Fat Tuesday (22 page)

The three men into whose table Gregory had careened were now on their feet. They grabbed him in turn, throwing punches and hurling insults.

Before long, two others had joined in.

Over his shoulder, Burke said to Errol, "Get her out of here. I'll meet you at the van."

Then he elbowed his way through the homophobic crowd. Everyone was on their feet, some standing in chairs, yelling encouragement to the men who were pummeling Gregory. When Burke reached the epicenter of the melee, he plunged in and managed to do some damage to most of the attackers until he came face to face with the object of Gregory's desire. Love must truly be blind, Burke thought, because this was one ugly son of a bitch and every solid, bulky inch of him was bristling with rage.

His fist connected with Burke's chin and sent him flying backward.

"You another one?" He bore down on Burke."You goddamn perverts that hide behind your backward collars make me want to puke."

He bent down to pick up Burke and deliver more. But when his red, temper-congested face was mere inches away from Burke's, his progress was stopped so abruptly that inertia almost caused him to pitch forward and land on top of Burke.

He'd been halted by Burke's pistol, the barrel of which was digging into the beefy forehead, which Burke used as leverage as he came to his feet.

"Back off, asshole."

"Wha "

"Call off your friends, or the next sacrament you receive will be last rites."

By now several of the others had noticed that the priest was holding their friend at gunpoint. Shock, more than fear, immobilized them.

Within moments, all activity ceased, and the only sound in the room, except for the lively music coming from the jukebox, was Gregory's blubbering.

"Move over there." The redneck obeyed Burke instantly, stumbling over his own big feet, his arms raised. Speaking calmly to the ring of hostile faces, Burke said, "Don't anybody do anything stupid." He inched toward Gregory and nudged him with his foot."Get up."

Gregory covered his head with his arms and began to sob even louder.

Burke was tempted to lay into the young man himself.

Instead he gritted his teeth and said, "So help me God, if you don't get up and move toward the door, I'm going to leave you here for them to do with as they please. Before they're finished you'll be begging to go back to jail."

The warning worked. Still whimpering, Gregory pulled himself to his feet."I'm sorry. I "

"Shut up."

"Okay, just don't leave me." He wiped his bleeding face on his sleeve and staggered toward the exit.

- Burke, sweeping the room with his extended gun arm, moved backward toward the door."We're leaving now. We don't want any more trouble No harm was done. Just go on about your business."

When he reached the door, he shoved Gregory through it, then followed him out. He was relieved to see the van, engine running.

"Get in the van," he shouted as he jogged toward the office of the filling station where he could see Errol speaking into the telephone and gesturing broadly.

Burke charged through the door and plucked the telephone receiver from the bodyguard's hand, then knocked him on the temple with it. The blow wouldn't do much damage, but it stunned Errol long enough for Burke to grab Remy Duvall's arm and pull her after him toward the door.

She struggled to free her arm."What are you doing?"

A woman customer, who'd been paying for her gas, let go an earpiercing scream. The attendant reached behind the counter for what Burke knew must be a weapon."Don't!" he shouted. The attendant froze. The aging hippie mechanic, standing in the open doorway that connected the office to the garage, was wiping his hand on a shop rag and saying repeatedly, "Far out."

Burke backed out of the office. Pinkie Duvall's wife was fighting to get free. He wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her backward toward the van. She dug in her heels and flailed her arms, but she was no match for him, although her high heels connected solidly with his shins several times and caused him to curse in pain. She raked her long fingernails over the back of his hand "Stop it!" Tightening his grip around her midriff, he said close to her ear, "You can fight all you want, but it won't do any good. You're coming with me."

"Why are you doing this? Let go of me."

"Not a chance."

"My husband will kill you."

"More than likely. But not today."

He opened the driver's door of the van and boosted her up, then scrambled in behind her. As he pulled the door shut, he shifted into drive and stamped the accelerator to the floor. The tires laid rubber on the pavement as the van lurched forward. Burke took a hard right turn onto one of the state roads and directly into the path of an oncoming tanker. The rig missed the van by a hair.

