A Will To Murder (30 page)

They could hear a distant female cursing and Floyd’s yelping protests.  Bernie was chasing him around the horse exercise area, and from the quality of Floyd’s outrage, he was stepping in a substance often left behind horses.  “Bernie’s sure having fun,” said Smith.

“That yelling should get the attention of those two in the office,” Eric whispered.  

The cries were growing fainter as Bernie chased Floyd into the woods beyond the grass airstrip, and the area finally became clear of people.  

Before Eric could stop him, Bradley was dashing for the window.  Smith took a fast peek inside, then raced back to the hay bales immediately.

“Are they in there?  Did they see you?”

“Yes and no.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, they’re not looking at the window.”  Bradley rolled his eyes.  “They’re engaged in a procreative process.”

Eric’s mouth fell open.  “That’s bizarre,” he commented.  “Right after Phil’s arrest and Richie’s murder?”

“Yeah.”  

Eric bit his lip.  “Let’s hide behind the dumpster.  It’s close enough we can still listen.”  An occasional ridiculous yelp was still coming from the woods, but the cries were growing fainter.  The two men shifted over to their new station.

“What is she up to?”  Eric muttered, staring at the horse exercise area.  He didn't notice that a large ginger cat had arrived to sniff at Floyd’s spilled trash, nor that Bradley had gone over to pet it.  

“Oooo, where did
you
come from?  I have two kitties just like you.  Well, not exactly like you since one’s white and the other’s calico and you’re a great big ginger, but no matter; I think you’re one of the most beautiful cats I’ve ever seen.  Oh, you like me, don’t you?  You’re just rubbing and purring all over me.  You know, sometimes I think my kitties are a little bit lonely.  I’ve thought about getting another cat like--why, just like you!  You look like you’d love to move into my apartment.  I warn you, though, I don’t believe in spoiling kitties, but my cats get a treat from the grocery store once a week, and--”

“What the hell are you doing?” rasped Eric, appalled.

“I’m admiring this cat,” replied Bradley.  “Somebody here must own him.  Have you ever noticed that thugs always have the nicest cats?  Every jerk I’ve ever met has a perfectly sweet cat who just rubs and purrs all over you.”

“That’s because their owners are thugs.  Their cats are lonely.”

“That’s the most horrible thing I’ve ever heard in my life!” Smith gasped.  “I’m stealing this kitty.”  He scooped the cat up.  It squawked, but Bradley already had a good grip.

“Fuck, no!” Eric groaned softly.  The cat gave a hoarse meow of distress.

“I’m stealing this kitty if it’s the last thing I ever do!”

“Not
now!
 We’ve got more important business!”

Bradley only stared at him in outrage.  The cat meowed loudly again.

“All right!” Eric fumed.  “Take him to the car and stay there!   And he’d better not mess up my upholstery.  I’ll join you in a while.”

Once Bradley disappeared, the reporter tried to listen again, but realized he had misjudged.  He was simply too far away to catch any sounds.  If he wanted to spy on Jac, it would be necessary to return to the hay bales.  

No one was in sight, so he made a dart and hid behind the straw, noticing that two of the topmost bales did not quite meet.  He could see a little of the office through the gap.     

Then Floyd returned, startling him, but the garbageman was on the opposite side of the bales.  Floyd paused to gaze inside the office window, and from the startled twitch of the garbageman’s shoulders, Eric knew what he was seeing.  The garbageman crouched a little as if trying to keep out of sight, but continued to watch.  

Maxwell reconsidered.  Maybe he
didn’t
want to be here.

Floyd’s hands began to make motions at the front of his trousers, and that made up Eric’s mind for him.  It appeared that Floyd was a voyeur.  Maxwell took a soft step away in the direction of the dumpster.

“You filthy fuck!  Is this how he repays you?  He lets you watch?” It was Bernie’s angry yell.  

With all his self-control, the reporter slowly turned around.  The bales were still hiding him, thank God.  He knew it was time to withdraw, but five murders commanded that he remain.  He concealed himself behind the bales again.      

Bernie was facing Floyd, who was hopping around wildly to disguise the fact that he was replacing himself inside his pants.  “What are you saying?!” the garbageman shrilled.  “Can’t I take a leak without you spying on me?  Tell Irv to take better care of you,” he sneered, “you must be starved for sex, the way you were looking at me!”

This was not the thing to say to Bernie.  

“You fucking pig--,” she began.  

