Known Devil (35 page)

“I gotcha,” Daddy Longlegs said. “Just like a bunch of dogs chasing after a bitch in heat.”

“I heard that,” Scar said from the truck bed. “Who’re you calling a bitch?”

“Not you, baby,” Daddy Longlegs said. “Purely a metaphor.”

“Good thing,” she said. Then she looked at me, and the evil grin reappeared. “Shit, I don’t even
like
doggy-style.”

That put an image in my mind that I tried to banish by focusing on the task at hand, and the risks it involved for all of us. That worked, more or less.

“OK, follow our car,” I told Daddy Longlegs. “When we stop, come up right behind us and park. Then Karl and I are gonna drive down the road a little farther. Wait for the phone call, then crank it up. OK?”

“Got it. And thanks, man.”

“For what?”

“This here’s the most fun we’ve had in a long time.”

“Glad to hear it. I hope you still think so an hour from now.”

 

There was no traffic moving on Lake Scranton Road at two in the morning . Good thing, too, since there were now two vehicles driving on it without showing any lights.

After a while, Karl said, “Tree’s coming up, ’bout a hundred feet.”

We’d figured out the night before just where we wanted the flatbed to be, then marked the place by tying a handkerchief around the branch of a nearby tree. Karl touched the brakes, and we rolled to a slow stop. In my side mirror, I could see the flatbed inch up behind us until our bumpers were nearly touching. Daddy Longlegs turned the truck’s engine off, and Karl and I continued on.

Between the big house and the road was about two hundred feet of woods. That was where we expected the guard detail to come bursting through. The house had a driveway leading to the road, but Scar had told me that the men would come to her using the most direct route possible, even if it meant fighting their way through heavy vegetation.

“They’re gonna be outta their fuckin’ minds,” she’d said. “Trust me on that.”

“I will.” Then something else had occurred to me. “Those guys are all armed to the teeth. Are they likely to bring their guns with them?”

She’d thought about that for a moment. “Naw, they always drop anything they’ve got in their hands. These dudes are gonna become what you might call ‘single-minded’ real fast.”

“What if some of them have a backup piece – a handgun in a holster?”

“If it’s something they’re wearing, I guess they’d still have it,” she’d said with a shrug. “So what?”

“So, when they can’t reach you, aren’t you afraid they might shoot, out of frustration?”

“Don’t you
get
it, man? They won’t be interested in hurting me – they’re just gonna want to
fuck
me. Like they’ve never wanted to fuck anybody in their lives.”

I was giving silent thanks for the industrial-strength ear protection that I’d be wearing when she said, “I dunno – maybe after a while, we should stop the truck and let them have me. You said you wanted a diversion, right? What’s more diverting than a gangbang?”

“
Scar
–”

“How many guards did you say there were – six? That could make for quite a party, dontcha think?”

“Now,
listen
–” I’d said, but she’d stopped me with a peal of laughter.

“Don’t get your undies in a twist, man. I don’t do gangbangs – well, except for that time in St Louis, and I was drunk then. I just said it cause I wanted to see that expression on your face. Priceless!”

I’d decided then and there: if Christine ever wanted to go to college, she was
not
going to Mount Holyoke. Not if I had anything to say about it.

Karl stopped the car again. We’d chosen a spot that gave us a clear view of the estate’s driveway through the windshield and of the woods behind us through the mirrors. When the time came, we’d be taking the most direct route to the house – right up the driveway.

I turned in my seat, pulled a heavy canvas bag from the back seat, and put it between my feet. It contained a few things I’d persuaded Frank Dooley, the SWAT team commander, to let me have for the occasion. I know that Sacred Weapons and Tactics deals with supernaturals exclusively, but even
they
have to take down a door once in a while.

I put the earmuffs around my neck, ready to slip into place. Then I pulled out my TracFone and looked at Karl. “Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. Do it.”

I had the number of the phone I’d given Scar on speed dial, and all I had to do was push a button. So I did –
and nothing happened
.

