reason they waited till my mother came along here was they are planning to blow up the old bridge.”

“With stolen dynamite,” Laurie finished. He looked at me brightly and smiled; apparently the defense had rested its case.

“Old Cap'n Hook,” Sally shouted then from the back window of my car, “where's your crokkerdile, old Cap'n Hook?”

The troopers were regarding Laurie with sober attention, and I had the sudden first suspicion that they had not given entire belief to Carmen and Verge. “Officer,” I began calmly, “shall I try to describe what happened?”

“Yeah,” Carmen said loudly, “let's hear
her
tell it.” He looked at Verge and they laughed.

“Ramming into people,” the woman said. She rubbed her forehead and said “I ought to get to a doctor.”

“Hey, listen.” Junior spoke up suddenly. “Hey, listen, you guys.
Hoppy
's after these two, both.”

“Good work, kid,” Laurie nodded approvingly. “Our spy in the confederate camp,” he told the troopers.

“Oh?” Jannie twisted her face into a ferocious scowl. “Who let out Murphy's bull?” she asked sternly, and Junior retired behind his mother. “I ain't hurt,” he said distinctly.

“
And
they're moonshiners,” Laurie said.

“Hey,” said Carmen, grieved. He glared at Laurie. “Watch out who you're calling names, bud,” he said.

“Children,” I said, “get back in the car at once. My little boy,” I told the trooper, “is very excited. Naturally, the question right now is not the . . . ah . . . occupation of these gentlemen.” I smiled kindly on Carmen. “I was coming slowly along the road,” I said, “and when I got to this bad turn I slowed down, shifted into second, and blew the horn. As I came around the turn I saw this other car coming
quite
fast, and both cars skidded, and hit.
Then
,” I went on, “this gentleman went into that house over there and called his cousin and told him to come over.”

“Ask that guy does he have a license to drive,” Laurie said, putting his head out of the car window, “I
know
that hot rod, just
ask
him. Ask him about how his kid got kept after school for throwing stink bombs,
ask
him.”

“Cattle rustlers!”

“Where's your crokkerdile?”

“Well.” The trooper shook his head. “Let's get this thing straight,” he said. “This moonshiner was coming slowly along the road on his way home from church. Church?”

“Yeah,” said Verge without conviction.

“And this lady was coming around the turn at a speed of—”

“About fifteen miles an hour,” I said sharply.

“Gangsters!”

The trooper looked at Verge. “I guess so,” Verge said miserably.

“Train robbers!”

“And the driver of the third car, the hot rod, was—”

“About two, three miles back,” Carmen said hastily.

“And the lady was driving recklessly?” the trooper asked, his pencil poised delicately above his notebook.

Verge swallowed, looked at Carmen, and then down at the ground. “I guess we won't prefer charges,” Carmen said generously. “Give the lady a break on the whole thing, officer,” he said.

“Say, Lieutenant.” Laurie was out of the car again. “Like to have a look at my BB gun?” he asked.