Driving Big Davie (Dan Starkey) (29 page)

'What're you doing?' I asked.

By way of response he raised the axe and struck it hard against the wall; hard paint and splinters erupted. Kelly turned her face away against the shrapnel.

'Ice-cream store next door' he said. 'If we can get through, maybe we can escape that way.' He raised his eyebrows hopefully, then turned back and started hacking away. I tried to keep look-out on the stairs but the smoke was getting to my eyes; it was thicker, blacker now, harder to catch a breath.

No more gunshots. Maybe DJ had surrendered.

I shouted back to Davie, 'Howse it going?'

'Getting there!' He managed a smile for Kelly. 'Still waiting for that dessert.'

'You get us next door, I'll buy you an ice cream.'

'Let's be devils, and steal one.'

Kelly smiled. I don't know what they were so smiley about. We were going to die, and with the way the fire was raging beneath us, the ice cream would have melted by the time we got to it.

Behind me a window cracked. I turned to it just as there came screams from below; as I peered down at the crowd I saw it suddenly split to make space for Deputy Jesse Stone as he came charging out of the station. He was on fire.

'Jesus Christ,' I said with enough horror for Kelly and Davie to hurry to my side. Together we watched as Stone fell to the ground screaming and writhing in agony.

The mob watched him helplessly for several eternal moments. Even in their frenzy they knew he was beyond help.

Or the sort of help that would save him.

DJ saved him in a different way. He stepped up, raised his shotgun, and blasted his head off.

Safe as houses. That's what my old da used to say.

If you could see me now, Da.

Safe as burning houses.

Kelly Cortez sobbed by the window while Davie hacked away at the wall, pausing only to cough. I would have offered to help, but I was worried about splinters. Besides, I had to keep look-out.

'They're not coming,' I said weakly, peering into the thick smoke.

'They're still not coming.'

'No sign of them at all.'

I was trying to keep our spirits up, but it was a thankless task. I knew they weren't coming, because it was bloody obvious that they didn't need to. The fire would soon do their work for them. It would also cover up a multitude of sins. I could already see the headlines in the local paper. EC reading it at the front desk of the hotel:
Tragic Fire Claims Five
in huge letters, and smaller, beneath,
Sheriff Was on Eve of Retirement
and then:
Tourists Perish.
A sub-editor to the end.

There was a new sound then: the groan of timber as it cracked and split in the heat. We were on top of a bonfire which would soon collapse in on itself.

'Davie — for fuck sake hurry up!'

'Hold your horses,' he hissed back.

Kelly was now coughing badly. So was I. I was burning from the inside out, and vice versa. It was only a matter of time.

Another half-dozen blows.

Davie dropped the axe to his side and kicked hard against the wall. It collapsed inwards. This wasn't altogether good news. The hole sucked the smoke into it and the flames towards it, and for several moments we flapped about lost in the darkness, but then it cleared enough for Davie to guide us through into the adjoining building.

We knelt on the floor for a minute trying to catch our breath; it was quickly filling with smoke, but it wasn't anything like as bad as next door. This floor was used mostly for storage. There were cartons of ingredients for the ice cream, tins of flavouring, cardboard boxes stuffed full of wafers. We could have had a grand party, but someone had sent Death an invitation.

Davie got to his feet first and urged us to the top of the stairs, but instead of leading us down he stopped and shook his head.

'What is it?' said Kelly.

'We're too close.' He was looking at the far wall, which divided the ice-cream parlour from the vacant building next door. If we could get through that wall as well, we'd be further removed from the mob and stand a better chance of slipping away unseen.

'Go for it,' I said. But instead he tossed me the axe.

'Here,' he snapped.'I'm supposed to be resting my fucking arm, not chopping down a house.'

Perhaps he had a point.

The Axeman Cometh.

I attacked the wall as if my life depended on it, and it did.

I heaved, I thrust, I whacked, I destroyed. After a couple of minutes Davie took the axe back off me and said, 'You're doing more harm than good. Go and keep watch.'

I was good at keeping watch. It suited me down to the ground.

