An Eye for Death Read online

  “You left me!” she screamed.

  “Yes, I did,” Barry said, calmer now. “I didn’t desert you. I left you. There’s a difference.”

  “But you can’t do that.” Barb was sobbing again.

  “Barb,” Barry was slowly coming up to the surface again. “I don’t blame you. The fighting was as much…more maybe…my fault as anyone’s. But I didn’t desert you. The truth is we deserted each other. That’s not your fault. It’s just the way it was. We made mistakes. I’m sorry for mine, but I won’t go back.”

  “But you can’t do it. You can’t.”

  “Is that what this is about Barb? You’re angry because I’m doing something you don’t want me to do, something not in your plan or under your control?” Barry’s head splashed above the waves, and he sucked in a deep breath of fresh air before continuing. “I can do this Barb, and I am. Goodbye.” He pressed the red disconnect button on his cell phone.

  A truck’s air horn blared at a car towing a travel trailer that was trying to merge onto the interstate. The car and trailer swerved to the right as the truck roared by and then back onto the interstate, moving too slowly to enter the traffic lane; the trailer was too much for the car.

  He was a car, Barry thought, pulling too much trailer. Maybe going to South Dakota was just his way of lightening the load so that he could merge with traffic…catch up with the world…not be dragged down by the whirlpool. Maybe. Or maybe he was the coward Barb accused him of being.

  He walked towards the rental truck holding all of his worldly possessions. One good day, he thought. Maybe tomorrow. At least, tomorrow he would not call Barb.

  13. Wonder What His Name Was

  Luther gave the steering wheel a sharp spin to the right, bouncing the Toyota into the gravel lot of a small country market. It could have been the one back in Kansas, or any of ten thousand others scattered across the Midwest. By pure chance, the back roads had brought them here, to this remote spot in Nebraska.

  “Prove it.”

  “What?” Her look of puzzlement mingled with the ongoing fear made him smile.

  “Prove it.” He reached over and loosened the belt around her wrist that secured her to the seat frame.

  “I don't know what you mean.” She sighed like an exasperated teenager as she rubbed the circulation back into her wrist and hand. “Prove what?”

  She turned her head toward him. The evil little smile was back.

  “You want to partner up with me. Prove it. We need food.”

  She reached for the scattered contents of the handbag, her peripheral vision catching sight of the blade inches from her rib cage. “That's all? I buy us some food, and we're partners?” She found the billfold in the midst of the clutter. “Easy enough.”

  He shook his head, still smiling. “Not so easy. Not like that.” His left hand reached into his pants pocket, emerging with a small .32 caliber automatic pistol. “With this. Go in there; get us food...and money.”

  He pressed the release button, and the pistol's loaded magazine dropped from the gun's grip into his lap. “Take it,” he said extending his hand with the pistol. “You do it, and I'll think about us being partners.”

  “And if I don't?”

  “I'll do it, and the gun will be loaded,” he said smiling again. “And I'm gonna have to decide what use you are to me.” He shrugged. “Your choice.”

  “You drive a hard bargain.”

  “You're not signing up for the Girl Scouts here. Some people call me a bad man, even my mama did. You want to be partners; you gotta contribute...food and money. Do that, and I'll think about us being partners. You don't, and you might find out how bad I am.”

  She took the gun from him, hefted it, noting the weight. Her hand wrapped around the grip, finger on the trigger, she said, “Fine, let's go. Feels like I'm in school being tested.”

  “Oh, you are, girl,” he said with a solemn nod. “This is the most important test of your sweet young life.”

  She opened the door, and he added, “I'll be with you, with this.” He showed her the gray steel blade. “Any tricks and I take care of you first, then whoever is inside.”

  His voice made her think he wished she would try something. The thought of the knife plunging and slicing through her innards sent an involuntary shiver crawling up her back.

