CRIME THRILLERS-A Box Set (29 page)

"Arkansas. West Memphis."

"And you, miss?"

Molly turned to him. Cruise bore down on her wrist. She said, "Dania, Florida."

"Okay, drive on."

Cruise let up on the brake and eased forward in the lane. He had not let go of Molly. When they were past the crossing station he said, "You were going to tell them."

She whined a little, turning her hand this way and that to free it of his grip.

"Weren't you?"

She yelped when he applied even more pressure. He felt her small wrist bones grinding together beneath his palm.
Little bird
, he thought.

"Don't try it again," he said, letting her go, throwing her hand away from him. "I'm tired of your bullshit."

She didn't speak. When he turned on the radio to search for an AM talk radio station, she slumped down until her knees were against the dash. Sulky little bitch.

On the hour during the newscast Cruise learned he was in real trouble. Not only did he need to get rid of Molly, not only did he feel as if at any moment he was going to fly apart if he didn't release the building pressure building in the cauldron of his mind, but the radio informed him that the incredible, the unbelievable, had happened. He had left behind a living witness at a murder scene. On the lake. Where he took the fat man's life and his diamond ring. The man's son had been in the back seat. Why hadn't he checked? Why had he been so sloppy? It was the rain, the tornado. He had made a mistake. And now they knew he had been in Yuma, had killed there next.

There was a net out. They knew his car. They knew what he looked like. They thought he might have entered California.

For the first time in more than two decades of murder, he was a wanted man, hounded, on the run.

Molly had come back up in the seat, ears primed, listening.

Cruise said, "They won't get me."

"I think they will," she said in an even voice.

"Don't bank on it. Don't lay your money down."

When he reached Interstate 8 he turned east. They thought he was headed west. He would backtrack. He'd take minor highways where they wouldn't have the manpower to put up roadblocks. He'd pick his way back across Arizona and New Mexico. In Texas he'd head north, throw them off completely.

But first he had to ditch the Chrysler. A car he had driven for ten years. A car he loved.

"Goddammit," he swore, tapping the wheel with the heel of his hand. Molly jumped in her seat.

Where was he going to find another car?

A semi-truck overtook and passed them in the left fast lane. Cruise stared at the rectangle of lights that outlined the rear doors.

Would they be looking for a truck driver?

He started laughing, positively overwhelmed with his new idea. Molly wanted to try out as a Lot Lizard, didn't she? Wasn't that what she was up to when he found her in Mobile?

He sped up to trail the semi. He had to drive a steady sixty-five or seventy to stay in the game. The semi was perfect. A cab, independently owned, hauling a container trailer for a company. He could tell by the logo on the driver's door.

"I'm going to want you to do something," he said when he could stop the laughter bubbling out.

"What?"

She was right to sound cautious. She wasn't going to like it. He saw that since he was driving faster, she had begun to grip the top of the door where the window had been rolled down.

"Wait and see."

"You can't tell me now?"

He shook his head. His hair moved and the Velcro patch pulled at his scalp. When he touched the knife to make sure it was secure, Molly crouched closer to her side of the car.

No. She wasn't going to like it at all.

#

It took some talking to get the driver pulled over at a rest area. He had to do it before they reached Yuma. Already he was taking chances driving the Chrysler on Interstate 8 in California. From the corners of his eyes he kept seeing ghost images of patrol cars coming close to him in the fast lane, readying to pull him over. When he looked square out the side window the ghost cops disappeared.

Again Cruise thumbed the CB mike. "She's a sweet girl, man. You won't be disappointed."

The trucker said, "Aw, I don't know. I got this load to deliver all the hell the way to Florida by Friday. I don't really have the time for much recreation, come back."

"Hey, tell you what," Cruise said, sounding jolly as a pimp with the john in his pocket. "We pull over at the next pickle park we come to and if you don't like her, fine, man, be on your way. If you do like her, what's a few extra minutes in the sleeper? You can add it anywhere in your logbook. And I ain't asking half what she's worth," he added.

