My Three Husbands (24 page)

“I told him where the shit was hid. I made him repeat it to me.”

“He'll find it.”

“Gibbs did a good job with the sprinklers. That fucker's smarter'n he looks. They'll never suspect him.”

“Always better to work from the inside,” Skinny agreed.

Blackbeard tilted his head back and scratched his wooly throat. Suddenly he laughed, a high, whinnying sound. “I wish I could see it. I wish I could fuckin' be there.”

“We done enough,” Skinny told him.

“I'd like to see it, though. See the looks on those rich fuckers' faces.” His own face suddenly contracted with anger. “Who the fuck do they think they are?” He gulped the last dregs from his bottle and hurled it in my direction. It smashed on a nearby boulder.

Skinny stood up and pissed handless from a long red dick into the basin below. “Who the fuck do any of 'em think they are? Rich Jews or rich college kids, none of 'em belongs out here. This land ain't theirs. They don't fuckin' own us. They can't fuckin' come out here and tell us what to do with our fuckin' trees and our fuckin' land.”

“They're gonna find that out soon enough,” Blackbeard laughed.

Skinny stepped unsteadily out of the pool and disappeared from sight. I heard snapping branches. A minute later he was back, still naked but wearing a red hunting cap and carrying a mean-looking automatic rifle. “Where the hell are those fuckers, anyway?”

“Out spikin' trees and building platforms. The cut starts next week unless they get a court order to stop it.”

“You signed up with Lumina?” Skinny asked.

“Hell yes. It's the only work there's been around here for two years. Unless those fuckers stop it again.”

Skinny raised the rifle to his shoulder. “We should just wait here and mow 'em down when they get back.” He narrowed his eyes and fired six shots, aiming in all directions. “Nobody'd ever know.”

“Then who the fuck would get blamed for setting the fire at Pine Mountain Lodge?” Blackbeard asked.

“Sweet,” Skinny smiled. “Very sweet.”

“Let's go have a look in the tents,” Blackbeard suggested. “Might find something we like.” Water sloshed over the side of the stone pool as he hoisted himself up. Flesh steaming, belly hanging like a heavy sack, he moved slowly toward his clothes. “Shit. That water made me dizzy.” He blew out a breath and sat down on a rock.

“It's not the water, dude,” Skinny said. “It's the hundred and twenty proof and that shit we smoked.”

“Shit. I shouldn't of—” Blackbeard leaned over, opened his mouth, and spewed out a gush of vomit.

Skinny looked at him with amused disgust. “Shit, man. What kind of pussy are you?”

“It's the water,” Blackbeard groaned. He retched again, then slowly got to his feet and wobbled back to splash his face. He stood for a moment, head bowed, then lifted it and let out a terrific belch.

“Where's the towels, man?” Skinny asked.

“Ain't they here?” Blackbeard's voice was weak. “You must of left 'em in the truck.”

“You
left 'em in the fuckin' truck,” Skinny said accusingly.

“Just fuckin' stand there for one minute,” Blackbeard yelled, “and you'll be dry.”

“My hair won't,” Skinny said.

“Fuck your fuckin' hair. Your fuckin' hair looks like a fuckin' monk in the middle of a fuckin' sex-change operation.”

Skinny took off his hat and threw it aside. He didn't say anything but his face tightened, like he was ready to explode. It was the way Sean, my first ex, used to look when the mean side of the booze kicked in.

Skinny started hopping around on one leg as he tried to pull on his underpants. When he fell over, Blackbeard laughed.

“Shut up, you fuckin' son of a bitch,” Skinny shouted irritably. When Blackbeard didn't stop, Skinny lurched over, grabbed his rifle, and pointed it at the laughing man's head. “I said shut up!” he screamed.

Blackbeard stopped laughing. “Don't fucking point your gun at me, you stupid fuckin' cocksucker.”

Skinny didn't respond. He kept the rifle pointed at Blackbeard's head.

“Hey, we're buddies, man.” Blackbeard's voice quavered. “We're fuckin' commandos!”

