Big trouble, p.14
Big Trouble, page 14
"Which is?" asked Leonard.
"Which is, I'm gonna take our boy out."
"Now?" asked Leonard. "While he's attached to a cop?"
"Yup," said Henry. "The cop can't do anything to us, cuffed to that thing. And I wanna get this job over with and get outta here. The longer we stay down here, the weirder it gets."
"You got that right," said Leonard. "This is Weirdsville Fuckin' USA, this town."
"So we're gonna do this," said Henry, raising his rifle, "and then we're bookin' to the airport."
"Amen," said Leonard, flailing futilely at a mosquito. "Airport sounds real good to me."
Roger the dog was not sure what to do. On the one hand, he had the Enemy Toad to growl at. But he also had people coming toward him from inside the house, and they might have food. Plus, the other people, the ones he'd greeted earlier at the far end of the yard, had come closer. Roger recalled, somewhere in his primitive brain circuitry, that these people had tasted pretty good. Maybe he should check them out again! But what about the toad? What about the people in the house? So many decisions!
Walter tried to slide the patio door open; it was locked, with the kind of lock that requires a key to open.
"Where's the key?" he asked Arthur.
"I dunno," said Arthur. He was very unhappy. His wrist was bleeding, from where the handcuff chafed.
"OK, then," said Walter, shoving the entertainment unit so it was parallel to the patio door. "On three, we're gonna smash this through the door."
"Like fuck we are," said Arthur.
Walter braced himself. "One," he said.
"What're they doing?" asked Leonard.
"They're making an excellent target," said Henry, sighting through the rifle scope.
"Two," said Walter.
"This is glass, you moron!" said Arthur. "You're gonna get us killed!"
"Three," said Walter, and with all his considerable strength he toppled the entertainment unit forward. At exactly that moment, two things happened. One was that Henry squeezed the trigger. The other was that Roger, having decided that he had just enough time in his busy schedule to check in with his new friends, ran headfirst into Henry's groin. The result was that the bullet, instead of passing through Arthur's skull, passed just over it. It could be argued that this was actually unfortunate for Arthur, in light of what happened next, which was that Arthur, dragged by the heavy steel shelf through the shattering window, was hurled forward headfirst to the patio, where he landed, dazed, facedown in Roger's dish, with his lips and nose pressed firmly against the Enemy Toad.
The toad, which was not about to share Roger's food, immediately emptied the glands behind its eyes, emitting two substantial, milky, highly hallucinogenic squirts of bufotenine directly into Arthur's face. Arthur moaned and yanked his head out of the dish. The toad went back to eating.
Henry and Leonard were heading for the wall, not running, but walking briskly in the dark.
"You get him?" asked Leonard.
"I think so," said Henry. "The dog ran into me, but I definitely saw our boy go down."
"Cop went down, too," said Leonard.
"Yeah," said Henry. "I think he ducked when he heard the shot."
"You got any idea why a cop would be helpin' our boy carry a big-ass shelf around the house?" asked Leonard.
"No," said Henry.
"Weirdsville Fuckin' USA," said Leonard.
"What kinda street name is Garbanzo?" asked Greer. He was reading the map; Seitz was driving. "Listen to these other streets they got here. Loquat. Kumquat. You believe that? Kumquat. Turn left here. You think they got our suitcase?"
"Sure sounds like it," said Seitz. "I mean, we been wrong before on this, but I tend to believe old Ivan was telling the truth."
"Me, too," said Greer. "He definitely did not wanna get his other shoe ventilated. That's it there, 238 Garbanzo, on the ... What happened to the gate?"
"Somebody left in a hurry," said Seitz.
"Goin' where, I wonder," said Greer.
"Let's hope somebody inside can help us with that," said Seitz.
Walter was crouched in a pile of shattered glass, struggling to right the entertainment unit. He was getting no help from Arthur, who was still prone on the other side, moaning and rubbing his burning face with his free hand.
"Come ON," Walter said, shaking the shelving. "Get UP."
"My face!" moaned Arthur. "It got my face!"
"Well, whatever it is," said Walter, "we can get you some help if we get this thing ... "
"GET AWAY!" Arthur screamed. "OHMIGOD GET AWAY FROM ME!"
