Terror Town (26 page)

“Let the good times roll,” he shouted, kicking wildflowers as he strolled along the edge of the road with his backpack strapped on tight.

Inside the trunk, spooned by a corpse, Beth cried. She tried to be strong but cried anyhow. This guy was going to be the death of her. Of this she had no doubt.

26

Officer Joel Kirkwood was sitting inside a police cruiser at Hopper’s Gas when the call came in. It was a 911 call, which meant a regional call center dispatched the information to the office before it was transferred to the car.

It had been three months since he had gotten a 911-dispatched call. The last one occurred when Mrs. Tally had a heart attack; her ten-year-old grandson phoned it in. As always, the police arrived before the ambulance. Cloven Rock had a modest Police Station but nothing that resembled a Hospital or a Fire Hall. Mrs. Tally survived, but her grandson cried long and hard before the ambulance arrived to take the woman away. The experience put Kirkwood in a bad mood for days. If there was one thing Joel Kirkwood didn’t like about 911 calls in Cloven Rock, arriving at the scene first was surely it.

Tony Costantino, the officer on duty with Joel, was standing across from Jay Hopper inside Hopper’s gas station. They were talking about football and how
this
team was better than
that
team and who would make it to the Super Bowl and all kinds of other stuff that had nothing to do with being a cop. He held a bag of ketchup-flavored chips in his hand and waved them in the air when he was making a point.

Jay was all ears; he could talk football for hours. His team was the Cowboys, mostly because he liked the Cowgirls that cheered them on. Sometimes he admitted this nugget of information with a smile that made the wrinkles in his face seem twice as long and three times as deep.

The siren came on.

Tony and Jay looked through a stack of peanuts and chips and out the dirty window. Joel gave Tony a wave, letting him know that shit shootin’ time was over.

“Got to go,” Tony said. His face changed from
happy-go-lucky sports fan
to
officer of the law
inside a blink. “Have a good night.”

“Hope everything’s okay,” Jay replied, scratching behind his ear like a dog.

“Me too,” Tony said.

Once outside, Tony got into the car, stuffed himself behind the wheel, and slammed the car door shut. He was a big man, an eighteen-year veteran of the force. He looked so textbook Italian he should have been running a mafia pizzeria. With slow, deep-sounding words, he said, “What do we got?”

If Tony Costantino had an opposite, Joel was it. He had a thin face, pale skin, and the small blue eyes of a university bookworm. Every time he spoke the words shot from his mouth like bullets spiked with a mild dose of helium. “Down by the waterfront. Stone Road, west side, away from everything.”

“How far west?”

“Ten minutes west of King.”

“Shit.” Tony dropped the chips onto his lap and pulled out of the parking lot like Rambo at war. He threw on the emergency lights and kept the siren off. “It’ll take us fifteen minutes to get there from here.”

“The one and only. Two cars were in some type of accident. One is in the ditch and the other is on the road. Three people are in need of medical attention but may be D. O. A. The wounds may or may not be the result of the accident they were in.”

Tony nodded. “It’s a shame it’s not going to happen. It’ll be twenty minutes before those guys to show up. It always is.” He was a realist too.

“We’ll be there first.”

“Absolutely.”

After thirty seconds of high-speed driving Tony turned the siren on and passed a slow moving car that looked ready for retirement. Once the car was behind him he turned the siren off and kept his foot on the accelerator. He said, “I hope it’s not too messy.”

Kirkwood agreed. “I hope it’s not someone I know.”

Tony didn’t respond. Problem was, they knew everybody in town.

After eight minutes Tony turned the siren on again, sighing as he checked his features in the mirror, wondering what they were getting themselves into.

27

Nicolas Nehalem walked along the dark road alone, and it
was
dark. In towns like Cloven Rock most of the roads had no streetlamps. Oh, there were the exceptions. The area where the Yacht Club, Tabby’s Goodies, the Waterfront Café, Starbucks, and McDonald’s were all nestled together like a big happy family was lit up like New York City, day and night, and the two streets people jokingly called
the downtown core
had its fair share of light as well. This consisted of King Street, running north and south, and Queen Street, running east and west. Of course, downtown wasn’t much more than a couple of restaurants (the newest one being a Subway), a 7-11, a hardware store, Miller’s Gas Station, and a post office. So how much light did it really have? Not much, or to be more accurate, three streetlamps worth. Five if you counted the pair of posts a quarter mile south on King Street between Spooky’s Antique Palace and Cloven Rock Secondary. To be fair, the Rock’s eleven blocks of residential housing––sitting between downtown and the waterfront––had lampposts too. But along the back roads, where the buildings were sparse and cottages sat vacant most of the year, light was hard to come by. And that’s where Nicolas lived, in the area where light was a rarity. Stone Path Road and Stone Crescent had no streetlamps, not even to elucidate the intersections.