Skinny lowered the rifle. Then, just as quickly, he swung it up and let off a volley of shots. I closed my eyes and hunkered closer to the big rock I was hiding behind.

A frightened “Oo!” came out of a nearby tree.

It got really quiet. Skinny obviously heard the sound and was listening for more.

I looked up, trying to locate where it had come from.

“You hear that?” Skinny asked.

Blackbeard shook his head.

“Is someone the fuck up there?” Skinny yelled.

Blackbeard picked up his shotgun.

“Up in that tree.” Skinny didn't aim, he just shot in the general direction of the sound. Then waited.

“Maybe it was a owl,” Blackbeard said.

“Wasn't no fuckin' owl,” Skinny said irritably. He fired again.

This time the tree said, “Uh!” like it was sucking in a scared breath.

Skinny, wearing his baggy underpants, and Blackbeard, naked, stepped unsteadily through the woods until they were at the base of the suspected tree. They passed so close to me I could smell the reek of the liquor they'd been drinking.

“Tell me if someone's up there,” Skinny called, “or I'm gonna shoot your ass down.”

As Skinny and Blackbeard were looking up, a thick slosh of fluorescent orange paint came hurtling down from the tree and splashed over their heads and shoulders.

“What the fuck? Shit!” The two of them danced in wet, confused circles, shaking their arms. Furious, half-blinded by the paint, swearing unlike I've ever heard anyone swear, Skinny fired up into the crown of the tree. I could hear the bullets pinging through the branches. He must have run out of ammunition because he screamed, “Fuckshit cocksucker!” and slammed his rifle into the side of the tree. Then he grabbed for Blackbeard's shotgun, but Blackbeard wouldn't give it up. The gun was covered with paint and so slippery that neither one of them could hold on to it.

I heard creakings, shakings and crackings up in the tree, as if some really large animal was jumping down from branch to branch in a frenzied effort to escape. Or maybe it had been wounded and was crashing down, unable to hold on.

I crouched there in a sweaty panic, watching from behind my rock, not daring to show myself. I couldn't run away. I was terrified the gun was going to go off and kill Skinny. Or that if I ran they'd shoot me, like an animal. Or that whatever was in the tree had been shot and would momentarily plummet down to earth.

Then I saw him. Tremaynne. Using a rope, he swung and jumped down to a lower branch of the tree. The branch bounced up and down. I was certain it was going to crack under his weight. He'd fall to his death, or they'd see him and shoot. I screamed his name and stupidly ran out into the clearing.

Blackbeard finally wrenched the shotgun away from Skinny. He fell backward and the gun went off. I screamed again.

Skinny, eyes glaring, spun around in my direction. Blackbeard scrambled onto his knees and took aim. I stopped in my tracks, frozen like a deer in headlights.

This is it,
I thought.
If there's one bullet left, it's got my name on it.

“I'll take care of her,” Skinny said. “I want some Sierra Club pussy real bad.” He made grunting, guttural sounds and pretended to be an animal stalking me. He made a sudden lunge and laughed when I darted away.

I didn't know where to go. I was afraid to run deeper into the woods. I didn't want him attacking me there, out of Tremaynne's sight. And I didn't want to run closer to the tree where Tremaynne had been hiding. They hadn't seen him yet, and the best thing would be to decoy their attention away from him.

“Save some of that pussy for me,” Blackbeard said.

“You wanna shoot it first?”

“No, man. I want it live.”

“Yeah,” Skinny said, “we can fuck it live and skin it afterwards.”

Help me, help me, help me,
I prayed.
Someone come. Someone please come.
Then I saw what Skinny and Blackbeard couldn't see because they were so hung up on me. Tremaynne was lowering himself down from the tree. He was silently hanging there on a rope, in midair, and if they turned they'd see him and use him for target practice. I had to keep their attention away from him long enough for him to reach the ground.

My mind was racing. I had to come up with a plan of action. I had to disable two grown men who had a gun.

“I'll get her,” Skinny vowed. “You keep watch on the tree.”