"Forty. I dunno. That's steep." Static returned to the channel. There weren't any other truckers on the road right now. The driver was bored, seemed tempted by the impromptu offer from a four-wheeler.

"Let you have her for thirty then, what you say?" Sweat had popped out on Cruise's forehead. He probably shouldn't have done that, could have blown the whole deal. Driver might wonder what was wrong with her, lowering the price that way. It was costing Cruise plenty to sound buoyant and trustworthy. It never had before. He didn't know what was happening to him, what was going wrong. He felt like a man diving from high cliffs, aiming for the boulders below. He felt he might be on his way
down
.

A rest area sign leapt past in the headlights. Cruise didn't notice the mileage. "There, you see?" he asked over the CB mike. "Gotta be fate, man. There's a pickle park up ahead not far."

"She of legal age?" the trucker asked. "I don't want no jail bait."

Cruise said, "She's fine, don't worry. We just need the dough, man, or I wouldn't be offering her in this sleazy way over the CB where God and everybody could hear. I just been a trucker, you know, and I trust you guys to do right."

"Yeah, awright. Let me check her out." The semi drifted off the exit ramp for the rest area. The Chrysler followed.

Cruise lowered the knife from where he had it resting close to the skin on Molly's throat to keep her from talking. He didn't trust her since the border crossing. She was out to fuck him. He'd seen that in her eyes. They got to this point, his witnesses, and they were more danger than they were worth. He had to spend too much time threatening to get his way.

He replaced the knife underneath his hair. He transferred the mike from his left driving hand to his right and hung it in the slot. "You don't have to do much," he said to her. "Look properly seductive. When he's out of the truck and standing nearby, that's when I'll take over."

The truck parked in the trucker lane. There was one more truck already in the line, but it was farther up. The truck driver left three open slots between them for privacy's sake. Cruise parked in a space for cars. The light from the public bathrooms stained the cultivated lawn, but didn't reach to the parking places. He had to hurry before more four-wheelers found their way into the rest area. It was too early in the night for most of them yet.

He had Molly out of the car, his hand around the back of her neck, pushing her slightly before him as they crossed the tarmac to the rear of the truck. He circled to the side closest to the freeway so that if anyone came into the area while he was doing the job, they wouldn't see him. He had to take the chance of the other trucker parked in front looking in his side mirror, but it was unlikely. He was probably snoring in his sleeper.

"Please, don't do this," Molly said.

"You cry, you bitch, and I'm going to take off your fucking head. Now
smile
."

His arms. They itched so bad, he had to rub his left arm against his side. His right one, the one holding Molly, felt like it was going to explode from the bandages. He couldn't understand it.

Couldn't think of it.

Had to get the truck. He knew how to drive one. Maybe not this particular one, but he'd figure out the gears by watching the driver go through the motions.

The driver was down from the cab. He wore greasy jeans and an undershirt. He was black. Cruise hadn't known that from talking to him over the CB. Big fucking deal. They

bled just as easily as white men. He'd taken them before.

"Hey, girl," the trucker said as they approached. He didn't have time to check over Cruise. His eyes swallowed Molly like a morsel of tasty cream dessert.

"I told you, man. Ain't she worth it?"

"What do you say, girl? You worth it?"

Molly choked trying to speak. Cruise stepped to her side, hand still on her neck. "She's still shy. Hasn't been in the business too long, you know how it is."

"Never had a black man, I guess," the man said and smiled. "Honey, all the stories are true. We all got bigger cocks than these white boys." He laughed out loud, throwing back his head.

When so engaged Cruise dropped his death grip on Molly and went for the knife. He had backed the black against the side of the truck before he had finished laughing. "What you doing, hey now..."

"What I'm doing is taking your truck. You're driving us across the state line. I'll let you out somewhere down the way if you're real good."

"Hijacking my fucking truck? Why, you son of a bitch. I heard of you guys..."

"You've never heard of me. Now follow me back to my car to get my gear."

Cruise had him carry the luggage. He kept his hand on Molly's neck. Back at the truck door he said, "Get up in the cab."