Arthur was screaming at Roger, who was a few feet in front of him, enthusiastically snorking up a few pieces of kibble that had flown out of his dish when Arthur's face landed in it. Hearing the screams, Roger glanced up for a moment and wagged his tail to let Arthur know that he would be over to say hi just as soon as he had completed the important work at hand.
"For chrissakes," said Walter. "It's a dog. It's your dog."
Arthur turned to Walter, his face contorted by terror. "Can't you SEE?" he said. "You can't SEE her?"
"See what?" asked Walter. "What're you talking about?"
"HER!" said Arthur. "It's HER!!"
"Who?" asked Walter.
"THAT WOMAN!" said Arthur, pointing at the happily wagging Roger. "The one with the guy, you know ... Bob Dole! His wife!"
Walter looked at Arthur, then at Roger, then back at Arthur. He said, "You think that's Elizabeth Dole?"
"YES!" said Arthur. "IT'S HER!" He was looking right at her, and she was definitely Elizabeth Dole, a woman he had always found vaguely scary, right in front of him, on his patio. But at the same time she was not Elizabeth Dole. She had Elizabeth Dole's face and highly disciplined hair, but her eyes were glowing red malevolent orbs, and she had huge, sharp teeth. Also she was eating kibble. Arthur knew—he knew—that she was a demon form of Elizabeth Dole, and she was here to take his soul.
"GO AWAY!" Arthur screamed at the demon Elizabeth Dole. She stared back at him, her eyes glowing, her demon tail wagging. She opened her fanged mouth and spoke to him, spoke his name in a terrible voice.
"Herk!" said Elizabeth Dole. "Herk! Herk!"
"NO!" said Arthur, jerking violently on his handcuffed arm, trying to crawl backward. "NO!"
"STOP IT!" said Walter. "That's a DOG, goddammit!" But he got no response from Arthur, who was staring at Roger, whimpering. He had also started foaming from the mouth. Walter, realizing that he was not going to get any help, grabbed the entertainment unit and started to lift it, and with it Arthur at the other end. Grunting, he raised it a foot, only to drop it again when he heard the voice behind him.
"You OK there, officer?"
Walter twisted around and saw two men, one tall and one short, both wearing suits, standing in the gaping hole that had been the sliding door.
"Who're you?" he asked.
The tall one flipped open a badge wallet.
"FBI," he said. "My name is Agent Pat Greer. This is Alan Seitz."
"Thank God," said Walter. "Listen, I need you to ... "
"We're looking for an Arthur Herk," said Greer.
"That's him over there," said Walter, pointing toward Arthur. "But listen, I need you to ... "
"Not now," said Greer.
"But my partner is ... "
"I said not now," said Greer.
Walter almost lost it at that point, but he decided that, what with him being handcuffed, and this being an FBI agent, he'd shut up for the moment.
Greer moved over to Arthur, who was still staring at Roger, who, having snorked up the last subatomic particles of kibble, was reverently licking the place on the patio where it had once been.
"Mr. Herk," said Greer.
Arthur slowly turned his head to look at Greer. His pupils were the size of dimes.
"Mr. Herk," said Greer, "I'm with the FBI, and I need you to tell me where the suitcase is."
Arthur opened his mouth, releasing a streamer of foamy drool, which dribbled down onto his collar.
"Mr. Herk," said Greer, "did you hear me? This is very important."
Arthur slowly closed his mouth, then opened it again and said, "She wants my soul. Don't let her take my soul."
"Don't let who take your soul?" asked Greer.
"Her," said Arthur, pointing at Roger. Roger wagged his tail.
"The dog r asked Greer.
"He thinks the dog is Elizabeth Dole," explained Walter.
"Jesus," said Greer, rubbing his face. To Seitz, he said, "Whaddya think?"
Seitz peered into Herk's deranged eyes. "He's gone," he said, "and I don't think he's coming back anytime soon."
Greer said to Walter, "Listen, we have reason to believe that Mr. Herk had a suitcase, probably made out of metal, very heavy. Did you see that suitcase?"
Walter thought for a moment. "Yeah," he said, "they had a suitcase. They took it."
"Who's they?" asked Greer, although he was pretty sure he knew, from what John had told him.
