Krampus: The Yule Lord (22 page)

Dillard ignored her, picked the Mac-10 up off the table. “How’d you come by this?”

Jesse glared at Dillard, but didn’t answer.

“I asked you where this goddamn gun came from.”

“Pulled it out of my ass!”
Jesse shouted.

Dillard leaned over, grabbed a handful of Jesse’s hair, and slammed his face into the floor. Jesse felt something snap in his nose and his head exploded in a burst of bright pain.

“Stop!”
Linda screamed and grabbed Dillard by the arm.
“Stop it!”

Dillard stood up, locked his stony-gray eyes on her. She fell back a step. “Linda, I’m gonna tell you this one time.” His voice cold, void of emotion. “Go down the hall to Abigail’s room and stay there.”

Linda’s lips tightened; she was shaking. “No, I won’t.”

Dillard tilted his head as though he weren’t hearing right, then sat the Mac-10 back on the table and took a step toward her.

A vehicle—a truck, by the sound of it—pulled up outside. Jesse heard doors slamming, excited voices, then the drumming of feet on the porch. The front door burst open and Chet and Ash Boggs rushed in, weapons leveled. Chet carried a pistol and Ash a scattergun. They saw Jesse on the floor, grinned, and lowered their weapons.

Ash let out a whoop and all three hundred pounds of him practically danced over to where Jesse lay. He jabbed a finger at Jesse and said, “Picked the wrong son’bitch to steal from. Didn’t you, cocksucker? Why, the General’s gonna boil you alive, boy.”

Linda’s eyes shot to Dillard. “What’s he talking about?”

“Ash,” Dillard said. “Why don’t you shut up.”

“Dillard?” Linda pressed.

“They threatened to kill Abi,” Jesse spat. “Dillard’s part of it! Open your eyes, Linda, before it’s too—”

Dillard kicked him again.

“Dillard!”
Linda cried. “What’s he talking about?”

Dillard didn’t answer.

“He’s not going with them,” Linda said, and Jesse saw the stubborn, take-no-shit-off-no-one gal he’d fallen in love with. “I won’t let ’em take him. I’ll call the sheriff if I have to. But he’s not going anywhere with them.”

Chet and Ash exchanged a glance.

Dillard stared at Jesse, his eyes burned into him, nodding to himself. Slowly, he lifted his head, fixing those burning eyes on Linda. “Linda,” he said, his tone tight and strained. “Leave.”

“I won’t.”

Dillard closed his eyes and Jesse started to shout, tried to warn Linda, but Dillard was already on the move. He swung, caught her in the face with his open palm, spinning her around. Her feet tangled and she tumbled into the living room.

“You fucking piece of shit!”
Jesse cried and tried to make his feet. Ash, a man easily double Jesse’s weight, dropped atop of Jesse, pinning him with his knees.

Linda sat up, touched her busted lip, and looked at the blood on her fingers.

“Mommy?” Abigail stood in the hallway in her pajamas. She clutched her doll, her eyes confused. She saw Jesse. “Daddy?
Daddy!
” she cried, and dashed toward him. Dillard grabbed for her arm, missed, and caught hold of her hair, yanking her back. Abigail screamed, a sound full of terror and pain.

“Fuck!”
Jesse cried, kicking and bucking, not even feeling the cuffs biting into his wrists as he fought to dislodge Ash.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Ash said and hammered a fist into the back of Jesse’s head. Jesse’s vision blurred again, but he could still hear Abigail crying.

Dillard, still clutching Abigail by the hair, dragged her over to a door on the far side of the living room and opened it. It appeared to lead down into the basement. “Linda,” he snapped. “If you don’t want her getting hurt, you’re gonna take her downstairs . . .
now
.”

Linda climbed to her feet and rushed over to Abigail, picking her up. Abigail clung to her neck, wailing. Jesse caught one last terrified look from Linda as she and Abigail disappeared down the stairwell.

“Dammit,” Chet said under his breath. “Didn’t I warn you, Jesse? Didn’t I tell you not to fuck with him?”