“I’ll tell Irv!” Floyd interrupted, “I’ll tell Irv!”  He was leaping up and down like a frog.  “I’ll say you broke that filthy garbage bag over my head and watched me with my pants down!  He’ll dump you when he hears about your--
obscene behavior
.”  The garbageman sounded exactly like some prudish vaudeville actress.

There came a scrape, and the office door opened.  Through the gap in the bales Eric saw Jac emerge, her lipstick smeared and her hair disheveled.  For a second Eric was sure she could see him through the gap, but enough was happening in front of her to distract anybody.

“What the fuck?” a man’s voice bellowed.  Since Eric didn’t recognize it, he assumed it was Irv’s.  “Bernie!  What are you doing here?  I told you not to come by because I had some business to take care of, dammit!”

“I thought it would be The Two Stooges,” said Jac with disdain.  

“I’m breaking up with you, and if your business is with this fucking bitch, you’re welcome to her!  She’s only murdered practically her entire family.”

Three protesting voices broke out, the loudest one Jac’s.  “That’s
ridiculous
,” Jac bit off.  

“Bernie, Bernie,” said Irv in a placating voice, “I know you don’t like Jac, but that’s totally unfounded.”  Something about Irv’s tone, though intended to soothe, alarmed Eric.

“And why do you want to break up, honey?” Irv purred.  “What’s wrong?  You’re mad at me?  Here, have a joint.  Honey, you can’t walk out now.  In just a few months--”  His voice dropped to a whisper, and the reporter missed the next few words.  

“Ooh-hoo,” Floyd sang out lewdly.

“Shut up, Fuckhead,” Irv snapped.

“He was watching through the window, Irv,” Jac said with contempt, “I saw him.”

The garbageman spouted a flurry of denials, which Irv crushed.  “Spying on the boss, eh?  Well, Floyd Fuckhead, what sort of punishment would be appropriate for you?”

Bernie suggested cutting off part of Floyd’s body and selling it at the refreshment stand.  Irv had his arm around Bernie’s shoulder.  The girl, though not totally mollified, endured his hand as she sucked on her lit joint.  Floyd gibbered, his arms going in all directions like the elastic-corded joints of a jumping jack.  “I was only trying to see if you were here!  I have some very important business to discuss with you!”  

“Yeah, what?” replied Irv flatly.  

Floyd gabbled briefly in surprise, then halted with theatrical astonishment.  “I can’t tell you here!  In front of all these people!?”

From Irv’s irritated look, and the garbageman’s overacting, Eric knew there was no important business.  

“Get rid of him,” said Jac coldly.  

“Floyd Fuckhead Fowler,” said Irv, emphasizing the ‘F’s’,  “No one would ever guess you’re Linzy Fowler’s blood kin.  If it weren’t for the fact that the D.A. won’t prosecute any of his little brother’s friends for fear of landing his little brother in jail, I might as well just shoot you and stuff you in the dumpster.”

Floyd let out a desperate whinny and bounded around like a dog on a leash.  

“Oh Christ, he’s got horseshit on his shoes,” said Jac.  “I can smell it every time he takes a step.”  She laughed, holding a hand in front of her nose with disgust.  

“Fuckhead,” said Irv in a pained way, “finish cleaning the stadium.  Then shovel the horseshit out in the woods.”

The garbageman let out a string of objections.  “Irv,” Jac groaned.  “I’m going inside.  I can’t stand the stench any longer.”  The office door shut behind her.  

“C’mere, Fuckhead.”

Eric could not see what Irv and Floyd were doing, so he nearly jumped when he heard the voices suddenly coming from just the other side of the bales.  

“Is the plane ready?” Irv asked.

“Almost,” Floyd replied eagerly.

“Dammit, I want to fly back tonight!  What was that ‘important business’ you were talking about?”

“Blackmail her,” said Floyd, with the air of sudden inspiration.  “She’ll be rich when she gets the money.”

“I thought of that.  But even I’d hesitate about doing that to a woman who’s killed a half-dozen of her nearest and dearest.  She might not worry about doing
me
in, or you either, Fuckhead,” mused Irv.  “Besides, I’ll be getting my money back anyway.”

Eric’s nervousness flared into a roar, and he barely managed to keep still.

“Now shut up and finish that stadium!”

“Woo-hoo!” Floyd flapped backwards at Irv’s rudeness, but he obeyed, making babbling protests as he left.

The reporter gritted his teeth, waiting for the garbageman to discover him, but Floyd’s voice was fading.  The garbageman was going around the stadium in the other direction.  

Eric shut his eyes in relief.  Now, if he could only sneak off.  He opened his eyes again and saw the glowing tip of Bernie’s joint through the gap in the bales.  Then he examined his escape route.  He waited several minutes, hoping the other two people would leave.

