Catholic Guilt and the Joy of Hating Men (8 page)

The first house I found along the road had some lights on upstairs; I rang the doorbell and a dog started barking.

A woman with long red hair answered the door. She was in a housecoat, but her face was caked in white makeup; she reminded me of that English queen who pasted herself up... Cate Blanchett.

“You poor thing,” she said. “You must be freezing in that getup.”

Soon I was invited inside and lent a pair of sweatpants and given a cup of the world’s worst instant coffee.

They were a youngish couple, maybe early thirties, the husband a slightly overweight man dressed in hipster plaid. Their house was classic Vermont, with country french wallpaper and oil paintings of red barns and roosters, and a beautiful hardwood curio with a collection of antique tea sets. It’s the kind of look you can only pull off if you actually live over there.

The man seemed panicked, his hands shaking as he dialed the numbers on his cell phone; the woman was calmer, like she knew that her tranquility was exactly what I needed.

“Your friends will be alright,” she said. “The Sheriff’s Department is good at what they do.”

The man walked out of the kitchen with the cell phone, closing the sliding door behind him.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not traumatized or anything.”

“You’re in shock,” she said. “But that’s good. You need time to process what happened.”

“Maybe...”

“It’s terrible what they did to you. I can’t believe that the Allens would do something like this. Their family’s been here for generations.”

“So that makes them less likely to own slaves?” I said. And then I felt like an ass. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay... we’ll chalk that up to the shock.” She smiled.

The man came back into the kitchen.

“They’ve been dispatched to the Allens,” he said. “They’ll send someone over here when they get the chance. They told me to make sure you eat something.”

“We have muffins,” the woman said.

“Wow,” I said. “You guys have quite the home here. Beautiful furniture and... uh... teapots, and fresh-baked muffins.”

“They’re from Costco.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Maybe just stop talking,” the woman said. She seemed to catch herself, and smiled again. “You know... the shock and everything.”

“So I’m going to go out and check on the chickens,” the man said.

“You guys have chickens?” I said. “That’s awesome. I’d love to see them.”

“Just shut up, already,” the woman said.

“Maybe I should wait outside.”

“Good idea. Mike... take her outside.”

“But I have to check on the chickens,” the man said. “I need to make sure they’re safe.”

“I can see myself out,” I said.

“No one cares about the goddamn chickens,” the woman said. “I hope they eat every last one of those filthy, stinking birds.”

“You don’t like chickens,” I said. “I can see that.”

She was sweating and her face was changing; the caked-on makeup was running a little, and I could see what was underneath. A scar that ran from the edge of her lips up to her right temple. You’d expect to see old stitches scarring around it, like some kind of Frankenstein’s monster cross-stitch... but it was just a gash, like something had cleaved open her head but she’d just stuck it back together with plastic cement.

“You’re staring right at it,” she said. “Don’t you have any manners?”

“I’m sorry... it’s just...”

She bent her head forward pulled back her hair. “Take a look... take it all in, sweetheart...”

She was missing her left ear.

“We don’t have time for this,” the man said. “It’s two AM already. We have to get started. Fallon will be back before dawn.”

“Shut up, Mike,” the woman said.

“You shut up, Kat.”

I stood up from my chair.

“Hold on,” Mike said.

“I’m going to try the next house,” I said. “You guys are busy.”

He grabbed my elbow. I wasn’t sure I could win in a fight.

“So you’re Kathleen Shannard,” I said. “Now I get why you hate me.”

“I hate you because you’ve insulted me since you arrived.”

“By accident, maybe.” I didn’t feel like apologizing. “So that wasn’t the Sheriff’s Deparment...”

“No, it was. You won’t believe how high this conspiracy goes. All the way to the top.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Yes. I am. Now go outside with Mike while I get dressed.”

Mike led me out the side door and took me into the garage. He pulled out his keys.

“Get in the trunk,” he said as he pressed the button.

I climbed in, making sure I knew where the inner release lever was in case I got the chance to run.

He slammed the trunk closed above me.

I listened to him walk around to the drivers side and get in.

He turned on the car and the stereo.

The garage door was still closed. The evidence was starting to mount that Mike was an idiot.