I peered at the phone in the gloom, and saw that the call had gone through. I didn’t expect Scar to answer, but I
did
expect to hear music. I cancelled the call and placed it again. Went through that time, too – but still no sound from the truck.

“Sweet fucking Jesus – what
happened
? Did Wilson’s guards get to them already? It just isn’t possible–”

Karl laid a hand on my arm and squeezed gently.

“The generator’s noisy, Stan. The kids didn’t want to get it going until you gave the word. And those amps of theirs take a minute or so to warm up.”

I felt my heart, which had felt like it was about to burst through my chest, settle back into place. “Why the fuck didn’t you
tell
me that?”

“I thought one of the kids already had. Sorry, I didn’t – OK, here we go.”

The sound of an electric guitar split the night, and I quickly put the plastic muffs over my ears.

After a few seconds I asked Karl, “What’s she singing – anything you recognize?”

Karl pulled out his notebook, wrote busily, then showed the page to me. “A punk version of
Somebody to Love
, that old Jefferson Airplane tune. Grace Slick should be rolling over in her grave right about now, except I don’t think she’s dead.”

“If she hears this, the shock might kill her,” I said. “Hope she doesn’t have a vacation home around here – I always liked that band.”

A little while later, Karl nudged me and pointed toward the rear window. I turned in my seat, and there was enough moonlight to see a man on the road, running hard in the direction of the truck and its singer.

As I watched, another guy burst through the trees and followed him. Then two more. Ten seconds or so later, another man stumbled out onto the asphalt and took off running. This one was limping, as if he had twisted his ankle or something. But he still ran, as fast as he was able. Then another man fought his way out of the brush and headed up the road after the others. It didn’t take him long to overtake his gimpy colleague, and he passed the limping runner without even a glance.

“OK, that’s six,” I said.

Karl held up his hand in a “Wait a minute” gesture. Good thing, too. A few seconds later, a seventh man burst out of the woods, with number eight right behind him. Like the others, they immediately took off in the direction the truck had taken.

“You said there were six,” I told Karl.

Karl pulled out his notebook and wrote, “Said I
counted
six. Last two stationed behind house, maybe?”

With his vampire sight, Karl could see the men much better than I could. I was sure if one of them had been Patton Wilson he’d have said so, but I wanted to be one hundred percent sure.

“Was any of those guys Wilson?”

Karl shook his head.

“Positive?”

A nod this time.

“Guess that means he’s still in there,” I said. “Let’s go get him.”

 

We drove up the narrow driveway to the huge house. The ground floor was dark, but I could see some lights burning upstairs. We’d gone slowly, so no screeching tires. No headlights, either. If anybody inside didn’t know we were here yet, I wanted to maintain their ignorance as long as possible.

I was reaching for the door handle when an idea struck me. “I know you’ve got extra-sharp hearing,” I said to Karl, “but do you think a human would still be able to hear Scar and the boys from here?”

He listened out the window for a moment, then nodded.

“OK,” I said, “how about this? Once I get the door open, let’s leave it that way and wait outside. If Wilson can hear Scar, he should come running out, along with any other guys he’s got in there with him. Save us having to go in after them.”

Karl gave me a grin and a big thumbs-up. We left the car and walked rapidly to the house’s immense front door, which looked to be solid oak. In the bag that Dooley had given me were a ten-pound sledgehammer, a small amount of plastic explosive for blowing locks, and a few other goodies. Karl could’ve probably torn the door off its hinges, but since he hadn’t been invited in, he couldn’t mess with the entranceway. Vampire shit is weird sometimes. Karl had been able to overcome his aversion to crosses, but the entry-by-invitation-only thing appeared to be more than just a psychological barrier.

I wanted to know just how solid the lock was, so I reached over and twisted the knob. But there wasn’t any resistance – it turned in my hand, and the heavy door swung open on well-oiled hinges.

Karl and I looked at each other. When something like this happens in the movies, it usually means the hero’s about to get jumped. But maybe Wilson had so much faith in his small army that locking the door seemed unnecessary. At least, I
hoped
that was the reason.