  Walking together across the gravel lot, they appeared to be a couple, lovers even. She wondered if someone might be watching from inside. She forced the emotion from her face as her mind spun through her alternatives and the possible outcomes of each. A tractor-trailer passing on the road, engine roaring, startled her. She flinched.

  “Steady, girl,” he said. “Get it done.”

  They walked from the sunshine into the old store's dim interior. It smelled of aged wood, oil and years of dust mingled with onions and other fresh produce.

  “How ya doin' fella?” The ancient man behind the counter regarded them with a bemused smile and nodded at Lauren. “Miss, how you doin' today?”

  Luther stretched and yawned, casually looking around the building. The old man stood alone behind the cash register. “We're okay, I guess. This your place?”

  “Yep, reckon so. Been coming here every day goin' on fifty years. Started working for Mr. Healy when I was twenty-two. Took the place over when he got too old to work it. Kept the name though. Everybody around here knows it. 'Healy's General Store.' Got a good ring to it too, don't you think? Didn't seem to be any reason to change.”

  “Well, I guess that makes this your place.” Luther smiled perfectly, friendly, inviting, non-threatening.

  “What can I help you with?”

  “Oh, a little of everything, I guess.”

  The old man's eyes narrowed. “Say what? Little of everything...that's a strange thing to say.”

  Luther stared into Lauren's eyes and smiled. It was all the warning she needed.

  Unsure, she lifted the small gun, pointing the barrel at the old man. “Uh...” She hesitated. What came next? “Well, put all the money in a bag.”

  Amused, he looked into the barrel of the small pistol, “Well, sure young lady. I'll do that, but why you doin' this? You know you're gonna be in a lot of trouble. You're too young to want to be in this kind of trouble.” He opened the old cash register with a push of a button as he spoke. “Really, I mean...”

  “Shut up!” Luther took a step forward, knife in hand. “Do what she said and shut up.”

  It took only a few seconds for the man to clean out the register and hand the plastic bag to Lauren.

  Luther turned to the girl. “Gather up some groceries. Stuff to eat.” He motioned the old man from behind the counter with the knife's tip.

  “What are you going to do to him?” She studied the old man's face, still wearing a smile.

  “I'll be alright,” the old man said, his voice calm, unafraid. “You do what this man says, and things'll work out.”

  “Shut up old man.” Luther pushed him toward a door leading to a back room. “I'm gonna truss him up so he can't call no one.” He added, over his shoulder, “I've got the keys. Don't try goin' anywhere. There ain't no place to go I can't catch you.”

  Sounds from the back, thumps followed by a feeble groan, froze Lauren for a moment. She pushed away images in her mind of what was happening there.

  For several seconds, she calculated the odds of a successful escape while he was in the back. Luther was right. Here in the middle of nowhere, there was no place to run to and no one to help her.

  She needed better odds before trying to run. She had no doubt that he would catch her if she tried to escape into the empty country surrounding the store, and then… She didn’t want to think about that.

  Taking a plastic bag from the counter, she filled it with snacks, deli meats from the cooler and some cans of beer and soda. With no idea what would please or displease her abductor, she filled the sack with whatever was close and convenient.

  When she turned around with two plastic bags full
of her take, she found Luther watching her. He smiled, wiped the knife blade on a rag behind the counter and picked up the sack the old man had thrown the money into, motioning her over to the door.

  “Let's go.”

  They stepped out into the gravel and dust that served as the parking lot. She glanced up at the weathered sign over the door. 'Healy's General Store.' The old man had painted 'And Gasoline' on a board and tacked it to the bottom of the sign.

  Luther took the pistol hanging limply from her hand, reinserted the magazine and pulled the slide, loading a round into the chamber. “Let's go.” He walked briskly to the car.

  Pushed back into the seat as the Toyota kicked up gravel and accelerated from the lot, she looked out the window at the old building. “I wonder what his name was.”

  “What?”

  “The old man.”

  “Who gives a fuck? He won't be a problem.” His hand reached out, rested on her knee for a moment, and began stroking her thigh.