Gregory was screaming, praying, and cursing in noisy cycles. Burke shouted at him to shut up."Goddamn it! What were you thinking? You could have gotten us all killed!"

"This is your fault, not mine," Gregory sobbed."What are you doing with a gun? You didn't say anything about a gun."

"You should be damned glad I had it so I could save your sorry ass.

Although why I did, I don't know."

Suddenly Mrs. Duvall, who was still sharing the driver's seat with Burke, raised the armrest and dove between the two captain's chairs.

She lunged for the handle of the sliding-panel door on the right side of the backseat."Stop her," Burke yelled.

Gregory was in bad shape, but too afraid of Burke not to do as he was told. He plunged between the seats and threw himself on top of Remy, grabbing a handful of her hair."U'm thorry, U'm thorry." His lips were already grotesquely swollen, and his nose was a bleeding, pulpy mess.

"He's mean. I don't want to hurt you. But if I don't do what he says, I'm afraid he'll kill me."

"I understand," she said with amazing composure."Just please let go of my hair."

Burke addressed her over his shoulder."Nobody's going to hurt you if you cooperate. Okay?" She gave him a terse nod, but he doubted her sincerity."At this speed, you'd kill yourself," he said, warning her of the danger if she tried to leap from the van.

"I understand."

"Good. Gregory, let her go and get back in your seat. You," he said to her, "sit here between us on the floor."

Gregory clambered back into his seat. Burke was tense until she was safely between the captain's chairs."Who are you?" she asked.

Her eyes were teary and wide with fear. Her face had been leached of color. To further emphasize her paleness, there was a trickle of blood in the corner of her lips. Had she bitten them? Or had he accidentally hit her during their scuffle?

Uncomfortable with the thought, Burke returned his eyes to the road, and it was a good thing he did, because in the rearview mirror he saw a pickup truck racing toward them.

"Damn it!" What else could possibly go wrong? Both Gregory and Mrs. Duvall were bleeding, and he had a pickup full of pissed-off rednecks about to climb up the van's exhaust pipe."Gregory, take the gun."

"Huh? Why?"

"Look behind us."

Gregory glanced at the side mirror on the door and shrieked when he saw the pickup barreling toward them. The man from the rest room was standing up in the bed of the pickup, leaning forward against the cab.

He was using the roof of it to support a shotgun, which was aimed at the van. He warbled a blood-curdling yell. Several cronies were riding in the back of the pickup with him, and the cab was packed full of fire-breathing fag-bashers.

"Oh, Jesus. Oh, God," Gregory wailed."I'm going to die."

"I'm going to kill you myself if you don't pull yourself together," Burke shouted."Take the gun!" He stretched his arm across Mrs. Duvall and pushed the pistol into Gregory's trembling hands.

"I've never fired a gun before."

"All you have to do is point it and pull the trigger." Burke was hoping this ridiculous chase wouldn't result in an exchange of gunfire.

He was hoping he could stay far enough ahead of the pickup to avoid that. The van was no speed machine, and at any minute the hasty patch job on the radiator hose could become a critical factor. But the pickup was heavy. With its extra load, it wouldn't be performing at maximum capacity, either.

Eventually the angry mob might grow tired of the chase and figure that their time was better spent back at the cafe drinking another round of beers. Or Burke might be able to elude them once it got dark.

Or they might chase them until they caught them and kill them all.

The pickup continued to gain until it seemed it was riding on their rear bumper. Burke swerved in front of it to keep it from pulling up alongside. Then he swerved to the other side of the road when they approached from that direction. It soon became a contest to see which driver could outmaneuver the other. Burke concentrated on staying ahead of the pickup while keeping the van on the narrow road. One mistake and they would plunge into the foreboding swamp that extended away from the road on either side.

He was concentrating so hard on his driving that he didn't notice Mrs. Duvall's outstretched hand until it was almost too late to stop her from pulling the key from the ignition. His hand shot out and covered hers.

She yelped in surprise and pain as the key ring dug into her palm.

"Let it go," Burke ordered. He was now driving with only one hand, and the van veered onto the shoulder, sending up a shower of gravel and almost making him lose control. Gregory screamed in fright.

"You're going to get us killed!" Mrs. Duvall shouted."Stop the van.

