Psycho Save Us (42 page)

Spencer looked
at Tidov’s phone and pulled up Google Maps.  After a few seconds, he had his
answer.  Yes, Avery Street was definitely in the vicinity of Umway.  Although,
there were a number of ways to get there, some of which appeared to dead end,
or to go
close
to Avery but not quite. 
It’s own little Forgotten
Place
, he thought.

But was the
Russian really telling the whole truth about Avery Street, or was he still
stalling, trying to save his friends?  “They say that a wolf’s territorial
reach is about thirty miles from the pack’s den,” Spencer said.  “But they have
a hunting range of a couple hundred miles.  I’ve heard similar things about
organized criminals.  Now, if I had to bet,” he said, licking his lips, still
relishing, “I’d say you guys control everything, or at least a
lot
, for
up to a fifteen-mile radius around Avery Street.  Especially for an operation
like this one.  Am I right?”

The pedophile
swallowed the lump in his throat, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like
a golf ball in a snake’s throat.

“But I’ll bet
your hunting ground is, what, like thirty miles?  That would entail the Bluff, Vine
City, English Avenue, where all o’ this started.  Tell me I’m wrong.”

Tidov lowered
his head, defeated.  “Y-you’re…you’re n-n-not wrong.”

“I know I’m
not.  You know why?  Because I’m
never
wrong.  I don’t ever open my
mouth to speak unless I’m sure about something.  All other conjecture I keep
inside here.”  He tapped his temple.  “Do ya have anything else to say, my
friend?”  He waited.  Tidov shivered, and shook his head.  “Oh, I bet you do. 
Like this territory you control.  Avery Street’s your wolf’s den, yeah?  You
drive through neighborhoods and stalk children that you perceive as being
neglected, but Avery Street’s your staging ground, your launch point, an’ I’ll
just bet you have all kinds o’ help.  So then, how many houses on that street
you control?  How many relatives an’ cohorts live in that area?”

“N-none,” he
said.

“He’s lying. 
Earlier tonight a shot was fired by one of the Russians, just to scare my
sister, and they weren’t even afraid that someone might hear it,” Kaley said
aloud, speaking to air, speaking to the ceiling, speaking to Bonetta, speaking
to the children who still occupied this room somehow, and speaking to the
monster.  “He fired with perfect confidence.  He never feared anybody hearing
the gunshot.”

Spencer focused
on the first four words of that last sentence:
He never feared anybody
. 
That part in particular stung.  It hurt.  It hurt the way that it hurt to hear
a heckler give a stand-up comedian a hard time with total impunity, and to know
that that person would never act that way if he didn’t have his friends
surrounding him, backing him up, cheering him on.  And no one in the crowd
would do anything about it.  No one would ever do anything about the Miles
Hoovers of the world because they were too afraid to appear rude themselves.

“Prime Minister
Vladimir Putin,” Spencer said, “I have reason to believe you are lyin’ to me,
sir.  Ya see, I have spoken with the other members of the United Nations and
they all agree, based on the word of informants we have amongst some o’ yer
people, that you’re full of shit.  Savvy?  Now, I’m gonna hold up fingers, and
you’re gonna tell me which number seems most appropriate.  If I catch the lie,
you die.  If you tell me true, no harm will come to you.”  He laughed.  “How
’bout that?  I’m a poet and I didn’t know it.”

Spencer held up
his right hand, and started ticking off fingers.  One?  Tidov didn’t move. 
Two?  Tidov remained still.  Three, then?  The Russian looked apprehensive. 
How about four?  The Russian watched the hand carefully.  Five?  Tidov
swallowed.  Six?  Tidov finally nodded.

“Six?  Six
houses in that area belong to yer outfit?”

Tidov nodded. 
“Yes.  J-j-just those six.”

“All on Avery
Street?”

“Yes.”

“Family?”

“S-s-some,” he
shrugged.

“An’ what about
badges?”

“Wh-what?”

“Police,
asshole.  How many cops are on your payroll?”

“N-none.”

“Thank you.” 
Spencer raised the gun and squeezed the trigger.

Kaley jerked
once, and went still.  She felt the dying man in the sea with her.  She felt
the fear, the unease, and the confusion of death.  Then, just like that, there
was nothing.  Nothing but Little Sister’s pain and humiliation.

“You killed
him,” she said.

“I had to,” Spencer
said, standing up.  A brain fragment clung to his left sleeve.  He shook it off
and said, “What other purpose could he serve except to give me away later?”

We could’ve used
him
,
said the Voice.

“For what?  For
leverage?”  He waited.  There was no response from the Voice.  “These people
would burn that bridge as soon as I offered him up as a hostage.  They’d
probably kill you, too, if you are who I think you are.  They’d slit your
throat an’ then bug out, head for Mexico.  An operation like this, they all
probably have bug-out plans, probably have go-ready bags in the trunks of their
cars, an’ everybody in the operation knows the code words to cut an’ run at the
drop of a hat.  Naw, I ain’t lettin’ anybody get away.  Not tonight.”

Call the police
, the Voice insisted. 
Tell them where we’re at
.

“And let them
have Dmitry?  I don’t think so.”

There was
another pause from the person at the other end.  He felt suspicious thoughts
crawl across his brain, tickling and teasing.  He rather enjoyed it.  Then,
finally,
How do you know which one’s Dmitry?