  “He said he bought the place from Healy, but he never said his name. I just wondered about his name is all.”

  He ran his hand all the way up and let it rest between her legs. Hesitantly, she placed hers on top of his. There was nothing else to do. One hand on the wheel and one between her legs, Luther began whistling again.

  14. Devils, Saints and Jackasses

  The noise in the truck deafened him. There was isolation in the noise, a wall between Barry Broomfield and the world.

  Ahead on the shoulder of the highway, a woman stood to the side of a car with the hood up. She held something in one arm while bending over to corral two young children, scampering about. They were dangerously close to the vehicles whizzing by.

  Passing the stalled car, he slowed. The hopeful look in the young woman's eyes turned to disappointment as he picked up speed again. Somebody else would stop. No doubt, a police cruiser would be along any time. Not his problem. He had lots of problems of his own. He didn't need another.

  The look of hopeless distress in her eyes followed him in the rearview mirror as he accelerated. Shit. His daughter might be right. He was the devil.

  If so, the devil's conscience got the better of him this time. He slowed, easing the truck and car carrier to the shoulder. He steered as far off the road as he could, waited for a semi rig to roar by and jumped out.

  He hesitated so long to pull over, now he was forced to walk a hundred yards back to the woman. Way to go, Barry, he thought. What a first-rate guy, you are.

  The stalled car was old and in bad shape. Rust spotted the exterior. The engine under the open hood was dirty and greasy.

  The woman stood on the passenger side of the car. The two young children played a game of tag around her legs. A small baby peered out from the bundle in her arms.

  Her face held a look of relief and worry at the same time. Barry understood. After all, he was the devil. You never knew what the devil might do.

  “How you doin',” he said walking around to where she stood. “Dumb question, I know.” He smiled, and the woman gave a tentative smile back.

  “I was afraid you wouldn't stop... no one would stop,” she said. Her lip quivered as she fought for control.

  Damn it. Devil or not, you almost drove by. At the very least, Barry Broomfield, you are a jackass.

  “Well, I did stop, and everything is going to be alright. Let's see what we can do here. Engine trouble?”

  The two young children, one boy, and one girl, now scampered around Barry's legs. The woman bent over trying awkwardly to gather them up, holding the baby in one arm.

  “You two stop! Come here and leave this man alone. Come here now!” She looked up at Barry; she said, “No. I don't think so. It was running fine and then just stopped. Sort of sputtered and finally cut off. I coasted off the side of the road.”

  “Well, believe it or not, that's a positive sign,” Barry said trying to put her at ease. “Out of gas, I can fix. I'm not much of a mechanic though. Engine trouble and we'd have to find someone else to help us out here.” He smiled again, reached down, and patted the head of the little boy who had not stopped running around his legs.

  “The gauge doesn't work. I thought I could go another ten miles or so before filling up. I guess it ran out here and...” There were tears in her eyes. “I didn't know if anyone would stop.”

  “Well, we'll have you fixed up here quick and on your way,” Barry said, smiling. “Mind if I ask why you are out here alone in this old car? I mean with the kids and all?”

  The woman was embarrassed. “I know. Pretty stupid, I guess.” She wiped a tear from her eye and continued, “My husband, Bobby, he's a Marine in Afghanistan. We had a little apartment outside Camp Lejeune, but I couldn't pay the bills. Bobby always took care of that and picked up extra work around, when he wasn't deployed. I...I got so lonely and worried all the time. I wanted to be home with my parents. They live outside St. Louis.”

  Tears streamed down her face. She put her head down to the bundled baby in her arms, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The two small children stopped scampering and peered up silently at their mother.

  “Mommy?” the little girl said.

  Barry reached out and put a hand on the woman's shoulder.

  “It's going to be okay now. We'll have you on the way soon.” Barry took his hand off her shoulder. “Alright?”

  The two little ones stared up at him, each holding one of their mother's legs. I almost drove by, he thought. What a jackass I am. Maybe not the devil but definitely an ass.