Kelly came and stood beside me. Her face was black, her eyes were red and her hair was caked to her head.

'Bet you didn't expect this when you had your Frosties this morning,' I said.

She blinked and rubbed at her eye, even though as a doctor she should have known better.'You mean Frosted Flakes.'

'Why would you do this?' I said, changing the subject.

She glanced back at Davie.'He has a nice ass.'

'What's wrong with mine?'

'Bony,' she said.

I shrugged.'I'm married, I would have said no anyway.'

'Yeah,' she said.'I'm not your type.'

'How come you're not with your mates outside?'

'How do you know I'm not?'

'Ah right — you're a double agent.'

'Yup. And loyal to the end, because I'm going to burn to death.'

'That's often the fate of double agents,' I said.

Davie yelled across from the wall.'Will you two stop fucking blethering and give me a hand?'

His chopping had exposed a hollow space between our wall and the building next door. He'd already cut through half a dozen of its wooden slats. Together we were able to peel several more of them back until they cracked and split, allowing us to squeeze through the gap and into the vacant building. Here the air was cool and musty and far enough away from the inferno that was now the police station to not immediately suck in all of its fumes. The floor was covered in odd bits of discarded machinery and boxes full of yellowing files.

Kelly went to the top of the stairs, then stopped us again and listened. We could hear the distant yells of the mob, but nothing close at hand. We moved cautiously down the darkened stairs, listened again at the landing on the next floor, then continued our descent to the ground. The three buildings had the same basic design, so even though it was almost pitch black — the only light a very vague orange glow from the fire squeezing through shuttered windows — Kelly was able to lead us across the floor and down the corridor to the back door without any great difficulty. There were a lot of empty beer cans littering the corridor; local kids probably used it as an illicit drinking den — which was good news for us as Davie was able to open the back door effortlessly rather than having to battle with the large padlock which someone had previously cracked apart but left hanging in place so that anyone taking a cursory glance at it would suppose it was still doing its job.

We crossed a small backyard to a white painted wooden fence with a gate which was bolted shut. Davie eased the bolt across and peered out into an alley which ran for several hundred yards along the back of the main street. To the right, but shielded from us by another wooden fence, was the back door of the police station where some of the mob had lain in wait for us. We couldn't tell if they were still there. To the left of us were the backs of the other stores which lined the main street; on the other side of the alley there were the back gardens of several wooden bungalows. There were no lights visible within. Probably everyone had gone out to enjoy the lynching. It was good, that. It showed a strong sense of community.

I said, 'What about the car?'

'You want to go down to the Mountain View and ask JJ for the keys?' Davie turned to Kelly.'What about yours?'

'I live about five miles out of town. I cycled in.'

'Any chance of a doubler?' I asked.

Davie scowled at me and Kelly looked mystified.'We have to find somewhere to lie low,'he explained.' They'll be sobered by the morning.'

I'm not sure if he actually believed that, but it was something to cling to, like a life raft with a hole in it.

We began to jog along the alley.

'How's your arm?' I whispered.

'Sore,' said Davie.

'I could write you a prescription,' said Kelly.

From behind us there came a roar, and we turned to see one of the walls of the police station slowly collapse in on itself. The others quickly followed, causing the first and second floors to concertina down on top of them. There was a cheer from the crowd as flames shot up into the night sky.

One house down, two to go.

We continued along the alley for several hundred yards. I couldn't smell the smoke any more. We were getting close to the water: there was a slight fleck of sand on the smooth breeze and we could hear crisp waves breaking on the beach. It had frightened me before, but now I was ready to make friends with the sea and all of its creatures. They weren't half as terrifying as people were. Ordinary people who sold souvenirs and served hamburgers and cleaned your room by day became wild and unpredictable by night, shooting policemen and burning hapless tourists alive. There were more sharks on the land than there were in the ocean.

At the end of the alley was a long stretch of open ground leading to the beach. It was unlit, but there was a moon high in the sky which might as well have been plugged into the mains.