Dillard slammed the door shut and turned the bolt, locking the girls in. He stood there a minute longer, taking long, deep breaths. Slowly, he turned to Jesse, walked back into the hall, and plucked the Mac-10 back up. He squatted on one knee and grabbed Jesse by the hair, pointing the machine pistol into Jesse’s face. “Where’d you get this gun?”

Blood ran from Jesse’s nose into his mouth and down his chin. “Shoot me, asshole,” Jesse spat, and meant it. He knew he was done for, one way or another, and just wanted Abigail’s heart-wrenching scream gone from his head. He couldn’t bear to think what might happen to Linda and Abigail now. Dillard had been right, he was a loser. He’d not just failed, he’d made everything worse for everyone.

Dillard pressed the gun against Jesse’s temple, rested his finger on the trigger. Both Chet and Ash moved back. The foyer fell dead quiet and Jesse clenched his eyes shut, waiting.

“Ah . . . hey, Dillard,” Chet said softly. “General said we’re supposed to bring him in alive. Y’know? I’m just saying.”

Dillard didn’t move, seemed to be made of stone.

“Dillard . . . man. C’mon. None of us need the General on our asses.”

Dillard let out a long sigh, handed the Mac-10 to Chet, leaned over, and spoke into Jesse’s ear. “You fucked everything up. For me, for you, for Linda and Abigail.” A tremor crept into his voice, he sounded on the verge of tears. “I made you a promise last time we spoke. You remember? I told you what would happen if you set foot on my property again.” He grabbed hold of Jesse’s pinkie, gave it a quick twist, bent the finger all the way backward. Jesse felt a snap and a shot of pain rocketed up his arm. He screamed.

Dillard moved to the next finger, then the next. Twisting and snapping each finger on Jesse’s left hand, not just dislocating them, but breaking them. Jesse screamed and bucked, tried to understand how anything could hurt so bad. The world began to spin, all bright lights and the taste of the stone tile against his teeth. With a final twist, Dillard snapped Jesse’s thumb. Mercifully, Jesse lost consciousness and the world swam into darkness.

Chapter Nine
Blood Bath

F
rom the rear seat of Chet’s Chevy Avalanche, Jesse watched the gate grind open along its rusty track. The rain had picked up, and the darkening sky painted everything gray. Chet pulled into the General’s compound and up to the motor bay followed by Ash in Jesse’s truck. The gate rattled shut with a clang that echoed in Jesse’s head like a death decree. Cinder-block walls, barbed wire, steel outbuildings, rusting diesel parts, and dirty snow—Jesse couldn’t picture a more desolate setting to meet his end. He watched the water drops gather and slide down the windshield, remembered how as a child he’d pretend they were eating each other, tried to pretend he was sitting in the back of his daddy’s car now heading over to Grandma’s for dinner. He fought to control his shaking, the fear in the pit of his stomach. The fear came not from knowledge of his impending death; he was more than ready for that. He’d lost everything, Abigail, Linda, and now the only thing he had left—his music. His left hand was utterly ruined; he would never play again. His fear came instead from knowing his death was going to be long and bad . . . very, very bad. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Please God, make it quick. I don’t have the strength for this. You know I don’t.

Chet got out, came around, and opened Jesse’s door. He dug Dillard’s keys out from his jacket and uncuffed Jesse from the armrest. Chet tucked the cuffs away and hauled Jesse out, bumping his injured hand. A fresh jolt of pain shot up Jesse’s arm and he fought not to cry out.

“Get used to hurting,” Chet said. “ ’Cause you got a world of it ahead of you. As a matter of fact I can without a doubt state you are the very last person I’d care to be right now.” Jesse saw Chet meant it, caught genuine pity on his face.

There came a click, an electrical hum, and the bay door rattled upward, revealing first boots, then legs, and finally a row of men. The General stood, his arms across his chest, eyes set on Jesse, his face stone, staring so hard as to appear never to blink. Behind him stood close to a dozen men, all Boggses and Smootses, all the General’s kin of one sort or another.
The whole clan turned out,
Jesse thought.
A family reunion just for me.
And the reason why wasn’t lost on him. He knew the General meant to make an example of him, to show these men what happens when someone betrays Sampson Ulysses Boggs.

