The Devil's Right Hand (13 page)

“
Man,” DeWayne said. “Don’t that thing
hurt?” Todd opened his mouth, but no words came out. He shut it.
“Ya don’t talk much,” DeWayne observed. “I like that. Now do what I
say an’ give me the damn money.”

The kid never took his eyes off the gun. He
fumbled a few times getting the register open. He pulled a few
bills off the top. DeWayne impatiently reached over the counter and
grabbed for the bills. “The gas pumps now,” he said. “Hurry up.”
The kid walked over to the black plastic controls for the pumps and
stood there for a minute. His hands gripped the side of the console
and he stared down at it as if trying to figure it out. DeWayne
could see the kid’s hands still shaking. “C’mon, Goddamn it,” he
muttered. “I ain’t got all fuckin’ night.” The kid’s shaking got
worse. DeWayne saw a tear fall onto the control box. “P-p-please,
Mister--” the kid sobbed. “D-don’t shoot me.”

“
Oh, for Chrissakes,” DeWayne said. Why
the hell couldn’t anyone do what they were told? He marched around
the counter and shoved the kid out of the way. The kid collapsed in
a corner and pulled his knees up to his chest. It took a few
moments for DeWayne to figure out how to turn the pumps on. He
turned back to tell Leonard to go pump the gas while he kept the
gun on the kid. That was when it hit him. Leonard wasn’t there.
Leonard would never be there, never again. DeWayne had pushed the
fact out of his mind while he concentrated on his escape, but now
it burst on him like a flood. The control panel in front of him
went all blurry. It was like he was going blind. It was then
DeWayne realized his eyes were full of tears. He smashed the pistol
butt down on the console, again and again. He whirled around,
screaming like an animal in the narrow confines of the area behind
the counter. He swept a rack of cheap cassette tapes onto the
floor, followed by an upright rack containing the latest edition of
the
Weekly World News
and
another rack of snack crackers. The kid screamed at DeWayne’s
sudden explosion of rage and covered his head with his hands.
DeWayne whirled on him with the gun. The kid looked up in sudden
panic.

“
I ran out on him,” DeWayne rasped.
“That sumbitch killed him, and I ran.”

“
It’s all right,” the kid croaked. He
was obviously baffled, but desperate. “It’ll be okay…”

“
Like
hell
it is!” DeWayne screamed. He slammed the gun
down on the counter. “You don’t know
shit
!” DeWayne shouted down into the kid’s face.
“He never ran out on
me
!
Never
!”

“
Please, mister,” the kid sobbed.
“Please…”

When they were kids, DeWayne had been a
strange child, prone to tantrums that no one could explain or
control. His aunt and uncle blamed it on his mother having run off,
leaving six-month-old DeWayne in their care. As he got older, the
tantrums matured into fits of berserk rage in which DeWayne would
throw fists, bottles, anything handy. Once he had tried to slash
another kid’s throat with a box-cutter over a half-pint of milk
spilled in the school cafeteria. He was twelve at the time. DeWayne
had bounced in and out of juvenile court more times than he could
remember and suspended so many times that the entire school seemed
to breathe a sigh of relief when he dropped out. The only one who
could calm him down was Leonard, who would wrap DeWayne up in his
big arms and silently hold him until the storm passed. Leonard
never asked what was wrong, never made any comment at all when the
incident was over. He just set DeWayne down, gave him an extra
squeeze, and walked away. DeWayne had always depended on that,
depended on Leonard’s quiet, unquestioning solidity to anchor him
and keep him from flying off completely. Now, that was gone.
DeWayne felt that familiar sick giddiness, like he’d been on a
roller coaster too long. He staggered slightly as he raised the
gun.

“
Please
!” the
kid shrieked. A dark stain appeared at the crotch of his jeans as
he wet himself. When DeWayne saw the slowly spreading stain and the
puddle that was collecting under the kid’s ass, he began to laugh.
It began as a slow bubbling chuckle with an edge of hysteria. The
laugh picked up speed and depth as the kid’s face showed the
dawning realization of what he had done, and quickly exploded into
a full out belly laugh that left DeWayne clutching his stomach with
one hand as he held the gun on the kid with the other. He slid
slowly to the floor on the other side of the area behind the
counter, laughing, his gun hand never wavering. The kid looked
uncertain for a minute, then angry, then he started to laugh along,
forcing it out as if to placate the man with the pistol. The
falsity of the sound sobered DeWayne immediately. “Okay,” he said,
“you can cut it out.” The kid stopped, his face again frozen in a
mask of fear. DeWayne reached up and pulled the carton of
cigarettes down off the counter. He ripped it open with one hand
and took out a pack. He ripped the cellophane off the pack with his
teeth and opened the pack, tapping a cigarette out and withdrawing
it with his teeth. He offered the clerk one, but the kid shook his
head.