I waited a minute or so, and then I pulled the lever.

I climbed out of the trunk.

Mike didn’t seem to notice.

I walked over to the overhead door and pressed the automatic button. I looked over to see him watching me.

“Carbon monoxide,” I said.

He nodded.

I walked back to the trunk and climbed back in.

Mike didn’t bother getting out to close it.

“Why the hell is the trunk open?” Kathleen asked as she stepped into the garage. She glared at me before slamming it shut. “I’m driving,” she said. “You drive like an old Chinese woman.”

Mike didn’t say anything, but I heard and felt him awkwardly climbing over to the passenger seat.

Soon we were on our way.

“I called Davis,” Kathleen said. “Told him to get started without us.”

“We should head there first,” Mike said. “Deal with the Allens after.”

“And what if they leave?”

“We’ll catch them. You need to be there to load the trailers.”

“They’ve got the goddamn prods for that. If Davis can’t figure out how to get them loaded... ugh... whatever... try calling Cadance. Tell her we’re coming to help. Keep her there.”

“Her phone’s still charging,” I called out from the trunk.

“And then call Fallon again, find out when he’ll get there. I swear he knows something’s up.”

I heard the squeal of tires and the rev of an engine.

“Oh my god,” Mike said.

The slam of metal was louder than I’d expected, and I felt my head slam hard against the steel frame. It hurt like hell.

I heard the car doors open, along with what must have been the sedan’s.

“Shit!” Kathleen yelled.

There were boots scraping along the gravel shoulder, and then a gunshot.

I heard a woman scream.

I stayed in the trunk.

It was quiet for over a minute. Then I heard the sound of knocking, echoing in the distance. Three long knocks. Two short knocks. A pause. Two long knocks. Another pause.

I pulled the lever and slowly climbed out of the trunk.

The two cars had hit almost head on; it looked like Kathleen had tried to veer onto the shoulder, but whoever had been driving the silver sedan had reached us first.

I walked towards the banging, still tapping along in a pattern that made no sense. It was coming from the trunk of the sedan.

“Who’s in there?” I asked.

Two more knocks. Whoever it was couldn’t talk.

I ran to the open drivers door of the sedan and found the trunk release. By the time I’d reached the trunk again Cadance and Tiara were already climbing out.

“Why didn’t you say something?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Cadance said. “I was trying to do ‘SOS’ or whatever.”

“Are you two okay?”

“We’re okay,” Tiara said.

“Good.”

I took a look at where her ear had been bitten off. Someone had done a pretty good job of bandaging up the area.

“That was Arty,” Cadance said.

“Arty?”

“The big Chinese guy. The one who took the shotgun and shoved us in the trunk.”

“He seems nice.”

“Are you going to hurt us?” Tiara asked.

“I wish,” I said. “But seriously... we need to get out of here.”

“We aren’t safe,” Cadance said.

“We can take my old banger,” Tiara said. “It’s back at the livery stable. If we can get there --”

“You mean your car?”

“Yes.”

I sighed. “I’m kinda hoping that Pouchon will find a way to bite off your tongue.”

“Hate me later,” she said. “Right now we should all be focused on staying alive.”

We started walking back towards the stable, both Tiara and Cadance glancing from one side of the road to the next, like they expected Pouchon to come crashing out from the trees for a midnight snack.

There was another gunshot.

“He told me he wasn’t a murderer,” I said. “Of course, Pouchon said that, too.”

“They’re all murderers,” Cadance said. “That’s why we chose them.”

“Because you’re all idiots?”

“Because it’s justice,” Tiara said. “They take a life, and we take theirs.”

“And where’s my justice?” I asked.

“Anyone who performs the cinnamon challenge should be considered a write-off.”

“I’m glad you’re going to prison.”

“Nothing’s set in stone.”

“Quiet,” Cadance said.

We all stopped walking and listened.

There was a car coming up behind us. The silver sedan.

“We should cut through the woods,” I said. “Get off the road.”

“Go ahead,” Cadance said. “We’ll wait here for Arty.”

“Am I missing something? You want him to shove you back in the trunk?”

“Better than getting eaten alive.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing.”