Skinny started after me, and I ran. I had so much adrenaline racing through my veins that I could almost fly. I ran back to Devil's Spring, snatched up their shoes and clothes, and threw them down into the lowest pool. Now they'd have to carry on naked or take the time to fetch out their soaked clothes.

It wasn't easy racing through a dense forest without shoes or clothing. Skinny was forced to slow down to a hobbling sprint. When he saw what I'd done, his face contorted with rage. “Fuckin' cunt! Now I'm really going to slam your ass!”

I ran back toward the tents in the clearing. There was no place to hide. The tents offered no protection. I dashed back and forth, my eyes scouring for a weapon, for someplace safe. I ducked down behind the stacked canisters and carefully peered out.

Blackbeard had turned his attention back to the tree. He saw the rope. He moved closer and aimed his shotgun up into the tree. That's when Tremaynne leapt out and smashed Skinny's discarded rifle into the back of Blackbeard's knees. Blackbeard let out a startled cry and dropped as if his legs had been chopped off. Tremaynne used that moment of surprise to whack the butt of Skinny's rifle against Blackbeard's head. Blackbeard toppled forward but held on to his old shotgun.

I saw Tremaynne trying to pry the gun away. Blackbeard was at least twice Tremaynne's size. He suddenly reared up, teeth bared, like an enraged beast, and tried to knock Tremaynne down. Tremaynne pestered him like a fly so that Blackbeard couldn't get a solid grip on his gun or take aim. His ponderous belly swayed and shook.

I was so engrossed in watching them that I didn't see Skinny until he sprang out with a roar from behind a nearby tent. His sticky orange skin was covered with leaves and debris. He'd obviously been crawling to escape my detection.

Plunging forward, out of his reach, I knocked down the wall of plastic containers. It was harder for him to maneuver, shoeless, but he looked like he was at the point where physical pain no longer mattered. Trapping me was his sole concern.

I made a frantic circuit up and down and between the tents, like a ball trapped in a pinball machine, trying to keep him at a distance. But Marielle's big boots weren't exactly made for pirouetteing in tight spaces. My toe caught in one of the taut ropes at a corner of a tent. Arms flailing, I crashed down on top of the tent, which collapsed under my weight.

As I scrabbled to get free of the nylon, I felt a hand tighten around my ankle. I didn't know what I was doing by then. Everything was blind instinct. Before he had time to bear down on me, I pulled my leg up and kicked it back with all my might, like a furious horse.

The sole of Marielle's boot landed right in Skinny's face. He let out a moan and reared back, covering his face. Blood spurted out of his nose and gushed between his fingers.

His shocked surprise gave me time to scramble to my feet and jump away from the collapsed tent. I looked back to see what was happening with Tremaynne and Blackbeard.

It was horrifying. As I watched, Blackbeard managed to swing around from his kneeling position, whack Tremaynne's jaw with his gun, and pull him down. Given Blackbeard's size, I could see that Tremaynne, once down, didn't have a chance.

Skinny took his hands away from his face, revealing a thick wet mustache of blood. Blood was mixed with the orange paint. His eyes were red, his hair hanging in sticky coils. The look he gave me was so terrifying that I didn't allow it to register on my emotions. Chest heaving, panting for breath, he slowly stood up and started for me again, slower this time but with even more determination.

I snatched up a board lying beside the tents and raced toward Tremaynne and Blackbeard. Skinny shouted, “Behind you!” When Blackbeard turned, I slammed the board as hard as I could into his face. I used it like a baseball bat.

Blackbeard let out a short, strange, high-pitched grunt and pitched forward. Tremaynne wriggled free, jumped up, and started kicking the squirming, moaning Blackbeard. He kicked him once right in the balls. Blackbeard shrieked.

“Stop, stop, oh my God, stop,” I whimpered. “Don't kill him.”

“Get the gun,” Tremaynne panted, slamming his booted foot down on Blackbeard's back.

