The Black Death (4 page)

Flo and her Lansdale book were right where Matt had seen them last, and he figured she must have some kind of ESP after she pointed to the office without looking up. The sounds of yelling and banging had been added to the police station since Matt had last visited, and their addition did nothing for the ambiance. Frank was sitting at his desk when Matt got there, and he waved at the green chair that Matt had sat in earlier.

“Kid’s really got some pipes,” said Matt, “and I think he’s trying to tell you that he wants out.”

“He has made mention that he would like to be released,” said Frank. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure he remembers a damn thing that happened. All he knows is that he woke up locked in a cage and that he wants more dope.”

“Think he checked under the mattress?”

“He shredded the mattress. What brings you back here? Want to rub my nose in how you saved my butt?”

“No,” said Matt, leaning back in the chair. “I was hoping we might be able to come to an understanding.”

“I’m all ears.”

“My bike is going to take a couple of days to fix and is going to cost about a grand to get that way. I was figuring since I was going to be in town either way, I might be able to help you out with some of your problems, and maybe you could grease my palm.”

Frank had been playing with a pencil and stopped, letting the marigold-colored No. 2 roll on his desk until it found a barrier in a logbook. Frank looked from Matt to the pencil and then back again.

“What exactly are you proposing?” Frank asked. “And no beating around the bush. I need to know for sure if you’re saying what I think you’re saying.”

“I’m saying that I kind of have a bug in my ear about this whole thing. Like, maybe I feel I might need to help you out. Let me finish. I’m serious. That kid today was not natural, but neither was my bike breaking down, and neither was a guy named Free just happening to walk into Mortimer’s and ask me if I was looking for a good time.”

Frank was pale and the pencil was forgotten. He was leaning back in his chair when he said, “Go on.”

“Word is there’s a place called Sally’s in town, a house of ill repute, unless I’m misreading things. If I had to guess, you’ve been offered a trip or two there, and if I had to guess again, I’d say you said no. Probably did wonders for your reputation for about half the county and made everybody else think you’re a problem. I can go to Sally’s. I can tell you what’s happening there, and once I’m in, it’s a damn good bet I can find out who’s making Plague.”

“You’ll stay for a trial?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then what does any of that matter?” Frank asked. “None of what you said does me a damn bit of good in prosecuting these assholes.”

“I never said anything about prosecution. If anything,
persecution
might be a better term for it. I know that I can get in there in a short amount of time, and once I do, you’ll just need to wait for the call. News like that, it won’t matter how much money they dump into the state police or how many sheriffs they’ve killed in the past.”

“If you do this, there’s no way I could ever tell anyone that I was involved at this level. It’s one thing for me to make you disappear during a raid—”

“But if I get killed before I can get ahold of you, then there will be nothing you can do for me. I know that, and I’m still going to do this, with or without your permission.”

“I could put you in a cell right now to stop you from killing yourself.”

“You could,” said Matt, smiling, “but when are you ever going to get another opportunity like this? If I can do what I’m telling you, this whole drug problem can go away for a little bit, and maybe the meth cooks that replace these dirtbags won’t make product that can make a teenager attack a policeman.”

“And greasing your palm?”

“A thousand bucks would help me out a lot.”

When Matt left the police station, he went over in his head what he was going to do. First things first, he was going to need to talk to Free and see if he intended on bringing him to Sally’s or if he just wanted to sell him some crystal. Figuring that Mortimer’s would be the easiest place to start, even if Mort had to call Free, Matt was scowling as he left the police station, trying his best to look pissed off. Bleak thoughts about a past filled with death and regrets made it easy to get there quickly.

Shouldering the door open, Matt kept scowling as he strode into the bar. Free and his two bandanna buddies were sitting where Matt had left them, and all three of them looked a little out of sorts. Still scowling, Matt ordered a whiskey from Mort, then changed his mind. “Make it a double.” Free and his two buddies watched as Matt slammed the brown liquor, then spun a finger in the air for Mort to refill it. When the glass was full again, Matt took a sip and then a seat, next to Free.

“You look like somebody stepped on your tail,” said Free. “Bad news on your ride?”

“I wish. That sheriff fuck with everybody?”