"Some scumbag, goes by 'Snake,' " said Walter.
"Him and another scumbag was here when we got here, me and my partner. He had a gun, which is how I got ... I mean, they surprised us. They took this guy's daughter"—he gestured toward Arthur—"and some little guy with a beard. The little guy carried the suitcase. They took our car. My partner went after 'em with this guy's wife."
"Where'd they go?" asked Greer.
"Airport," said Walter. "MIA. The scumbag said he was gonna catch a plane."
"He say where to?" asked Seitz.
"No," said Walter. "Fact is, Monica, that's my partner, was just guessin' it was MIA."
Greer and Seitz looked at each other.
"Whaddya think?" said Greer.
"I think we go to MIA," said Seitz.
"Me, too," said Greer. To Walter, he said, "Keep this man in custody for us, will you?" He turned to go.
"Hey!" said Walter. "You can't leave me here like this!"
"I'm sorry," said Greer, "but we gotta go."
"BUT I'M A POLICE OFFICER," said Walter.
"I know that," said Greer. "I know you're an excellent police officer, because I can't think of any other explanation for the fact that you're handcuffed to an entertainment unit that's handcuffed to a man who thinks a dog is Elizabeth Dole. But we really gotta go." With that, he and Seitz went back into the house.
"COME BACK HERE GODDAMMIT!" yelled Walter.
Arthur was still watching Roger. "She's gonna get me," he said. "I can feel it." He turned to Walter. "She's gonna get you, too."
"Herk! Herk!" said Elizabeth Dole.
"Turn right!" shouted Snake. "You can't see the fuckin' sign?"
The stolen police cruiser was northbound on Le Jeune, in the far left lane. Eddie, who had been too busy watching the road right in front of him to notice the Miami International Airport sign, yanked the wheel to the right, swerving across three lanes of traffic, cutting off a cab that braked, tires screaming, then spun sideways into the path of a battered 1963 Ford pickup truck carrying a large wooden crate. The truck hit the cab broadside and plowed it ahead a few feet, then came to a smoking stop. The impact caused the crate to topple out of the truck bed and onto Le Jeune, where it was sideswiped by a Toyota Tercel, breaking it open and releasing its occupants, eight goats. The goats had been destined for sale in Hialeah, for use in ritual sacrifices by practitioners of the Santeria religion, but for now they were free goats, wandering among the swerving, honking traffic.
Oblivious to the chaos he had caused behind him, Eddie veered onto the airport access road, where he was confronted by a parade of signs displaying information about parking, rental-car returns, terminals, and other matters Eddie knew nothing about.
"Which way?" he asked.
Snake, who was also not a frequent flyer, studied the signs, looking for some reference to the Bahamas, but seeing none.
"Just keep goin'," he said.
"OK," said Eddie, "but up here we gotta pick a road, Arrivals or Departures."
To Snake, it seemed like a trick question. On the one hand, he thought maybe they should go to Arrivals, because they were arriving at the airport. On the other hand, they wanted to depart from the airport, so maybe they should go to Departures. Snake thought about asking the girl, but he didn't want to admit that he didn't know, plus she looked pretty much zoned out. Finally, he decided just to take a stab at it.
"Departures," he said.
"Departures it is," said Eddie, swerving again.
When Detective Harvey Baker arrived at the Herk address, he noted that the driveway gate was lying across the sidewalk, and that the police cruiser wasn't there. He parked on the street and walked up the driveway. The front door was open. He stood on the doorstep for a moment and listened; there were footsteps coming toward him through the house. Removing his revolver from his shoulder holster, he stepped to the side of the door and waited. The two men emerged from the house, walking quickly.
"Hold it," said Baker. "Police."
The men stopped and turned to face Baker. The taller one sighed.
"We're FBI," he said.
"Can you prove that?" asked Baker.
"If you let me get out my badge, yes," said Greer.
"Very slowly," said Baker.
Greer took out the badge wallet and flipped it open. Baker glanced at it and bolstered his gun.
"I'm Detective Harvey Baker, Miami PD," he said.
"I'm Agent Greer," said Greer. "This is Agent Seitz. I don't want to be rude, Detective, but we can't stay."
"Can you tell me what's going on here?" asked Baker.
