The Devil's Graveyard

Dear Reader,

It is never safe to make assumptions.

In particular, it is never safe to make assumptions about things that may or may not appear to be safe.

Almost certainly, they are not.

A
NONYMOUS

By the same author:

This particular ‘Anonymous’ is the author of
The Book With No Name
and
The Eye of the Moon
, in which the reader will find the further adventures of the Bourbon Kid (with a few rips in the fabric of time).

Michael O’Mara Books Limited

First published in Great Britain in 2010 by

Michael O’Mara Books Limited

9 Lion Yard, Tremadoc Road

London SW4 7NQ

This electronic edition published 2010 by Michael O’Mara Books Limited

Copyright © The Bourbon Kid 2010

The right of the author (under the accredited pseudonym The Bourbon Kid) to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 978-1-84317-504-9 in Epub format

ISBN: 978-1-84317-505-6 in Mobipocket format

Designed and typeset by www.glensaville.com

Cover design by Ana Bjezancevic

Cover image: www.shutterstock.com

www.mombooks.com

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Eleven

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Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

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Twenty-Nine

Thirty

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Thirty-Nine

Forty

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Forty-Nine

Fifty

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Fifty-Nine

Sixty

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Sixty-Five

Shee-IT! Sure was true that there ain’t no substitute for cubes. The big-inch mill in this mutha could
pull…

Johnny Parks was finally fulfilling a lifelong dream. Driving down a desert highway in the early morning, at over a hundred miles an hour, was exhilarating. The fact that he was in a police squad car pursuing an infamous serial killer in a black Pontiac Firebird just added to the buzz.

The car radio crackled into life and the Chief’s voice came through loud and clear for the third time in the last two minutes.

‘Repeat, all units pull back. Do
not
pursue fugitive into the Devil’s Graveyard! Acknowledge – that’s a goddam order!’

Johnny’s partner in the shotgun seat, Neil Silverman, reached down and twisted the volume control on the radio until, one by one, the sound of the other officers acknowledging the message died away. The two cops shared a smile and a nod. As they did so, they sped past a giant sign at the roadside. It read:

Johnny watched in his rearview mirror as the other seven squad cars strung out behind them stopped, turned tail and drove away.
Gutless bastards
. This was his moment –
well, his and Neil’s
, he supposed. Neither of them would normally have been involved in such a high-profile chase, but so many other officers had been killed that morning, they had been called into action. Both men were in their early twenties and had graduated from the Academy together just six months earlier. Neil had been the best shot on the pistol range, and was definitely going places in the force. As for Johnny, he was just excited to be driving the ace marksman along the highway. This was his big chance to make a name for himself. If anyone was going to take down the driver of the Firebird it would be his buddy Neil – which was why Johnny was so eager to keep up the chase a little while longer, even though it meant defying the Chief’s order.

With the harsh glare from the desert sun in his eyes, Johnny was struggling to keep control of the car as they inched up to the Firebird. Navigating the highway, with its drifts of sand and gravel, while trying to intercept a madman who’d rammed at least three other vehicles off the road that morning took all the skill he had.

If Neil was the best young marksman on the force, then Johnny considered himself to be the best driver. He had been a fanatical stock-car racer as a teenager, practising for hours on a specially built dirt track at his father’s farm, and winning many races at the local track. It was his driving skills that had landed him his fiancée Carrie-Anne, the head cheerleader at his high school. They were expecting their first child any day now. So if Johnny could capture the fame and fortune that would come with being part of the double act that took down the Bourbon Kid, then his soon-to-be-born child would have a father to be proud of.

‘
Come on, Johnny!
I can’t get a clear shot from here!’ Neil yelled, aiming his revolver out of the open window. ‘Get closer!’

Johnny put his foot down on the accelerator and tried to pull the front of their squad car level with the rear of the Firebird.

‘You aimin’ for the tyres?’ he shouted above the roar of the engine noise and the wind blowing in through the open window.

‘Nah. The driver.’

‘Ain’t you supposed to aim for the tyres?’

Neil took his eyes off the black car just ahead and looked over at him.

‘Listen. If I nail this guy, we’re gonna be fuckin’ legends, Johnny. Think about it – you’ll be able to tell your kid you took down the biggest mass murderer in history!’

Keeping one eye on the road, Johnny grinned back at his partner. ‘Yeah. That’d be pretty cool.’

‘I can see it now. We’ll be openin’ supermarkets, doin’ after-shave ads, the whole nine yards.’

‘I could do with some new after-shave.’

‘Well, jest you keep the car steady, ’cause I’m about to make it happen.’

‘Can you just wound him, though? Couldja do that? Huh?’

Neil shook his head impatiently. ‘What the fuck d’ya want me to do? Blow his fuckin’ nose off? I’m good, but I ain’t that good. No one is.’ He leaned further out of his window and added, ‘Don’t forget, this bastard killed at least ten of our guys this morning. Good men. Men with families.
Happy Halloween, the boogeyman’s in town!’

That it was Halloween was not lost on Johnny. The local inhabitants – the few that there were, that is – never set foot in the Devil’s Graveyard at any time, much less at Halloween. There were always rumours doing the rounds in bars and diners about what happened out there each October thirty-first. It was said that busloads of innocent fools were driven in every year, never to be seen again. Most people believed it. It was the local town’s dirty little secret. Johnny had already driven past the signpost that signified they were on deadly ground. It was foolish enough to be in a high-speed car chase with the serial killer known as the Bourbon Kid, but to be conducting that chase in the Devil’s Graveyard on Halloween ... well, that was about as foolhardy as a bungee jump with no cord.