“This connection
works two ways, sister.”  It was true.  He wasn’t entirely sure what he was experiencing,
but he had a genuine curiosity about it all and was starting to explore (quite
unconsciously) the limits of it.  He didn’t really feel all that much, but he
saw images, colors, and certain identifying terms leapt out at him as she
unwillingly shared the image of the asshole who’d looked at him from the window
of the Expedition in front of Dodson’s Store.  And he knew. 
That one’s
…
Oni? 
Naw, Dmitry?
  That seemed right.  The owner of the Voice called him Oni,
but he was really Dmitry.

You’re going to
leave us here to die so that you can get what you want?

“I didn’t say
that,” Spencer said.  He’d unzipped his pants and was now pissing in the brain
hole he’d put in Tidov’s head.  He felt the person on the other end of his
Connection recoiling…and then looking back on in fascination, and vindication. 
“I’m not stupid.  See, any minute now the people on Avery Street are gonna start
getting word that Mr. Tidov’s house is swarmin’ with cops.  That ain’t good. 
It’ll be the same as if I’d called them and made a useless bargain with his
life.  Avery Street’s almost twenty miles from where I am.  Many of ’em will
have bailed before I can get there.”

You’re still
leaving us here so that you get what you want!

“He lied.”

What?

“Tidov lied. 
There
are
police helping him out.  I saw it in his eyes,” Spencer said. 
“And besides, it makes sense.  An operation this big couldn’t go unchecked
without
someone
in authority gettin’ paid to look the other way, to take
Avery Street off o’ the regular patrols of the Zone One cops, or to at least
decrease the amount o’ patrols that go through that neighborhood.  They may not
know that Avery Street is full of rapists and murderers—they probably just
think it’s more meth labs or drug havens—but they’ll look out for Dmitry an’
his ilk just the same.  If I call the cops, some badge somewhere will tip off
the guys at Avery Street.”

There are no
cops in on this!

“Of course there
are.”

How can you know
all this
—

“Because it’s
what
I
would do if I were settin’ up this kind of op.”  Spencer
listened.  Silence from the Voice.  A thoughtful pause, perhaps?  He didn’t
know, but while he waited for another response he prodded at that tickling
feeling at the back of his brain, that part that he had just started becoming
aware of.  He wanted to see her thoughts, as he suspected she was seeing his.

You
…
you
want
Dmitry?
 The Voice finally said, sounding incredulous.

“I want ’em
all.  My hungry ass is staring at a buffet, and I’m one o’ those that likes to
take advantage.  Don’t know the next time I’ll get to eat again,” Spencer said,
shaking off the last few drops.  “But I’m all the way over here an’ they’re all
the way over there.”  He added, “Where you are.”

Another pause. 
Then,
You want me to stall them?

“There’s a good
girl.”

But how?

“I’ve done
enough talkin’.  Why don’t
you
figure it out?”

But
…
I can’t
—

“Think, girl. 
Where are you at?”

A pause. 
I’m
in a basement
.

Spencer thought
about this for a second, and then the answer came to him.  But he wondered how
obvious it was to her.  “Locked in a basement?  With amenities provided?  A
bed, a toilet, all that?”

Yes
.

“An’ how do you
suppose they’re keepin’ an eye on you?”

From the feeling
of consternation that swam over him, he could tell this hadn’t yet occurred to
her. 
Keeping an eye on me?

“Yeah.  How do
they monitor you?”  More silence from the Voice.  He popped the clip out of his
Glock and counted how many rounds he had left.  Eight.  Satisfied, he tapped it
back into place.  “Think now.  Is there a vent?  A hole in the wall of any
kind?”

There’s
…
there’s a
vent, yes
.

“Pretty small? 
And outta your reach?”

Yes
. 
How did
you
…
?
 The Voice trailed off, and there was the feeling of dawning. 
Hope sprang, hot and uncomfortable for him. 
A camera?

“And boom goes
the dynamite.”

More
consternation.  Then,
But, what can I do about that?  I can’t reach it
. 
And even if I
could
I can’t do anything with a camera
.

“But you can
control what they see,” Spencer said.  “Or, at least, what they
think
they see.”

I don’t
understand
.

Spencer sighed. 
“Pretend to start escaping.  Pretend—oh, I dunno—pretend like you know how to
pick locks, an’ then start pickin’ the lock.”

But I don’t know
how to pick locks!

“Doesn’t
matter.  They don’t know that.”

They won’t
believe it
.

“They will.”

How can you be
so sure?

“Because people
are stupid.  Even the smart ones.”

I
…
I can’t
…

“Then give up. 
Die.  Lay there and fucking die, an’ see if anybody gives a shit about you or
yer sister.  You better find some kinda distraction if you wanna live.  If not
lock-picking you can always dazzle ’em with a magic trick.”

“I…don’t know
any magic tricks,” Kaley said, speaking very rationally to the air in front of
her lips.

Says the girl
speakin’ to me via telepathy
.

The glaciers ran
deep.  Kaley explored them with her own brand of curiosity, and, on some
subconscious level, she knew that the monster had noticed her.  She was like an
amateur thief who came through a convenient opening in the screen window, and
the monster was watching from the shadows, curious as to what she would do with
what she found.  Kaley cringed from his sight. 
He’s searching for me, too
.

She saw
something.  A flash, lasting only a second, maybe less.  In that second she saw
the six men in Baton Rouge.  For an instant, she was him.  She was there in
that moment, and she was experiencing
his
brand of curiosity.  She saw
what
he
was capable of when he got hold of someone he found worth his
time.

Kaley closed
that vault and looked away, hoping to never again remember it.  But she would. 
Forever.  There would even be times when she dreamt of it and woke up at night
thinking it had been committed by her.  She would tell this to shrinks, all of
whom would tell her that it was common for traumatized persons to have
reoccurring dreams of violence.  She would never be able to adequately explain
it.  Never.