Nicolas’ eyes adjusted to the darkness. He turned off Stone Crescent and onto Stone Path Road. He didn’t hurry; he didn’t slow. He walked at a comfortable pace with his shoes scuffing the earth and his knees knocking together every few steps. He wasn’t worried but he was thoughtful. The way he played out these next few minutes would shape the days and weeks to come, of this he had no doubt.

Over the roll of a hill he could see a white haze that looked like a miniature sunset. There were no flashing lights, which he decided was a good thing. But there did seem to be a glow coming over the horizon larger than he expected, and with each step the forged sunset shone brighter still. As Nicolas moved beyond the arc of land the situation came into view.

There were four vehicles now, two more than he wanted to see.

Dan’s car was the way he expected: facedown in the ditch with its backlights shining up at the stars like a pair of red eyes. The minivan was still sitting in the center of the road with its motor running, home to the bloody mess inside. And there were two new vehicles. One was a Dodge Charger and the other was a Corvette. The Corvette was new. The Charger had its driver’s door open, causing the interior light to shine.

Looking into this light, Nicolas could see a twelve-year-old girl with dark hair tied up in pigtails. Two men stood next to the car, five feet from the girl. One was tall and lanky. He had a bald head and a thin face. Looked like an alien. The other was forty-something and quite handsome. His hair was cut short and his white t-shirt was tucked into his jeans. Nicolas recognized this man as Peter Holbrook.

Peter owned and operated the Waterfront Café, a Cloven Rock favorite. His house, which sat next to the café, was luxurious, beautiful, and on a very large lot. Mr. Holbrook owned many acres of lakefront property and everyone in town knew it. He was the wealthiest man around; many considered him to be the only reason Cloven Rock didn’t expand too quickly and for this the town was grateful.

Holbrook noticed Nicolas walking towards them; he nudged the man Nicolas didn’t recognize, the man that looked like an alien.

The alien lifted his head.

Nicolas sensed that both men were on edge; he could see it in their eyes and the way their bodies were poised. Maybe they figured that
he
was the shotgun killer. Maybe anyone and everyone within a fifty-mile radius was a suspect.

Nicolas raised a hand and walked towards them with a curious look forged upon his face. His features morphed into a goofy smile. He was trying to get into the mind-frame of a character he knew nothing about. “Hi there!”

Peter Holbrook raised a hand in return.

The alien put a hand to his brow and looked at the ground, fighting back a river of tears.

Nicolas said, “What seems to be the… oh my! What happened? What in tar-nation is this?” He ran to the van with his mouth open and his eyes full of wonder. He considered throwing his hands against the vehicle and screaming in mock-terror but decided against it. He wanted to be dramatic but he didn’t want to leave any prints.

“Careful,” Peter said. “Don’t touch anything. Mr. Burton arrived first and touched a few things but I haven’t. You shouldn’t either.”

Holbrook was a stupid, ass-licking halfwit. He hated the man, truly hated him. Holbrook thought he was so goddamn good, so goddamn
smart
. He figured he was better than everyone else and he rubbed it in people’s faces. The way he lived, the way he acted. Oh corn-dog crapper––he was a bad seed, all right. He was the worst of the worst. He deserved death. He deserved to have his head crushed in a vice.

“Dunno, maybe five minutes ago.”

Jesus
, Nicolas thought.
Five minutes? That’s bad. I better make this quick!

28

As Nicolas unzipped his backpack his mind drifted. He was thinking about shooting them––all of them, even the girl. But he was also cooking up an extra little something for Holbrook. He wondered if killing them was smart. It probably wasn’t but he didn’t care, so he stuffed his hand into his bag, yanked his gun free and took control of the situation.

“Don’t move, any of you.” Nicolas’ words were for everyone but the revolver was for Holbrook. It never wavered; the business end of the weapon was locked on the man’s face.

Burton lifted his head slightly. Then he pressed his body against his car, as if doing so would protect the girl inside.

Holbrook opened his mouth and lifted a hand.

“No, no,” Nicolas said, cutting into whatever debate may have been coming. “Don’t get excited gentlemen. Don’t yell and whatever you do, don’t start asking stupid questions. Get on your knees, both of you.”

He looked past the men, into the eyes of the girl with the pigtails. Her face carried an expression of confusion mixed with trauma.

“You too, toots… get out of the car and plunk your ass on the ground. No. Better yet, get out of the car and come to me.”

Returning his attention to Holbrook and Burton, he said, “What? Are you knuckleheads deaf or something? Hands behind your heads and drop to your knees––let’s go people. I haven’t got all day.”

Holbrook dropped to his knees first. Burton reluctantly followed. They put their hands behind their heads slowly and in unison.

As the girl climbed from one bucket seat to the next, Nicolas saw her for what she was: barely old enough to fart and scared half to death. She was wearing a pink dress with red flowers on it. Her shoes were shiny and white. Her teeth were nearly perfect.