  “Okay. Here's what we're going to do. I'll go up to the next exit. There should be a service station or convenience store selling fuel. I'll fill up a can and bring it back. Then we get this car back on the road and to your parent's house.” He smiled at her. “By the way, my name is Barry.”

  She raised her head from the baby blanket and gave a small smile back through her red-wet eyes. “I'm Felicia.”

  “Nice to meet you, and who are these little ones?” He smiled down at the two toddlers.

  The woman appeared to be about the same age as his oldest daughter. She looked at her children. “This little girl is Ann, after my mother. And this...” She took the little boy's waving hand. “...is Bobby Jr.”

  Hearing their names, the two grinned shyly at Barry.

  “Alright now. I'm going but only for a bit. Don't like leaving you on the side of the road but I can't fit you all in the cab,” he said jerking his head toward the old rental.

  “I'm okay,” The woman said. “We'll be fine. Here, I got money in my purse.”

  Barry turned and called back over his shoulder, “Don't worry about that. We can settle up when I come back.” Then he turned, worried. “Stay on the passenger side away from the road. If you're nervous about anyone, get in the car and lock the doors. Okay?”

  She nodded and smiled. He knew she must have been as nervous about him as he was reluctant to stop.

  He walked the hundred yards back, climbed into the cab and cranked the old engine. Cautiously, he made a long, shallow entry merging into the traffic lane. Eight miles to the west he found an exit.

  Barry pulled up to the stop sign at the end of the exit ramp and turned right, heading for a small market with pumps. Inside he bought two one-gallon fuel cans and went outside to the pump to fill them. When he finished, he pulled into a McDonald's parking lot across the road.

  A few minutes later, he walked back to the truck holding a sack of hamburgers and fries along with a cardboard tray with three sodas in it. It was awkward climbing into the cab, but he managed to place the tray of drinks on the passenger side floor so they wouldn't spill. Then he took two twenties out of his wallet and put them in the top of the bag of burgers.

  He had to backtrack down the interstate about five miles past the stalled car to get to an exit to turn around. As he passed heading east, he saw the car. Felicia still stood by the passenger side of the car. Barry gave the horn a little tap as he drove by, and she gave a small wave
back to him.

  A Kentucky State Patrol cruiser pulled up behind the car as he passed. The trooper watched the little exchange between them. He walked to the old car with the hood up, looking over his shoulder at the rental truck headed in the opposite direction.

  Ten minutes later, Barry had retraced his route and pulled up behind the Trooper's car. He stopped carefully, the way people do when the police are watching, got out of the cab and went to the passenger door. He reached in, grabbed the bag of burgers and picked up the tray of sodas.

  As he walked up to the car, he was conscious of the stoned-faced officer eyeing him.

  “Hi,” Barry said as he approached.

  “Yes, sir. What can I do for you?” The trooper's look remained official and stern.

  “Came by earlier and found them broke down, so I went for some gas,” Barry replied, looking questioningly at the young mother.

  “I told him you were helping,” She said softly, looking down. “He said he'd see about that.”

  Annoyed, Barry asked, “Is there a problem?”

  “Where is it?”

  “What?”

  “The gas? Where is it?”

  More than annoyed now, Barry was pissed off at having his motives questioned.

  “In the truck. I thought I would bring them lunch so they could eat while I got the car started.” Barry reached out and offered the bag to Felicia.

  The trooper tried to intercept the bag. Barry pulled it back.

  “I bought some burgers for the kids and this young lady. If she doesn't want them, fine. I didn't buy them for you.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?” Young and a little unsure of himself, the trooper was not accustomed to anyone challenging the authority he wore in the badge on his chest.

  Barry decided to relax a little and defuse the situation. He took a deep, calming breath, and said, “Look, I bought the burgers and sodas for them. I understand your concern, so you can check me out thoroughly if you want, but they can decide if they want the burgers. I'm not going anywhere. Okay?”