The Killing Kind (13 page)

March 23

He knew what he should do. It was what any sane person would do. He slowed slightly as a side road came up on the right, eyeing the potential path to freedom with a mixture of longing and trepidation. The old Tercel was some twenty yards ahead of him and had already passed the side road. He eased off the gas some more, hanging back a little as he thought about it. He still had time. A few precious seconds. He could whip the Galaxie in that direction, put the pedal down, and be on his way out of this madness. It was a tantalizing thought. He imagined Lindsey, Charlene, and his uncle Bill seeing this situation through his eyes, watching it like a scene in a suspense movie, sitting on the edge of their seats and loudly urging him to take the turn.

The Galaxie rolled past the side road. He spared it one last yearning look and returned his attention to the road ahead. The Tercel had slowed some, too. Roxie was probably watching him in the rearview mirror, waiting to see what he would do. What would she have done if he’d tried to flee? Probably execute a wide, gravel-and-dust-spewing turn and come after him at high speed. She couldn’t just let him go. Could she? He was a witness to several brutal murders. He could testify against her. Put her on death row. Why in hell would she risk that? It made no sense. He thought about it
some more as he pushed the gas pedal down and narrowed the gap between the two cars.

He decided he was wrong. What Roxie was doing made no sense from the perspective of a normal, rational person. But she wasn’t normal. Or rational. She was the most reckless person he’d ever met. So in a way, what she was doing made perfect sense. It was part of a larger pattern of wild unpredictability. Also, she seemed utterly fearless and confident. She wasn’t worried about the possibility of Rob calling the law down on her because she was absolutely certain he wouldn’t do that. Didn’t doubt it for even a second.

And the hell of it was…she was right.

He might yet flee. He was still alone behind the wheel of the Galaxie. He wasn’t out of escape opportunities just yet. But even if he ran, he would do nothing more than return to his old life, covering his absence with a story about a wild bender to mollify his friends and loved ones. He would never tell the cops about Roxie or any of the things she’d done. Sure, she deserved to face some kind of justice for those things. And maybe one day that would happen. Hell, it was probably inevitable. She couldn’t run from that long trail of dead bodies forever. But it didn’t matter. Not right here and now. All Rob knew for sure was he would not be the reason it happened.

Not after last night.

Memories of the long evening of carnal indulgence made him shiver with renewed desire.
Holy shit.
S
eriously, holy…fucking…shit.
He had been with seven other women prior to Roxie, had no real bedroom complaints about all but one of them (the exception being weird Miss Carmichael, his sophomore English teacher). But nothing in his past matched the sheer erotic intensity of sex with Roxie. She was beyond wild, like a frenzied animal at times, and yet not out of control. She knew what she was doing and was able to manipulate
him to the brink and back again over and over. She bruised and wounded his body, leaving scratches and bite marks all over his torso. He got hard again as he thought about what it had been like to penetrate her as she writhed and growled beneath him, her eyes alight with a fierce and intimidating hunger.

Holy ever-loving goddamn…

The Tercel started slowing down.

Rob gave his head a hard shake to clear the erotic memories and tried to focus on the task at hand. They were on a narrow and winding rural back road, a route Roxie had selected after careful consultation of an atlas. The road was very lightly traveled. They had passed only one other vehicle for the last three miles, a lumbering old pickup driven by a hunched-over elderly man. The road wasn’t just off the beaten path, it was the highway to the middle of fucking nowhere. At least it seemed that way. Considering what she had in mind, Roxie had chosen wisely. Of course, what she had in mind was more violent madness and he wasn’t too thrilled about that, but he couldn’t say he didn’t know what he was in for by this point. Nope, he was going into this with his eyes wide open, with the full knowledge that something horrible would be happening very shortly.

The Tercel continued to slow down. Rob craned his neck and saw another narrow side road coming up on the left. Roxie put on the Tercel’s blinker and slowed almost to a full stop. Rob laughed, the blinker being sort of unnecessary. She turned left down the little road and Rob followed her lead, leaving the gravel rural route for a rutted dirt passage that was more like a path through the woods than an actual road. The road was rough on the Galaxie’s old frame, and Rob winced at every bump and jounce.