“
Good for you, bubba,” DeWayne said.
“These things’ll sure as hell shorten your life.” He looked over at
the kid. “I kilt two men tonight,” he said. “Maybe three,” he
added, thinking of how the blonde dude had looked after DeWayne had
kicked him in the head. “One of ‘em was a cop. So I reckon it don’t
much matter if I kill you. I’m gonna die if they catch me. They
either gonna shoot me down like a dog in the street or they’re
gonna strap me down a few years from now and shoot a load of poison
into me. What’s one more dead guy to me, now? And you can tell the
cops I been here. And what I looked like, and what I was drivin’.
Don’t think I want to give up that ride just yet.”

“
I won’t say anything,” the kid
whispered. “I promise.”

DeWayne snorted in derision. “Right,” he
said. “Boss comes back, all the money’s gone from the register, you
got a tank o’gas not paid fer, and two sixes of beer missin’, plus
a carton of smokes. An’ you’re not gonna say anything about where
they’ve gone? Don’t bullshit me, Todd.”

“
Please,” the kid begged. “Please don’t
kill me.”

“
It’s not like I want to, kid,” DeWayne
said with real regret in his voice. “I ain’t got to where I enjoy
it. Not yet, an’ I suppose that’s a blessin’. But it’s like I said.
I can’t take no chances. I coulda shot a couple other people
tonight. I didn’t do it. Now…I’m thinkin’ maybe I oughta done it.”
The kid began to sob uncontrollably then. DeWayne’s earlier frenzy
had worn off. All he felt now was tired, bone-weary. The kid’s
wailing was beginning to get on his nerves. Besides, he had to get
moving. He raised the gun. It felt like it weighed a thousand
pounds. As he took aim, an idea came to him.

“
Kid,” he said. Todd sobbed harder.
“Kid! Damn it, look up!” Finally, Todd raised his tear-streaked
face. He looked like a three-year-old.

“
You got a girlfriend, bubba?” DeWayne
asked. After a moment, the kid nodded. “You got a picture of her?”
Todd looked at him dumfounded for a moment, then pulled out his
wallet. “Slide that over to me,” DeWayne said. Todd did. DeWayne
picked it up and flipped it open. A picture of a young blonde girl
stared up at him. She was seated in a porch swing, looking at the
camera with a bright smile. DeWayne stared at the picture for a
long moment and sighed. There was a whole world in that picture
that DeWayne would never see. “She’s a cutie-pie there, Todd,” he
said. “What’s her name?”

“
S-s-Sandy,” Todd said.

“
Y’all got it on yet?” he
asked.

“
Th-that’s…n-none of your…” Todd
stammered.

“
Thought not,” DeWayne grinned. “So
where’s she live?” DeWayne said. There was no answer. He looked up.
Todd was staring at him with an expression of horror. DeWayne
raised the gun again. “Answer the question, Todd,” he
said.

Todd shook his head. “No,” he said. “No way.
You’ll hurt her.”

“
I ain’t never hurt a woman before in
my life that didn’t deserve it,” DeWayne said. “But I tell you my
plan. When the cops get here, you tell ‘em a pair of wild-ass
screamin’ niggers in a pick up truck come in here with bandanas on
and robbed you.” He gestured towards the parking lot with his head.
“I got a police scanner in my vehicle yonder. I hear anything
different, like a good description of me or my car, I pay Miss
Sandy here a visit right quick. If I’m gonna spend the rest of my
life in the joint waitin’ to die, I figger I’m gonna need one last
bit of pussy to tide me over, know what I mean? But if you do like
I say, she’ll be okay and save that nice cherry just for you. Or,”
he said, raising the gun again, “I could just kill you and not
worry about it. So what’s it gonna be, Todd?” He pulled back the
hammer.