I looked down. Blackbeard was lying on top of the gun. I turned back to Tremaynne, but it was Skinny that I saw. He was plowing toward us with a long heavy net. I saw what was coming and cried out, “No!” But by the time Tremaynne turned, Skinny had already hurled the net and we were caught.

O
nce they had us netted and tied up, Skinny and Blackbeard pondered our fates. It was payback time for the painful indignities we'd inflicted on them. Whatever their ultimate decision, Skinny made it clear that raping me was part of the plan.

Tremaynne and I were face to face, molded together under the heavy net. I searched his eyes, trying to anchor myself, as Skinny and Blackbeard weighed various options. Should they drag us behind their truck? Douse us with gasoline and set us on fire? Scalp us with the hunting knives back in the truck?

My mind was in a panic. I started to cry. I tried to keep it quiet, so they wouldn't hear me, but tears flooded my eyes and I couldn't brush them away because our limbs were bound with rope tied outside the net. I started to shake, my body spasming uncontrollably.

Tremaynne brushed his lips back and forth across my face. I think he even licked up some of my tears. “Don't give up,” he whispered. “Breathe.”

I pulled in a raw, snuffly, uneven breath. I felt like I'd been stripped naked in front of him. There was no room for fantasy. I wasn't Godiva, or Wonder Woman. All I was was me, Venus Gilroy, who'd stumbled into a really dangerous situation. Thinking to rescue him, I'd done just the opposite. I'd fucked up big time. I'd put both our lives on a roulette table spun by a couple of stoned, gun-happy freaks.

“You know they're going to come back and find you,” Tremaynne suddenly said in a loud voice.

Skinny kicked him in the back. “Who said you could talk?”

“Just leave us,” Tremaynne pleaded, “just leave us and get the hell out of here and we won't do a thing.”

Skinny kicked him again. “Dude, you ain't in no position to make no deals.”

Tremaynne grunted with the blow but refused to shut up. “They're going to be back any minute. There's ten of them. They'll see what's going on and stop you.”

“No they won't,” Skinny said, “'cause we got a gun.”

“Yeah, but you don't have any shells left,” Tremaynne said.

The statement seemed to enrage Skinny. He held out his hand. Blackbeard handed him the gun. Skinny circled around us, stopped, took aim. “Didn't nobody ever tell you what we do to shitfaced kikes who come out here and spike our trees and keep us from working?”

I whimpered and squeezed my eyes tight.

“I'm telling you,” Tremaynne persisted, his voice quavering. “They're gonna be here. Any minute.” He was so scared that he had to gulp in a breath about every three words. “That was the plan. I'm not shitting you. That was the plan. They're gonna be here. Ten guys. Big guys. Get out of here now. While you can. Leave us and go.”

Skinny and Blackbeard were silent. Tremaynne took advantage of their silence to keep talking. “Look, we're on your side,” he argued. “You don't get that, but we are.”

Skinny let out a high dry laugh.

“We are,” Tremaynne insisted. “We're on your side. We're not against you.”

Skinny hawked and spat. I opened my eyes and saw a wad of bloody snot running down Tremaynne's cheek.

“Let's go get our shit,” Skinny said. “These pussies ain't going nowhere.”

 

 

“Venus,” Tremaynne groaned. “Why did you come?”

“I thought you were in trouble.”

“I didn't expect you to come.”

“I had to find you.”

“You shouldn't have come.”

“You just disappeared.”

But there was no time for any personal, emotional stuff. No love scenes between reunited lovers. We had to act quick.

“Listen,” Tremaynne said, “there are no bullets in that gun. Okay? You don't have to worry about the gun. He's bluffing with it, and the other gun's broken.”

“I got the hairy one pretty good with that board,” I said. “He still looks out of it.”

“They're both out of it. They've been drinking all day. But they're pissed off, really pissed off, and that gives people weird energy.”

“What do we do?” I sucked in a ragged breath, trying to hold back the panic I could feel plucking at me.

“We've got to stall for time,” Tremaynne said.

“Where are those ten men?”

“What ten men?”

“You said ten men would be here any minute.”

“It's five, and they're scattered all over the forest.”