'If we get caught out there, we're finished,' said Davie.'C'mon — this way.'

We hadn't elected him leader, he had just assumed the role. I was better with adverbs, and Kelly Cortez could probably have bested him when it came to creating a mean poultice, but Davie was built for this: he was Rambo, to my Dumbo.

He led us into the back garden of one of the bungalows and up to the back door. He sent us left and right along the outside of the dwelling to check for lights and other signs of life.

Nothing.

When Davie tried the back door, it was unlocked. Parts of America are still like that. You can pop out to lynch someone, secure in the knowledge that nobody is going to steal your furniture while you are away.

The house smelled of cigarettes and pizza, mostly because there were overflowing ashtrays in every room and crust-filled boxes piled up in the kitchen. Davie went from room to room, and we followed, because he seemed to know what he was doing.

'You know who lives here?' Davie asked.

I shook my head.

'Not you, you Clampett.'

'Think they're on welfare,' Kelly said.

She was probably right. If the bungalow had had wheels its inhabitants would have been classed as trailer trash. But one country's trailer trash is another's privileged elite. They were poor, but they had cable. They were unemployed, but they had a computer. They didn't appear to have a phone, but they were on the Internet. Davie immediately switched the computer on in one of the bedrooms and called up AOL. Then he said, 'Fuck,' as it demanded a password.

We gathered around him, trying to smother the glow from the screen and guess the password from the odd billion words in existence, a password which was all that stood between us and emailing the cops, the Feds and the Cavalry.

'Fuck,' Davie said again.

They're fucking trailer trash,'I said.' They can't know that many words.'

He typed in the two first names he found on an overdue credit-card bill on the floor. John, then Clara. No use. He tried their surnames. He tried Miami Dolphins, Garth Brooks, Elvis, grits, crackers and gravy. I suggested Big Mac, moron, inbred and hillbilly.

From behind us a small voice said: 'We ain't no hillbillies.'

'Fuck!'
we exclaimed as one, apart from the doctor, who had better breeding.

Davie recovered his faculties first and spun, ready to chop whoever it was with his good arm, but for a moment he couldn't see anyone at all. Then a boy of not more than thirteen began to emerge from beneath the bed. His hair was tousled and he was wearing a grubby T-shirt, boxer shorts and a troubled expression.

'Hi,' I said, always ready to rescue a dire situation.'We're from the local education board, want to know why you been missing so much school, son.'

'Don't talk garbage,' the boy snapped back.'I know who you are.'

'Okay,' I said.

The boy raised a cell phone to his ear.'I just gotta press this button, tell them where you are, you're dead fucking meat . . .'

I have been intimidated by a lot of people in many and varied situations, but I wasn't going to take this kind of crap from a spotty teenager. So I turned menacing.'And what if we just take the phone off you before you can do that, and break your wrist at the same time?'

'Then I shoot you with this. 'He brought his other hand forward. In the glow of the computer screen we saw the outline of a gun.

'Ah,' I said.'A gun. Every home should have one.'

It could have been a toy.

I felt Davie tense beside me. He was working out the odds. Knowing American gun culture, the chances were about fifty-fifty. Add to that the fact that although it was a small room, the boy was far enough away to make suddenly rushing him a decidedly risky option. Too risky. Davie stood down. Kelly tried the friendly doctor approach.

'So,' she said, 'where are your parents?'

'Fuck them, they went to the wrestlin', wouldn't take me 'cause I got drunk.'

'When are they due back?'

'Tomorrow, some time. It's in fucking Tallahassee.'

'They like the wrestlin', yeah?'

'Who the fuck doesn't?'

'Fair point. So . . . what's your name?'

'Jamie.'

'So, Jamie, what're we going to do about this?'

Jamie shrugged.'I heard about you.'He nodded at me.'You're the one boned the spastic.'

He was wrong on both counts, but I nodded anyway.

'Fucking asking for it, that bitch' Jamie was thirteen and seemed to have an IQ to match. I was getting worried about Michelle's reputation. She needed someone to stand up for her. Oh yeah, he was just down the road.