"But, hey, everything I got goes into this truck. It cost me..."

"I'm not interested in your finances. Now move." Cruise took a tiny slice of the black's neck, enough to get the blood flowing, and the fear instilled.

The trucker yelled, reached up quick to feel the cut, came away with sticky fingers. "Okay. All right," he said. "Don't get nervous, okay? You can have the fucking truck. I don't want it that bad."

Cruise knew some of these truck jockeys stashed an arsenal. They were the National Rifle Association's hardcore supporters. Some even had Uzis, they were so nuts about preventing a hijacking. He climbed right behind the black to make sure his hands didn't go for a weapon. Once he was up on the step and facing the driver, Cruise said, "Now get in the sleeper for a minute. Stow my gear. If you make a move, motherfucker, you're a dead man, won't bother me a bit."

"Take it easy, take it easy." The driver crawled over into the sleeper. Cruise motioned for Molly to climb up behind him. He had her follow as he moved onto the engine cover, gestured her into the sleeper with the driver, before he took the passenger seat. "Okay, come on out and drive this bastard."

The black made his way into the driver's seat. He shut the door. "This is a rotten thing to do to a working man. I've been paying on this rig for two years already," he said.

"Shut up and drive."

They crossed the state line into Arizona without notice. Cruise saw state patrol cars every few miles. Real ones, not phantoms. He slumped in the high seat so they wouldn't see his hair. It wouldn't be long before they found the Chrysler at the California pickle park and figure he'd hopped a ride with someone, or stolen a car.

Cruise studied how the driver put the truck through the gears. Outside of Tucson he said, "Pull over at some place we can get some food."

"Whatever you say, Jack. You the boss."

"I also want you to drop this load."

"Now wait a minute..."

Cruise moved across the engine cover and had the knife out all in one motion. The thermos next to the gearshift fell over onto the floorboard with a bang. The driver jerked upright in his seat. The truck began to weave. "Whoa!"

"You don't want to argue with me."

"No, no, I don't wanna do that, don't get carried away with that knife, okay? I'll find a place. We'll drop the load, don't worry. No skin off my ass, ain't my stuff."

"That's right. It isn't yours." Cruise slowly relaxed into the passenger seat after looking at where Molly was curled into a corner of the sleeper as far as she could get from him.

A billboard announced Guthrie's Truck Stop at the next exit. The black drove to it, Cruise watching as he changed gears and worked the clutch. He thought of something.

"You got mud flaps on this rig?"

"Sure."

"Good. I want it legal on the road." He knew from hearing the truckers talk over the years that trucks couldn't go into cities without mud flaps. They were ticketed without them. That's all he needed, a cop pulling him over.

First he'd get rid of the load. They ever found out he had taken a truck, they'd be looking for one with a trailer. Next he'd get rid of the driver. He thought he could drive the rig without instruction now.

Turning into Guthrie's, Cruise leaned forward and looked through the wide windshield for a quiet place to park the truck and drop the load. He pointed to the rear of the building. "Back there, back row."

"Whatever you say."

The driver circled the big truck and began backing it into one of the last slots near the rear fence that bounded on open pastureland. When he had it parked and out of gear, Cruise watched how he pulled out one of the knobs on the control panel and a second knob popped out all on its own. He heard the gushing hiss of air brakes. He had to remember that.

Cruise told him to get out and unlock the trailer from the cab. He descended from the passenger side after giving Molly a hard glance. He watched while the man pulled the big rod that unhooked the trailer from the truck. He watched closely while he cranked the landing gear to the cement. There were big red and blue air hose cables to unlatch, an electrical connector to disconnect.

Inside the cab again the driver put the truck into first, gave it a little goose of gas. There was a thump and the cab rocked. He goosed it again and there was a clang as the rig came loose of its load.

"Good. Now let it sit while we get something to eat." The driver relaxed in the seat, breathing noisily.

"They're gonna hate losing this fucking load," he said.

"I'm hauling a reefer full of California avocados. It was a damn good payload too."