“
Seventy-one-oh-three Black Oak Church
Road!” Todd screamed. “Oh, GOD please don’t...” DeWayne stood up.
He scooped up the beer and cigarettes and walked towards the
door.

“
Mister?” the kid said. DeWayne stopped
and turned back. The clerk gestured towards the ceiling. DeWayne
looked up. A small video camera was mounted on the wall behind him,
pointed at the sales counter. “There’s a videotape of you in here,”
the kid said. “It won’t matter what I say.”

“
I hope you know how to get the tape
out,” DeWayne said. The kid nodded and reached under the counter.
DeWayne raised the gun again in case the kid wanted to try
anything. He tensed when he saw the black object in the kid’s hand
until he saw it was a small videotape.

“
Thanks, bubba,” he said as he walked
over and took the tape. "I knew you was a smart one. Now you and
that pretty little thing have a nice life together, y’hear?” He
walked out.

“
Shit,” Angela said as she hung up the
phone. She stared at the North Carolina map on the wall of her
office for a few moments, gnawing at a fingernail. She was seated
behind the desk in her office.

“
Anything?” Keller said. He came in and
sat in one of the wooden chairs in front of the desk.

Angela shook her head. “Internal Affairs has
the whole thing locked down tight. My usual contacts either don’t
know anything or won’t tell me.”

“
Told you. It’s a whitewash. They’re
trying to cover up for Wesson. And Jones is the sacrificial
lamb.”

Angela shrugged. “Sorry, Keller. Not much
more I can do. You able to get in touch with Jones?”

He shook his head. “She’s either not home or
screening her calls. I left a couple of messages, but…”

“
Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to
you.”

Keller nodded. “Probably. She’s caught enough
flak by being associated with me. But I’m the only witness. I need
to let her know that I can help her out.”

“
Keller,” Angela said. “Maybe she wants
to take the fall, you ever think of that?”

Keller shook his head stubbornly. “No way. I
don’t buy it.” He got up and walked to the office door. He leaned
against the jamb. The firm’s tiny waiting room had a plate glass
window that fronted the street. Keller stared for a few moments
through the large gilt letters that read “H & H BAIL BONDS”.
Finally, he said, “Wesson’s funeral is this afternoon. She’ll
probably be there.”

“
No,” Angela said. “No way. Keller,
those guys will probably shoot you on sight.”

“
I’ll be fine,” he said.

Angela threw up her hands. “Jesus. You never
give up, do you?”

“
It’s why you hired me.”

CHAPTER SIX

Eddie Wesson was buried on a hot, humid
summer afternoon, surrounded by fellow officers in dress uniforms
complete with gold braid and white gloves. Keller could see the
crowd through the bars of the cemetery’s heavy wrought-iron fence.
He sat in his rental car across the street from the gates of the
cemetery. A line of cars and pickup trucks stretched along the
curbside, dominated by a long black limousine directly in front of
the gates. A TV van idled nearby, its antenna raised and pointed
towards the station feeding the hunger of the newsroom for more
news, faster. A trim young brunette in an expensive-looking blouse
stood by the van, holding a microphone down by her side. A
cameraman and sound technician lounged against the van with the
loose-limbed slouch of soldiers after a long patrol. The woman
jumped as shots cracked out, muffled in the heavy, humid air. It
looked like they were giving Wesson the full treatment, complete
with salute. The technicians knew the signal and hoisted their gear
into action positions as the reporter adjusted her earpiece. Keller
drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and waited.

People began filing out the front gate, most
in dress uniforms. An gray-haired cop with more braid than most was
immediately taken aside by the reporter, who stuck her microphone
in his face. The older man’s reply was brief. Keller picked out the
widow by her black dress and the folded flag she carried across her
chest with one hand. She held the hand of a bewildered looking
little girl with the other. An older couple stood to either side of
her, ready to offer support. The rest of the cops broke up into
smaller groups and milled around on the pavement talking to each
other. They didn’t actually ignore the widow, but no one made a
direct attempt to talk to her as she and the child got into a long
black limousine. Their only connection to her had just been put
into the ground. She was no part of their world any more. The
camera lens tracked them into the darkness of the vehicle’s
interior. Then Keller saw Marie.