The office door opened again with a metal squeak.  “Is he gone?” Jac asked, returning.  

“No, he’s back again!” Floyd squealed.  “Ooooo, it looks like we have
two
intruders!”

Maxwell whipped around.  The garbageman and Bradley were standing right behind him, the ginger cat in Bradley’s arms.  Floyd was holding a gun to Smith’s head.

“He came up and pointed this gun at me while I was sitting in the car!” Bradley complained, trying to look innocent instead of terrified.

“Come on out,” Floyd ordered Eric smugly.  Heart pounding, the reporter did so.  Jac’s eyes widened at the sight of the two men.  

“Irv,” she said in a warning tone.  “That’s my cousin and his friend.”  She turned her back towards the prisoners, facing Irv.  Her next words were too low to hear, but Bernie gave Irv a surprised sideways look, alerting Eric.  Irv removed a gun from his jacket and aimed it at Maxwell.

“This fellow had Booger in his car!  He was trying to steal your cat!” Floyd gloated.

“I was not!  I was just trying to be friendly to him!”

“Stealing my cat, huh?” Irv grinned unpleasantly. “You’ll have to be punished for that.”

“Here, you hold him,” said Smith, shoving the cat into Eric’s arms.  Confused, Eric was about to drop the cat, when a thought of self-preservation came to him and he held it tightly across his chest.  Any bullet intended for his heart would have to go through the cat, first.

Irv fixed his hard little eyes on Floyd.  “You two turn around and look at my employee,” he said to the prisoners, motioning with his gun.

Eric knew he could not, absolutely could not, turn his back to Irv.  He sensed Bradley hesitate, begin to turn--

“Hey!  You’re not going to shoot them, are you?” asked Bernie in stoned befuddlement.

Eric threw the cat right into Irv’s face.  The beast yowled and clawed wildly, and fastened to Irv’s head for a long moment before the thug could tear it off.  Eric whirled and saw Floyd’s quivering gun aiming right at Bradley.  Bradley dove aside for the airstrip, and the reporter tore after him, knowing his friend was making for the woods.  
This is wrong
, Eric thought,
we need to try for the car
.  But it was too late to change their course.  

A shot came from behind them, then a wild yelling and cursing.  “Fire again, Fuckhead!  Fire!  She won’t let go!”

Eric glanced over his shoulder.  Bernie was locked onto Irv’s gun arm, wrestling with him and distracting his aim.  Floyd fired again, but the excitable garbageman was bobbing so hard the shot went wild.  Jac tried to drag Bernie off by the hair, but Bernie stabbed the lit joint into Jac’s face, something the pothead must have been yearning to do for a long time.  Jac let go, ducking and cursing.  Then Bernie kicked Irv in the crotch, another bit of revenge she must have been lusting for, and Irv dropped the gun.  

“I’ve got it!  I’ve got it!” Bernie yelled in stoned triumph, holding the gun.  Jac lunged for her, and Bernie, sensing danger, made a stumbling run after Eric and Bradley.       

“Shoot them, shoot her!” Jac screamed at Floyd.  The garbageman had been firing the whole time, but his frenzied and inept shots only missed.  

Jac began to chase the fleeing pothead, but her high heels slowed her.  Jac kicked them off.  Bernie, though stoned, was better shod in her boots and already had a good lead.  “They’re getting away!” Jac shouted urgently.  

“
Aim properly
, fuckhead,” Irv gritted from his balled-up clutch.  Floyd’s finger made clicking noises.  “I’m out of ammunition,” the garbageman announced to Irv.

Irv groaned, but managed to unroll enough to dig into his pocket and toss over a box of rounds.  Somewhat recovered by now, the thug started after the escapees.   Floyd caught the box, twitched it open, and spilled the rounds everywhere.  The garbageman snatched at the dropped rounds, but his clumsy grabs kept knocking them away from his fingers.  

Up ahead, Bernie had reached the watering tank.  She flung the gun into it and stopped to give a satisfied nod at the splash.  A scream of fury caught her attention, and Jac was on her.  Bernie startled aside and crossed the horse exercise area.  Jac stepped on a squishy lump in her nylons and skidded.  She fell and landed in the midst of a few more lumps, still warm and sticky.  

“I’ll kill everybody in the world for this!” Jac ranted.

Irv looked back and saw the garbageman chasing loose rounds.  Cursing, the thug made a walloping plunge right into the watering trough, knowing he had to retrieve his gun to make any shots at all.  He flailed around for the submerged weapon with not much more success than Floyd with the ammunition.