“Who are they?” I asked.

He turned his face away and wouldn't answer.

“Are they Earth Freedom?”

He didn't answer.

“Did you come out here to be with them? Tell me the truth, goddamn it!”

He nodded.

“Oh God,” I said.

“But they've set us up,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and urgent. “This paramilitary group. They're going to set the fire. Because they know we'll be the fall guys.”

I wanted him to say he was sorry. But that was stupid. It was pointless to be mad or hurt or upset. Right now we had to work together. Our survival depended on mutual cooperation. Coming up with a plan and sticking to it.

It was impossible to stand because the net had been bunched and tied beneath our feet. But within the net we could use each other for leverage and roll sideways.

Our bodies were sticky with orange paint and dripping with sweat. Our breath came in grunts and gasps. Sharp sticks pierced our clothes and jabbed our faces as we clumsily hauled ourselves across the forest floor. The goal was to reach the trailhead that cut in from the logging road. Tremaynne said if we could get to the parking area, maybe someone in the Earth Freedom group would be there, hiding out in the vicinity, waiting for the two hunters to leave.

I was a very obedient wife and did what my husband told me to do. I didn't trust
him,
but I trusted his strength and his ability to remain clearheaded in extreme situations. I admired him for that.

And I cursed myself for being so goddamned secretive. Nobody except the desk clerk at Pine Mountain Lodge knew where I'd gone, and he thought I was Godiva. All I'd told Marielle was that I was going out hiking with Tremaynne. I hadn't told the dads zip. If the dads wanted to find me, they wouldn't think to ask the desk clerk, and the desk clerk had no reason to tell them, unless I didn't come back.

I had a vision of them—the dads, Marielle and Fokke, Geof Killingsworth, Kristin, Mike, Marcello, everyone trapped and screaming as a homemade bomb exploded and flames engulfed the lodge. A surprise attack. Even if everyone escaped, Daddy's beautiful building would be destroyed. And the ecoterrorist Earth Freedom movement, of which my husband was a member, would be blamed for the work of a right-wing paramilitary organization.

This wasn't the sort of honeymoon I'd been counting on.

 

 

Moving by inches, like some monstrous larva, we finally reached the trailhead. There were no other vehicles parked there, just Skinny and Blackbeard's metallic blue pickup. The minute I saw the big cage in back I knew where I'd seen them.

They were the hunters who'd killed the bear. We'd run into them in Snakebite, the day before. They'd draped the dripping bear carcass over the cage to enrage the blood-lust in their dogs. Tremaynne had shouted at them in front of the Snakebite Café, and they'd laughed.

Thank God there weren't any dogs now. Maybe they came later . . .

“Shit,” Tremaynne whispered, “here they come.”

I listened. It sounded like they were thwacking their way through the brush.

“What now?” My heart was booming. So was Tremaynne's. I could feel it through all my clothes. Once upon a time our hearts had beat together like that when we were making love. Now they were beating from fear.

“Where could they of got to?” It was Skinny, sounding like a parent hunting his children in a game of hide 'n seek. “You see 'em? They can't of got far.”

Tremaynne wrenched his body. This was my signal to roll on top of him and pull him down on the other side. We started our routine, trying to move away from the truck. But then I saw where he was headed and my body froze.

“I can't,” I wheezed. “Tremaynne, I can't.”

We were about a yard from the edge of a steep precipice. The wind roared up over the lip of it.

“We'd never make it,” I cried. “We couldn't control our fall.”

Tremaynne looked at me. His breath had a hard metallic smell. I know now that's the smell of terror. His eyes were sharp and glittering. “What choice do we have?”

My teeth were chattering and my breath wouldn't come right.

“No sign of 'em anywhere.” Skinny's boots crunched out on the gravel near his truck. They crunched over to where we were.
“Mm,
must of got away. Guess we may as well go.”

What were they up to? We were right in the road. They had to see us.

They got into the pickup. The motor roared. The truck slowly started to back up.

Straight toward us.