I'm sure they'll reason with us."

"Are you crazy, lady? Him and me they'll kill and feed to the alligators. You they won't kill until they've all taken a turn. Now let go of the goddamn key, and we might just stand a " A blast from the shotgun shattered the rear window. Gregory screamed again and dove to the floor, although the shot was widely scattered and the high backs on the seats served as protection from flying glass. To Mrs. Duvall's credit, she didn't scream, but she immediately released the ignition key and ducked to the floor.

Burke ground his foot against the accelerator, although it was already on the floor. The van wouldn't go any faster, so it surprised him to see the pickup receding in his mirror. It took a moment for him to realize that it was slowing down. Firing the shotgun had been their last parry.

The rednecks were calling it quits.

The truck shrank to a pencil dot in his mirrors, but Burke didn't let up on the accelerator. When he reached his turnoff, he took it on two wheels. His eyes stayed on the mirrors for another few minutes, but when it became apparent that the pursuit was over, he said, "You can get up now. They've decided we're not worth the effort."

Moaning, Gregory pulled himself back into his seat. He hardly resembled the handsome man who'd started out that day impersonating a priest. His bruised features were distorted with swelling and covered with clotted blood.

By contrast, the blood on the back of Mrs. Duvall's jacket was bright red.

Pinkie opened the passenger door of Wayne Bardo's car before it came to a complete stop. A sheriff's unit had already arrived, he noticed, and that was unfortunate but he would deal with it. He spotted Errol standing against an exterior wall with his shoulders hunched, hands deep in his trouser pockets, looking like he might burst into tears at any moment.

He didn't see Remy anywhere about and hoped that meant she had been given refuge in a private office inside the building. That his wife had been even remotely involved in a barroom brawl was unthinkable.

The newspapers would have a field day.

As he made his way toward Errol, he ordered Bardo to locate Remy and get her to the car."The sooner we're out of here, the better."

Bardo angled off in the direction of the filling-station office, where the sheriff was questioning witnesses. Pinkie confronted Errol.

"What happened?"

"The ... the ... the van broke down. I told him to stop here "

"Told who?"

"Father Kevin. He was the one driving."

Pinkie nodded and urged him to continue. Errol stammered out his story, emphasizing that he never let Mrs. Duvall out of his sight, not even when he used the pay phone to call Roman to come get them.

"You should have called me."

"I suggested it, but Mrs. Duvall said not to bother you. I didn't like it, but she "

"How'd the fight start?"

Pinkie listened with increasing disbelief."This is the priest my wife has received in our home?"

"I told you I thought he was a faggot," Errol said in his own defense.

"You didn't tell me he was likely to make a move on a guy in a public toilet. Jesus!"

"I told you like I saw it, boss."

"Okay, what happened next?"

"These guys start knocking Father Gregory around. I hustled Mrs. Duvall toward the door as soon as the fighting broke out. I brought her over here to the filling station. That's where I called your office from. I was explaining to your secretary when "

"Okay. I can hear the rest later. Let's collect Remy and get the hell out of here."

"Uh, Mr. Duvall ..."

"Pinkie! " Duvall turned toward Bardo's shout. He was running toward him, obviously agitated.

"Your wife's not here. They took her."

"What? Who took her? The sheriff? Where?"

"That's what I ... I didn't have a chance to explain before, sir."

Pinkie came back around to Errol, who looked like a man facing a firing squad."By the time I called back to your office, you were already on your way here. And Bardo doesn't have a cellular, so I couldn't call his car. Your secretary said you didn't take your pager. There was no way " Pinkie grabbed him by the lapels and shook him hard."You've got two seconds to produce my wife."

"I can't, Mr. Duvall," he said, starting to cry."F-F-Father Kevin pulled his gun "

"His gun?"

"Yes, sir. He ... he hit me over the head and carried Mrs. Duvall off in the van."

Pinkie's world turned red, as though an artery had burst directly behind his eyes and bathed them with blood. He pulled out the.38 he always carried in a holster at the small of his back, and crammed the short, stubby barrel of it into the soft pallet of skin beneath Errol's wobbly chin.