"To be honest," said Greer, "no."
Greer and Seitz started down the driveway. Baker followed them.
"Hey, wait a minute," he said.
"We don't have a minute," said Greer, over his shoulder.
Baker grabbed Greer's arm and spun him around.
"Well, make a minute," Baker said.
"Detective," said Greer. "We're dealing with an extremely important federal matter here, and I'm very sorry, but we don't have time to explain it to you." He and Seitz turned and started walking again.
"Hold it right there," said Baker.
Greer and Seitz looked back. They both stopped walking, because Baker had his gun back out.
Greer said, "You're making a very big mistake, Detective."
"Listen," said Baker. "I don't know why you're here. But I'm here because I got two police officers who I sent here, who have not reported in, and now I come here and find the gate busted down and the door open and you two here, and I wanna know what's going on, now, and if you don't tell me, I'm gonna arrest you, and you can stick your important federal matter right up your federal ass."
Greer looked at Seitz. Seitz shrugged.
"OK," said Greer. "We'll tell you. But it has to be on the way to the airport. You can ride with us."
"Are my officers at the airport?" asked Baker.
"One is," said Greer. "The one you should be worried about."
The Kia, with Monica at the wheel, rocketed north on Le Jeune at eighty miles per hour, thirty-five over the speed limit. Monica was leaning on the horn and pretty much disregarding traffic signals. Matt, next to her, his feet braced hard on the floor, was trying not to look scared. In the backseat, Niña was praying softly in Spanish. Anna was weeping, her body shaking. Eliot, not sure whether this was the right thing to do, put his arm around her shoulder.
"She's gonna be all right," he said.
"You don't know that," Anna said. "You didn't see that man, the way he ... he ... " Anna lost it there, thinking about Snake, with his hands on Jenny.
"They can't get far," said Eliot, feeling a little guilty about the way part of his brain was thinking how good it felt to have his arm around her. "I mean, this is a city, there's police everywhere."
"He's right," said Monica, veering wide to pass a bus. "My partner will report it, and those guys'll be in custody by the time we get to the airport. "I hope, she added to herself. She was wondering if she shouldn't have made sure Walter could get loose, or taken the time to call it in herself. She was also wondering if she was right about the airport.
"Anybody got a cell phone?" she asked.
"I do, but not with me," said Anna. "Why?"
"Never mind," said Monica. "We're almost at the airport. We'll call from ... shit."
Ahead, traffic was stopped. People were getting out of their cars. One man had climbed on the roof of his car to see what the problem was. Up ahead, in the space between the lines of cars, a small, dark shape skittered sideways, into and then out of view, followed by a running man.
Matt said, "Was that a goat?"
The cruiser drifted slowly along with traffic on the roadway next to the Miami International Airport terminal. Snake tried to comprehend the signs announcing a bewildering array of airline names—TAM, LTU, Iberia, KLM, BWIA, Lacsa—none of which gave any hint, at least not to Snake, as to where they went.
Snake saw an empty stretch of curb to the left, next to a parking garage under construction. It was supposed to have been finished a year earlier, but it was being built by Penultimate, Inc., which was far behind schedule, and way over cost, because large pieces—Penultimate blamed incompetent subcontractors—kept falling off. The garage entrance was blocked by barricades, which were also provided by Penultimate at a cost of nearly three times per barricade what the other barricade suppliers had bid.
"Over there," Snake told Eddie, pointing to the entrance.
Eddie pulled the cruiser up to a barricade. He looked back at Snake.
"Move that thing and drive in there," said Snake.
Eddie, no longer arguing with Snake about anything, moved the barricade, drove the cruiser into the unfinished, dimly lit garage, then got out of the car. For a moment, standing outside, he thought about running, but he saw Snake watching him through the rear window. He got back into the cruiser.
"Now gimme your sweatshirt," said Snake.
Eddie started to say something, then took off his sweatshirt. It had once been light blue, but was now basically the color of grime. Underneath he wore a T-shirt that may once have been white, although at this point there was no way to tell. He handed the sweatshirt back to Snake, who draped it over the gun in his right hand. With his left, he gripped the back of Jenny's neck and forced her head downward, so that her eyes were a foot from the gun barrel.