We stiffened. Then, frantic, we rolled, once, twice, until we were at the very brink of the chasm. And still those huge wheels slowly kept moving, until they were no more than a foot from our heads and we could smell the exhaust and the rubber of the tires.

The truck kept inching backward. It would either crush us or force us off the cliff.

I thought I'd conquered my fear of heights. I hadn't. I looked once and saw what would happen. The drop was a vertical plunge down a steep cliff face to a river far far below. Our fall would be broken by a rock ledge about thirty feet below. Maybe we'd land there and stop, all our bones broken. But more likely we'd glance off the side of the ledge and plummet down like a dislodged boulder.

Skinny maneuvered the truck until the wheels were actually touching us. Another inch and we'd be over. That's when I screamed. I had to. I screamed as loud as I could. I screamed until my throat was raw. I screamed so loud that the sound echoed in the canyon below.

“Venus.” Tremaynne tried to calm me but I wouldn't be calmed. “Venus. Venus.”

I screamed until the truck stopped and I heard the emergency brake being pulled up. The two doors opened. I heard the crunch of boots.

“You hear a sound?” Skinny said, looking right at me.

“Didn't hear nothin'.” Blackbeard's voice was subdued, like he still wasn't feeling so hot but had to play along.

I was trying to catch my breath but afraid to breathe because the exhaust was making me sick to my stomach.

And then, in the distance, I heard strange music. I thought maybe this was what you heard when you were dying. I was light-headed from the exhaust. My eyes were so heavy I could barely keep them open, and my whole body started to go limp.

What I heard was an opera aria. I didn't know the name. I didn't know the opera. It was one of those things I'd heard a hundred times but never paid any attention to. It was an aria that Whitman was always playing.

Tremaynne tried to rouse me. “Venus!” He brushed his face against mine.

“Pretty music,” I babbled.

“Venus, stay awake. Someone's coming.”

“Tell the dads I love them.”

I was vaguely aware of fast-talking voices and sudden movement. Skinny and Blackbeard jumped back in the cab and the truck shot forward. A rush of fresh air revived me. The truck stopped, and they leapt out again and ran around to the back. Skinny slammed down the tailgate and fumbled to open the door of the kennel.

“Get 'em in there, fast,” he ordered.

They dragged us toward the truck. Once we were away from the cliff edge, Tremaynne started to struggle. He squirmed and wiggled like a powerful fish and his manic energy infected me so I squirmed and wiggled, too. The only way we could resist them was to slow them down.

The opera aria was louder. It was coming closer. Someone was loudly singing along with it. There was only one person who sang opera like that.

“My dads are coming!” I cried.

It was true, wasn't it? The dads had saved me countless times before. In New York, Daddy saved me when a man suddenly grabbed me on Broadway and tried to jam his hand into my underpants. Daddy knocked the man out, and the man later sued Daddy for assault. And once, I remembered very clearly, Whitman saved me from drowning at Jones Beach. We got caught in a swell and were being sucked out to sea, but he somehow managed to get hold of me and shoot me forward out of the deep water until I could stand up again. Every time someone or something tried to harm me in New York, the dads had been there, fearless.

We squirmed and thrashed, banging against the wire as Skinny and Blackbeard tried to stuff us into the cage. Even fighting as hard as I was, I could see and smell how filthy it was back there.

“Fuckin' stuff 'em in!” Skinny screamed. He tried to jam our heads in as we flopped and hurled ourselves around on the tailgate. “We'll cover 'em with the tarp.”

“There's no time, man,” Blackbeard panted. “Let's just get the fuck out of here.” He was starting to panic. “They catch us, man, you go back to the pen.”

“We can't leave 'em. They know too much. Let's fuckin' throw 'em.”

Then the joyous sound of a motor, of wheels on a dirt road, of that aria and Whitman singing at the top of his lungs as the dads rounded the last hairpin and started up the long steep incline toward us.

The goal was to be heard. We had to be heard over the music, over Whitman's voice. I screamed “Daddy! Daddy! Help!” and Tremaynne screamed along with me.