The dense line of trees to either side of the road seemed to grow taller the deeper they plunged into the woods, almost to the point of blotting out the sky. The path widened
a little at one point, and Rob was unsurprised when Roxie chose to stop there. She parked the Tercel and Rob pulled in behind her. He turned the key backward in the ignition, silencing the rumbling engine. He got out and stretched, tired from the long hours of driving.

The Tercel’s driver-side door popped open and Roxie stepped out. She was wearing the same tight T-shirt and jeans she’d worn the previous day. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes traced the luscious lines of her body. The memories stirred again. His hands flexed. Instinct. He could almost feel her soft flesh beneath his fingers. She saw him looking and smiled.

He smiled back.

Then he saw the gun tucked into the waistband of her jeans and the smile faded. He remembered why they were out here and a renewed sense of bleakness colored his perceptions, temporarily dampened his desire for her.

She came to him and put her arms around him, held him very close, let him feel the weight of the gun against his belly. She smiled. “You almost ran, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “No. Not really. Thought about it. It was never really gonna happen.”

Her smile brightened. “Good.”

He was getting hard again. Crazy. Even now, knowing what was about to happen, he wanted her. Wanted her bad. He cleared his throat. “Roxie…”

She laughed, touched a finger to his lips. “Time for fun later. Business first.”

She let go of him and walked over to the Tercel’s trunk, twirling a ring of keys on an upraised index finger. The keys belonged to the person locked inside the trunk. A man who was about to die. Roxie whistled a perky tune as she stood there with one hip cocked out and sorted through the keys. She found the right one and opened the trunk. The man lying in that dark space reached out to her with a shaky, pasty
hand, which she knocked away. She tugged the gun out of her waistband, stepped back, and pointed it at him.

“Get out, fucker.”

A sob emerged from the trunk.

Roxie’s posture became more rigid and she thrust the gun toward the trunk. “
GET THE FUCK OUT RIGHT FUCKING NOW
,
FUCKER
!”

Rob cringed, his ears ringing.

More sobs came from the trunk, but now the man grasped the rubber-covered lip of the trunk and started to haul himself out. Rob’s heart began to race, the harsh reality of what was happening hitting him again. A man was about to be murdered and he had no intention of doing anything to prevent it. His conscience jeered at him.
Still think you’re not a monster, asshole?

Rob felt like crying, but his eyes remained dry. Actual tears would only deepen his shame. The voice of his conscience was right. There was no way to absolve himself of his complicity in this heinous act. This was wrong. Flat-out fucking wrong. So that made him a bad guy. Okay, yeah, he wasn’t the one pulling the trigger, but big deal. He was letting it happen, which made him just as bad as Roxie.

The man was out of the trunk now. He stood up straight and blinked against the bright sunlight. He was a pudgy guy in his thirties. He wore dirty jeans and a wrinkled old
Star Wars
T-shirt. The guy looked at the gun and whined. He was pathetic. The aging nerd had probably been getting his ass handed to him since grammar school. Why should the last day of his miserable life be any different?

He had been a ridiculously easy mark. An hour of cruising the tawdrier parts of Starkweather, North Carolina, had led them to an apartment complex called the Shire, a name that elicited predictable giggles from Roxie. The complex was not a hive of activity that early on a working day. Most of the parking spaces were empty. Just one car had been
parked outside of building G, the beat-up old Tercel belonging to Mr. Lucky here. He’d come out of his apartment and approached his car at just the wrong time (for him). It was stunning how fast it happened. The fat moron just gaped stupidly at Roxie as she leaped out of the Galaxie and brandished the gun at him. She whipped the gun across his face, snapping teeth and drawing blood. Then she snatched his keys from his hand, got the Tercel’s trunk open, and shoved him inside. It had all happened in just over a minute, and no one had seen a thing. No one inclined to do anything about it anyway. Roxie took the Tercel and Rob followed her to a nearby gas station, where Roxie purchased the atlas and outlined her plans. So now they had their new car.

And one last loose end to tie up.

Roxie waved the gun toward the line of trees on her right. “That way, fucker.”