“Now I see the problem,” said Free, who was wearing a mask of concern that Matt thought might even have been real. “Yes, he does, and I take it he fucked with you, too. Well, you won’t be the first, or the last. He makes it hard for a man to make an honest buck, but don’t worry, he’ll get what’s headed his way. Look, a couple sheriffs back, my daddy and some of his buddies took care of a problematic man in a way that really ought to make our boy think seriously about what’s really important. For example, keeping that piece of ass he’s got watching the front desk safe. Little black crystal, dark plume of smoke, she’ll be turned out faster than it takes Mort here to pour me a beer.”

Free smacked his mug on the table, and Mort refilled and then replaced it.

“See, that was damn fast. That’s the sort of thing our boy in there needs to consider, less’n he wants to see his old lady servicing truckers all night so she can get herself some of the black.”

“What’s black crystal?”

“You better cover your eyes, Mort,” said Free, laughing. “I’m about to break rule number one.” Matt could hear one of the old men grumbling under his breath, but thankfully, none of the old-timers said anything audible, or worse, forced Matt to defend them. Free stuck a hand in his
leather vest, and Matt was transfixed by the wound in his neck. It was exactly as it had been the last time he saw him, another odd sign. Normally, the rot and signs of death came into focus much more quickly. Finally, Free took his hand out of his vest, and Matt forgot all about the wound.

In the center of Free’s offered palm was a small ziplock baggie filled with writhing, pitch-black maggots. It was all Matt could do not to show some sign of disgust, but instead, he forced a smile onto his face and took the bag from Free. Matt thought for a moment before he spoke. If he described the crystal wrong, they would think he was insane, but he had no idea what he was actually looking at, and surely no one else could see the maggots. The flake was pure evil.

“It’s so black. It’s almost like it eats all the light that should be passing through it,” Matt said as he held the bag aloft. “How’s it smoke?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. It’s like you’re a fucking virgin all over again, like you never smoked so much as a joint before.”

The man next to Free leaned over to chime in. “Free wouldn’t fuck with you, either, man. That there is the real deal. You smoke that, you’ll be so high that you won’t just forget all your problems. It’ll be like they were never there in the first place.”

Matt took a sip of his whiskey, then handed the bag back to Free. Feeling the maggots fighting that bag against his skin was making his stomach do somersaults.

“No way, buddy,” said Free, hands aloft and flat, the rot in his neck stretched taut. “That’s a little taste for you to try. You tell me what you think, but I guarantee you’re going to tell me that busting your ride was the best thing that ever happened to you after you puff on that black glass. You got a pipe in the van, Danimal?”

“Yup,” said the man sitting next to Free, apparently Danimal. “Torch, too.”

“Well,” said Free, “let’s go fire it up, then.”

Unsure what to say, and desperate to buy time, Matt felt Free’s hand on his back, shoving him out the door. Free was calling to Mort as they left, “Throw it on my tab!”

***

Danimal’s van was exactly how Matt had expected it to be: short on looks, long on dents and rust. It was the sort of model that had probably started life as a housewife’s dream vehicle for hauling the kids to the grocery store, and just slowly meandered down the path to where it
had wound up, purchased very used by a man like Danimal. Matt felt ushered, almost, as they rounded the bar to the back lot, and he saw the as-yet-unexplored shed that Kenny had given him a key to. Sparing the building a long look, Matt clambered into the vehicle behind Danimal and before Free and his yet-to-talk buddy.

Danimal quickly made his way to the one of the two front seats, the only seats left in the Dodge, in fact. The back was just stained carpet, empty brass, and cigarette butts, along with mounts where seats would have once been attached. Free made a glass pipe rippled with the striations of white resin appear from nowhere and placed it in Matt’s lap.

“Better pack that bowl,” said Free, and any pleasant look the man might have had in the bar had been sucked from him like juice from a grape. No more rotten spots, at least none that Matt could see, Free’s throat notwithstanding, of course, but the remnants of a half-fried worm were still writhing in the glass bowl. Matt pulled two of the maggots from the bag and shoved them into the pipe atop the half-dead one, gave a look to Free and then to Danimal.

