Scraps & Chum (16 page)

“
Jesus. What a freak. Why didn
’
t the kid tell us this yesterday?
”

“
Says his dad told him to be quiet. I told you parents are fucking retarded. They need to pass a law about parental interference.  I just knew he was holding something back.
”

“
You
’
re a parent.
”

“
Hardy har.
”

“
He seen the guy before?
”
Ted asked.

“
First time.
”

“
So now what, we put an APB out on a guy in a monster mask. He can
’
t be stupid enough to wear it in public.
”

“
You never know,
”
George replied.

“
I
’
m gonna call for a unit and head back to the park. Sounds like this guy knows his way around the woods. Maybe there are paths we missed, some clues the trace team overlooked.
”

“
I
’
m way ahead of you,
”
George said, steering his car down Hill Drive.

“
What do you mean? Where are you?
”

“
Just got to the park.
”

“
Already? Who
’
s on patrol?
”

“
I dunno. I called in but there
’
s no one here yet.
’

***

Halfway across town in the drive-thru of a Wendy
’
s, Ted went silent, the cell phone hot against his ear. What did George mean by
‘
yet?
’
Then it hit him. He checked his watch, saw that it was shift-changing time. There
’
d be a good ten to twenty minutes where the streets would be empty of squad cars.
“
George, don
’
t be stupid. Wait for me.
”

“
Look, we still don
’
t know what that other drag mark is. If he
’
s got someone else in there I
’
m not waiting. Besides, this theatrical shit…how well can a man see in a rubber mask? I
’
ll surprise him.
”
The line went dead.

“
George? George? Shit.
”
Ted threw his cell phone down on the car seat next to him, drove out of the drive-thru, nearly clipping the car in front of him.

***

I should be wearing sneakers, George thought, as he pushed through the trees and brambles, heading back to the pit in the woods. The flashlight he carried threw a bright white circle on everything, changing black shadow
s
to brown and green plant life, but did nothing to ease maneuverability through the twisting foliage. In his other hand he carried his Glock, the safety off just in case; if this masked psycho was out here, he wasn
’
t about to be taken by surprise.

God, he just wanted a boat and to be done with all this shit. Part of him knew it was stupid to be out here like Rambo, and he could hear Ted
’
s lecture already, but the other part of him knew that if he ever planned to watch Mandy grow up normal, he had to be sure the world was a little safer. This rat guy was every guy that hurt women, and he wanted his daughter to know that her daddy was a safe haven when she needed it.

You
’
re losing it, George.

He kept moving. Why didn
’
t the police clear this path better yesterday? How the hell did they get the corpse and all those rats out of here without tripping over all these damn roots and thorn bushes? Did he even own sneakers?

Zzzzz.
“
Gah.
”
He swatted a large mosquito out of his ear. He regretted making the noise, but he couldn
’
t do anything about it now. Damn bugs.  He hated bugs. Mandy loved them, caught them and put them in jars. She was a bit of a tomboy, but that was okay, it meant they could do guy things together. He made a menta
l note to take her fishing
sometime soon.

Snick.

He stopped. That wasn
’
t a bug, that was a twig snapping.  Off to the left somewhere. His muscles went tight as ropes. His heart pumped.

Someone else walking in the woods?

Raising the gun, he waited silently, clicked off the flashlight and let his ears be his surveillance tool. The
skree
of insects filled the darkness. Tree limbs scratching one another in the light breeze. The susurration of leaves chafing above him. Nothing much else to note. Maybe it was a raccoon or something. Lots of four-legged things in these woods. After another minute
of relative silence he breathed out and let the gun fall near his side again.
“
Okay,
”
he whispered, a self-mocking code:
don
’
t be such a pussy
.

The pit was about fifty yards to his north. He made it there without incident, his shoes now covered in dirt and moss. The police tape still surrounded the pit. A sign had been posted explaining the heap of shit anyone would be in if they felt like tampering with the scene.

“
Ridiculous. Shoulda put men outside.
”

The department had ruled against leaving officers in the woods, said it was just impractical. They
’
d need lights and a shelter and a hundred other things on hand they didn
’
t have. Their solution, in the absence of patrolling black and whites inside the trees, was to post similar signs like this one around the park, and drop notices in mailboxes. Which, George knew, was like sending everyone invitations to come out and fuck it all up.

George ducked under the police tape and shined his light in
to
the pit. The hordes of rats were gone. Only dark red dirt, a couple of ladders leaning against the sides for authorities to get in and out. Other than that it looked like a large hole dug for coffins.

Snick!

There it was again. Another twig snapping. Close by.  Was the guy actually in the woods again? Was he following George? These kind of serial nutballs, they tended to listen to the news. He
’
d been banking on that when he
’
d made his statement. Let the guy come to him, and they could work it out between themselves…with some bullets.

He threw caution to the wind.
“
Listen, you fuck, you want me you better come get me.
’
Cause if I get you first…
”

George raised his gun and moved off in the direction of the sound.
Snick.
There it was again, straight ahead. And was that breathing he heard? Or just the leaves rustling in the wind?

He made it a few more feet before the bushes to his left exploded in a torrent of flying twigs and leaves and a lumbering figure screamed out of the greenery and tackled him like a runaway freight train, slamming him to the ground with a thud that rattled his teeth. His breath was forced from his lungs. He fought to suck in air, to scream, but he couldn
’
t. A trench coat flapped before his eyes, reflecting the flashlight
’
s beam before it fell to the ground and shut off. Then the man was wailing on him, beating him in the ribs, breaking them with each blow.
Crack crack crack!
George felt himself crying. Something long, hard and gray—a fucking fire hose?
—

caught him in the testicles and rolled him up into a fetal position. Pain running up his abdomen. The man on him again, pounding, pounding, slamming George
’
s head into the dirt, huffing and grunting like he had wet socks jammed down his throat. The smell of something vitriol—urine?—saturating the air. George
’
s radio was in his jacket, turned down so the static wouldn
’
t give him way. He needed to get it out. He reached
—

The man grabbed his arm, twisted it and snapped the bones at the elbow
.

“
AHH!
”
His were eyes out of his head.

Fight back, George, fight back. You
’
re gonna die! Get the radio. Get it.

In the midst of the tumbling, his punches failing to connect, his feet scrambling for footing, he caught a glimpse of the assailant
’
s Halloween mask in the moonlight.

And he thought,
“
Ra—
”

***

Ted pulled up next to George
’
s car at the south entrance to the park. The local news radio station was replaying the day
’
s earlier conference. Goddamn George was everywhere.

Way to make yours
elf a target, George.

He hopped out and shined his light inside George
’
s car. The computer was on, a cup of coffee in the drink holder. The handheld radio was gone. Everything else looked normal.
“
Stupid, George. Real fucking asinine.
”

He went back to his own car, called in and requested a cruiser jockey come by regardless of what the shift change status was.
“
Give
’
em overtime,
”
he instructed,
“
but get a car out here now.
”

Then he headed into the woods.

Mosquitoes attacked him as soon as he got beyond the tree line. What the hell was George trying to prove going into the woods alone? Why did he even think this freak would be hanging around in them late at night right after the cops had swarmed the place? The guy was probably long gone if he knew what was good for him. Would probably lay low for a year or two and then pop up again in a nearby town. Maybe here, if he was the sort of crazy who needed the attention. And judging by the rat-pit MO, yeah, he was that sort of crazy.