“Bring him on in,” the General said, his voice dry and dead as his face.

Chet and Ash each grabbed one of Jesse’s arms. “You’re in a world of shit, Jesse,” Ash said. “A world of shit.” They dragged him into the auto bay. The men moved aside, revealing a single steel office chair in the middle of the room. They sat him down.

The General plucked a roll of gray duct tape off the peg board, tossed it to Chet. “Make sure he can’t squirm loose.”

Jesse made to rise, and two sets of hands sat him back down hard, held him tight while Chet strapped his ankles to the front legs of the chair and his arms to the back.

Ash came in, carrying the Mac-10 Dillard had taken from Jesse. He handed it to the General along with the additional clips and cash they’d found in Jesse’s jacket.

The General looked the gun over, nodded. “You’re right, Chet. It’s one of mine.” He sat the gun down on a tool cart and began to count the cash.

“There’s eight hundred dollars there,” Chet said.

“Eight, huh,” the General said, scratching at his thick beard. “I believe that’s at least forty thousand short.” He looked at Jesse, wagged the cash at him. “Someone stole this out of my safe . . . without even opening it. Can’t wait to hear the secret to that trick.

“Ash. Shut the bay will you?”

Ash hit the switch. The bay door rolled down and Jesse watched the gray day slowly disappear from view, and it felt to him as though someone was closing the lid on his coffin.

Everybody stood in silence, waiting for the General’s next move. Jesse never felt more alone in his life. He heard a muffled train whistle from somewhere far off and wondered if Abigail could hear that same whistle, realized he didn’t even get to tell her good-bye, to tell her one last time how much he loved her. He could still hear that scream, his sweet little girl screaming with fear and pain all because of him, and it burned into him like a brand. He gritted his teeth, blinked back hot tears. He was ready, ready for it to all be done.

Chet rolled over a tool cart. An array of tools sat along the two shelves: saws, hammers, pliers, a hand drill, a nail gun, and even a blowtorch. Jesse did his best not to look at any of it.

“Don’t much care for the way Dillard’s treating Linda and Abigail,” Chet said, speaking to the General.

“Why, what’d he do?”

“Bloodied Linda up a bit.”

“That so?” the General said.

“Yanking that little girl around by the hair.”

“I guess them girls is his business now.”

“Don’t make it right,” Chet growled.

“There’s a lot not right around here,” the General said and set eyes on Jesse. “A lot of shit needs getting to the bottom of.” He pulled a shop stool over and took a seat in front of Jesse. “Jesse you’re already dead. You know that and I know that. So you’re probably asking yourself why you should bother answering any of my questions. I think your answer depends on how bad a death you wanna have.” He pulled a silver snub-nose revolver out of his belt, leveled it at Jesse. “You answer my questions straight up, then I’ll take this here gun and shoot you in the head and it’ll all be over. You have my word on it. And you know I’m good for my word.” He sat the gun down on top of the tool cart, leaned over, and tugged something out from the bottom shelf. He held it up and Jesse found himself staring into the milky, dead eyes of the severed cow head. The General dropped it on Jesse’s lap; the cold wetness soaked into his pants, the stink saturating his nostrils.

The General flipped off his hat and the overhead fluorescent gleamed off his bald scalp. He set the hat on the tool cart and picked up the nail gun. Held it in front of Jesse’s face. “Now, on the other hand, if you give me the runaround, lie to me even once, then things are gonna get real ugly, real fast.” The General pointed the nail gun at the floor and hit the trigger. A nail blasted out of the front and bounced off the concrete floor with a spark and a loud ting.

The General pressed the nail gun against Jesse’s kneecap. “Now, tell me, Jesse Walker. Just how did that there cow head come to find its way into my safe?”

Jesse closed his eyes, tried to prepare himself for the pain, because he knew whatever he said would be the wrong thing, that he’d never be able to convince them of the truth, and there was no lie he could possibly come up with that would make any sense. There was no way out, and no one to hear his screams, not out here, and if they did, they’d know better than to call the police about it.
I’m fucked and that’s all there is to it.