“Fuck me,” I said. “What’s out there in those woods?”

“Zombies,” Tiara said.

“Wait... so Arty let them out? Those guys are wandering around out there?”

“Wrong zombies.”

“What are you talking about?”

The sedan drove up beside us.

“Get in,” Arty said, the shotgun propped up beside him.

“No trunk?” I asked.

“Trunk’s full. I killed them... I didn’t know what else to do with the bodies...”

The three of us climbed into the back seat.

Arty started turning the car around.

“We need to go back to the stables,” I said.

“We’re going to Derby Line,” Arty said. “Easiest way into Canada. Once we’re across you girls can do what you want.”

“What about the bodies?”

“We’ll dump them somewhere on the way... I don’t know... I’ll figure it out.”

“Did you get the money?” I asked.

“Shut up,” Cadance said.

“What money?” Arty asked.

“I can get it for you,” I told him. “Millions of dollars, I heard. Take us to the stables and we can split it.”

“Is this some kind of trick? Am I going to find Fallon Allen and several of his friends waiting for us?”

“No deception. Fallon will want me just as dead as he’ll want you.”

“Okay,” he said. “But I get half just for me. You girls can split the other half.”

“Oh...”

“You weren’t going to split it,” Cadance said.

“We’re stealing it from you,” I said. “Why would you get a cut?”

“There won’t be any splitting,” Tiara said. “He’ll just do us in once he’s got his hands on the quid.”

“She’s still doing that stupid British thing?” Arty asked.

“Won’t take the hint,” I said.

Arty took us back towards the stables. The gate was still open, but Gary had disappeared from the driveway.

“Did you kill him or what?” I asked.

“I’m not a murderer.”

“Yeah, well you probably should have started with him.”

Arty parked in the lot and the four of us climbed out.

“So where’s the cash?” Arty asked.

“We’ll need shovels,” I said. “Right, girls?”

Cadance nodded. “I’m not doing any of the digging.”

“You are so digging,” I told her. “Oh, but while we’re here you should pick up your purse.”

She stared at me. She didn’t know what I was up to.

“She doesn’t need her purse,” Arty said.

“Are you telling me she wasn’t bitching to you about her goddamn pills? She wouldn’t stop.”

“You do need those pills,” Tiara said. “Explosive diarrhea is no laughing matter.”

“That is decidedly nasty,” Arty said.

Cadance still looked confused. “I think it’s in Stable B,” she said.

“There should be shovels in the tack room there,” Tiara said. “All in one stop.”

“We need to hurry,” Arty said.

We moved up the pace on our way to Stable B. I made sure I was front of the pack as we reached the tack room door. I went in and started grabbing the shovels, scanning the room for a yellow wand.

I saw a pink My Little Pony backpack. It was nowhere near being a purse, but it had a cattle prod leaned up against it.

I reached down and grabbed the prod. “I think I found your purse,” I said.

“I’m freezing,” Tiara said. “My trousers are wet. I’d be better off just in my knickers.”

“What are you talking about?” Cadance said.

“You know what? I think I’m going to take them off.”

I walked out to see Tiara pulling down her pants.

Naturally Arty didn’t see me coming.

Once I’d stuck him with the cattle prod I dropped it and grabbed the shotgun. I’m not dumb enough to let Tiara take it again.

Cadance and Tiara tied him up with at least a half dozen straps of leather, before tossing him in one of the stalls and closing the padlock behind him.

Cadance picked the cattle prod up off the concrete floor.

“You can’t trust those girls,” he said to me.

“I don’t trust you,” I said. “You’re too nice. It’s kind of suspicious, you know?”

We left him in Stable B and made our way outside.

We headed over to the first stable, where the other girls and I’d been locked away; I made sure to be at the back, just in case one of Fallon Allen’s daughters decided to try anything.

Cadance opened the door, and she and Tiara stepped inside.

“Are they okay?” I asked.

“See for yourself,” Tiara said.

I walked into the stable, trying to hold the shotgun like I knew how to use it.

I pointed it at the two men standing in the aisle in front of us. One of them was Pouchon. The other was fifties, white, and surprisingly fit.