The man glanced at the woods, licked his lips, and looked at Roxie again. “You’re about to kill me. Aren’t you?”

Roxie snickered. “Fatty wins the prize.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere. And the name’s Greg, not Fatty.”

Roxie glowered at him. “I care why?”

Greg sucked up his courage and sneered at her. “Don’t you think you should know the name of the person you’re killing? Maybe it makes it a little less impersonal, right? Like you’re killing an actual human being instead of a thing.” He shook his head. “I’m not a thing. You can’t kill me with no more thought than you’d give to squashing a bug.” His bottom lip began to tremble again. “It isn’t right. So you can just shoot me here, bitch. I’m not doing a death march for you.”

Roxie whipped the gun across his face, staggering him, then swung it back around for another blow. He fell back against the trunk and Roxie shoved the .38’s barrel deep inside his open mouth. She leaned close to him, spraying his sweat-sheened face with spittle as she pushed out a string of
tightly enunciated words: “You fuck. You fat fucking fuck. You’re less than a bug. You’re
nothing.
Think I can’t make this hard, you fucking geek? Think I can’t make you beg? Start walking or you’ll find out just how low I can take you, bitch.”

She stepped away from him and grabbed him by the neck, shoved him toward the woods. He staggered in that direction, cried out, glanced once over his shoulder, and kept walking. He was broken. It was painfully easy to see. He would do whatever Roxie said from this point on, despite knowing there was no way to alter the final outcome of his desperate plight.

Rob followed them into the woods. This patch of wilderness was thick with wildly growing vegetation. There were leafy vines, plants, and bushes everywhere. He was thankful for his jeans and long sleeves. He couldn’t identify poison oak or ivy by sight, but there were enough prickly, strangely shaped leaves about to worry him. As always, Roxie just barged ahead, completely heedless of the potential dangers of nature. Rob hung back several feet, watching Roxie and the condemned man with a wary eye. He kept expecting Greg to bolt, maybe catch them by surprise and hope to get far enough away to seek cover in the woods. It was what Rob would do in his position. What other option was there? It would be futile, of course. The guy was fat and slow. Roxie was young and fit. She would pursue him, eventually take him down. Maybe she was hoping Greg would make a break for it. Hell, she would probably enjoy chasing her quarry through the woods, safe in the knowledge there was no way he could successfully elude her for long.

Roxie glanced over her shoulder at Rob. “Look at this fuck, Rob. All that fucking blubber. It’s disgusting, right?”

“I…guess.”

Roxie snorted and turned her attention back to Greg, whose already plodding pace was slowing by the minute. “Damn right it is. We should call Sea World, let them know
one of their whales escaped. Hey, Greg. How did you get so far inland? You some kind of amphibian mutant humpback piece of shit?”

Greg didn’t say anything, just kept shuffling forward.

Roxie laughed.

The mocking cruelty disturbed Rob, but it didn’t surprise him. This was an absolutely unrepentant, cold-blooded killer. Cruelty was deeply ingrained in her nature. Greg was going to die. No doubt about it. Still, he should be allowed some small measure of dignity. Rob briefly considered voicing this opinion and immediately thought better of it. It wouldn’t help Greg. And it might earn him a world of grief in the bargain. So he kept his mouth shut and kept walking, did his best to tune out her relentless barrage of belittling insults.

Sweat dampened the fabric of his shirt beneath the armpits. Rob wasn’t sure how long they’d been out here or how far they’d come. Long enough to work up a sweat, anyway. A glance over his shoulder confirmed they’d come far enough to lose all sight of the road and the cars. They were surrounded by wilderness. It made him feel claustrophobic, which was an odd thing to feel in the “great outdoors.” They kept trudging forward. Another sweat stain spread across the back of his shirt, causing the fabric to adhere to his flesh. Then, just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, they arrived at a place where there was a bit more space between the tightly bunched trees, a sort of miniclearing.

“You can stop now, whale boy.”

Greg was barely moving by this point. Coming to a halt required minimal effort. He stopped in his tracks and stared up at a tree directly ahead of him. Dim, unintelligible words emerged from his mouth.

Roxie giggled. “He’s
praying.
“