“My boy needs a spark,” said Free. “Where’s the MAPP, Danny Boy?”

“I told you not to call me that. I hate it,” said Danimal, and Matt smiled despite himself. He was about to suck down burned maggot flesh, and somehow these idiots could still be funny.

There was no question that frying the bugs might kill him, or possibly even do something worse, and for the first time, Matt began to consider the van as an environment for a fight. The thought died as a yellow tank was passed to the backseat. Free took it and ran a lighter over the top, and a blue flame jumped from the tank, which he lowered to the bowl. Matt felt like vomiting as the maggots fought the fire and attempted to dive through the glass, and then, looking Free in the eyes, Matt hit the pipe. A moment of fire, and then, nothing.

“What the fuck?” Matt asked and exclaimed, “Is that a joke?”

Free shook the tank, then began fiddling with the valve. Matt’s heart was racing in his chest as he watched Free.
I came this close to getting that shit in me.
Matt could feel his ax through the bag and wondered what his chances would be here in a close-quarters fight. None of them would have the strength of the fully turned, but still, if he fought here, even fought and won, his ability to get to the bottom of what Mr. Dark was planning would disappear. Also at risk would be his ability to help Frank. Matt had known the sheriff only a short time, but he truly believed the man had the best interests of the county at heart. Finally, with Matt watching, Free set the tank down.

“You’re out of gas, Danimal,” said Free, “but that’s not all bad. You didn’t even hit that, but I know you’re not a fucking cop. You looked ready, man. You got a sweet spot for crystal, huh?”

“Yep. That stuff’s as good as you say it is, I’d be in to buy—big-time, even.”

“Yeah,” said Free, his eyes shifting to the Danimal and the man Matt had yet to be introduced to, and then back to Matt. “I’m sure something could be arranged. We got a few errands to run. You going to be around later?”

“Yeah, I’m just staying in the shack behind Kenny’s,” Matt said, handing the pipe with its still-writhing maggots back to Free, “so I imagine I’ll be sitting at Mort’s most of the next couple of days.”

“We’ll meet you back there in three hours, sound good?”

“Yeah, that’ll work for me. I need to get settled, anyhow, catch a few winks.”

“You know,” said Free, “that’s probably not a bad idea. Fun can take a long time. Could be a late night.”

Matt managed to hold himself together as he walked away from the van, then passed in front of Mortimer’s, the sheriff’s station, and Kenny’s, but when he was halfway to the shack, he collapsed to his hands and knees.

The urge to vomit was hard to suppress, but fearful of being seen, Matt soldiered on, fumbling his bag and the key before sliding it into the lock and turning it. Stumbling into the shack, Matt felt close to passing out. The dizziness was horrible and all encompassing. He shut the door behind him and then fell into the first piece of furniture that he saw, a threadbare chair. What he wanted was a glass of water, but he knew if he moved to get one, he’d collapse again. Matt closed his eyes and took ten slow deep breaths, gradually establishing a rhythm.

Once his heart rate was slowed and his breathing was returning to normal, Matt opened his eyes. The shack was dark, all the shades were drawn, and it was hot, too—not quite a furnace, but still a bit much. Standing on legs that were still a little shaky, Matt walked across the room, a kitchenette that looked as though it had last been updated in the 1960s. Smiling as he took a light-brown tumbler from a surprisingly clean and dust-free cupboard, Matt turned on the water, letting it run for a few minutes before sliding the glass under the stream. The water was cool through the glass, and Matt drank greedily from it before it was even full, then stuck it back under the stream to fill it again. His hands were no longer shaking, and Matt Cahill was feeling human again. He set the glass on the counter next to the sink, giving himself a mental note to be sure to wash it before he left for the night, then set his bag on the table.

The duffel was road weary, almost as much as Matt, but like him, it was tough and also seemed to keep going. Matt took his grandfather’s ax from it, rubbing his hand across the side of the blade and then, ever so carefully, his thumb down the cutting edge. It was still sharp enough to split hairs with—or to cleave through a skull, for that matter—but it would need to see a grinder one of these days, if for no other reason than to fix all of the grooves years of fighting had burned into its beautiful blade. Matt laid the ax down on the table and walked to the only other room in the shack.