Standing to one side, I pushed the door open all the way and revealed nothing but darkness. Then Karl and I waited to see who inside the house would respond to the Siren’s song.

Nobody came out. We stood next to the door for three or four minutes, then Karl started writing in his notebook again.

“Music playing someplace upstairs,” he’d written. “Loud. Wagner? They can’t hear Scar over it.”

That explained a few things. It was disappointing that Wilson wasn’t going to come running out into our arms, but on the other hand, loud music meant nobody up there would likely hear us until we were right on top of them.

I’d left my flashlight in the car, but didn’t think it was worth fetching. I’d just step inside, invite Karl in, and with his vampire night vision we could creep up on Patton Wilson and whatever minions he might have left.

I took a couple of steps into the vast foyer and glanced around. Seeing neither light or movement, I turned back toward the open door to invite Karl inside. “Come on–” was as far as I got when somebody kicked me in the balls.

 

I gave a loud grunt and fell to my knees, clutching my groin. I know that a blow to the testicles isn’t fatal – not even to your love life, usually – but for a few seconds the pain and nausea emanating from my crotch became the center of my world.

I was vaguely aware of the front door slamming shut in Karl’s face. Then something hard hit me on the side of the head, and I pitched forward into blackness.

I hadn’t had a lot to eat that day, since I’d been so busy planning my own little version of D-Day. Just as well – when I came to, the urge to vomit was strong. If I’d had food in my stomach, puking all over myself would have added messy insult to the injuries I’d already suffered.

My balls still hurt, though not as bad as before. My head throbbed where I’d been whacked – probably by a gun – for the
second fucking time
in eight days although not in the same place, fortunately. I tried to raise my hands to my aching head and found I couldn’t – they were secured behind my back by something that felt a lot like handcuffs, probably my own. My brilliant plan wasn’t working out too well, after all.

“I know you’re awake,” a woman’s voice said. “Get to your feet.”

A woman
. That explained why someone was able to lurk in the dark foyer without being tempted to run outside after Scar. Women were immune to the Siren’s song. I couldn’t remember seeing any women around Wilson before, but then I’d only met him once.

I opened my eyes and saw that the lights were on now. Getting up from the floor with sore testicles, a pounding head, and no hands to help wasn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever done, but I managed. Then I turned to face the lady who had just kicked my ass.

She was above average height, about 5’8”, with broad shoulders under a short-sleeved T-shirt, with a pair of tight jeans below. The biceps revealed by the short sleeves said the lady had some acquaintance with lifting weights. Her brown hair was in tight curls and she wore it in a style that in a black woman I’d have called an afro. Under the hair was a round face about midway between plain and pretty, and its angry expression didn’t exactly make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Neither did the big revolver in her right hand.

I drew breath to speak – I had in mind to say something along the lines of “Who the hell are you?” – but she waved me quiet with a slash of her free hand. “Don’t talk until I tell you,” she said. Seeing that I wasn’t going to disobey, she went on, “I bet your ballsac hurts pretty bad, huh? I want you to think about how much worse it’d hurt if a put a bullet into it – which is just what I’m gonna do if you try to call in your vamp buddy from outside. Understand? Just nod.”

I dipped my head a couple of times, because I had no trouble believing that she meant every word she’d said.

“Good,” she said. “We’re going upstairs now.” She gestured with the gun barrel. “You first.”

She walked me to a staircase that must have been twenty feet wide. It was made of highly polished wood, like everything else in my field of vision.

She stayed several steps behind me as we climbed the stairs – a good, professional distance. I wondered if she’d been a professional bodyguard, either private or government, at some time. I didn’t try any TV hero shit on the steps, mainly because I had no desire to sing soprano for the rest of my life, however long that might be.

I hadn’t been paying attention before, but now I could hear the music coming from someplace upstairs. I recognized Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries,” but only because I’ve seen
Zombie
Apocalypse Now
three times.