The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove
Page 13Twenty-four
The Sheriff
Sheriff John Burton stood by the ruins of Theo's Volvo, pounding the keys of his cell phone. He could smell the cow shit he'd stepped in coming off his Guccis and the damp wind was blowing cowlicks in his gelled silver hair. His black Armani suit was smudged with the ashes he'd poked through at Theo's cabin, thinking there might be a burned body underneath. He was not happy.
Didn't anybody answer their goddamn phone anymore? He'd called Joseph Leander, Theophilus Crowe, and Jim Beer, the man who owned the ranch, and no one was answering. Which is what had brought him to Pine Cove in the middle of the night in a state of near panic in the first place. The second shift of crank cookers should be working in the lab right now, but there was no one around. His world was falling down around him, all because of the meddling of a pothead constable who had forgotten that he was supposed to be incompetent.
Crowe's line was ringing. Burton heard a click, then was immediately disconnected. "Fuck!" He slammed the cell phone shut and dropped it into the pocket of his suit jacket. Someone was answering Crowe's phone. Either he was still alive or Leander had killed him, taken his phone, and was fucking with him. But Leander's van had been parked at Crowe's cabin? So where was he? Not at home,
Burton had already checked, finding nothing but a sleepy baby-sitter and two groggy little girls in nightgowns. Would Leander run and not take his daughters?
Burton pulled out the phone and dialed the data offices at the department. The Spider answered.
"Nailsworth," the Spider said. Burton could hear him chewing.
"Put down that Twinkie, you fucking tub of lard, I need you to find me a name and an address."
"It's a Sno Ball. Pink. I only eat the marshmallow covers."
Burton could feel his pulse rising in his temples and made an effort to control his rage. In the rush to get to Pine Cove, he'd forgotten to take his blood pressure medication. "The name is Betsy Butler. I need a Pine Cove address."
"Joseph Leander's girlfriend?" the Spider asked.
"How do you know that?"
"Please, Sheriff," the Spider said with a snort. "Remember who you're talking to."
"Just get me the address." Burton could hear Nailsworth typing. The Spider was dangerous, a constant threat to his operation, and Burton couldn't figure out how to get to him. He was immune to bribes or threats of any kind and seemed content with his lot in life as long as he could make others squirm. And Burton was too afraid of what the corpulent information officer might really know to fire him. Maybe some of that foxglove tea that Leander had used on his wife. Certainly, no one would question heart failure in a man who got winded unwrapping a Snickers.
"No address," Nailsworth said. "Just a P.O. box. I checked DMV, TRW, and Social Security. She works at H.P.'s Cafe in Pine Cove. You want the address?"
"It's five in the morning, Nailsworth. I need to find this woman now."
The Spider sighed. "They open for breakfast at six. Do you want the address?"
Burton was seething again. "Give it to me," he said through gritted teeth.
The Spider gave him an address on Cypress Street and said, "Try the Eggs-Sothoth, they're supposed to be great."
"How would you know? You never leave the goddamn office."
"Ah, what fools these mortals be," the Spider said in a very bad British accent. "I know everything, Sheriff. Everything." Then he hung up.
Burton took a deep breath and checked his Rolex. He had enough time to make a little visit to Jim Beer's ranch house before the restaurant opened. The old shit kicker was probably already up and punching doggies, or whatever the fuck ranchers did at this hour. He certainly wasn't answering his phone. Burton climbed into the black Eldorado and roared across the rutted ranch road toward the gate by Theo's cabin.
As he headed out to the Coast Highway to loop back to the front of the ranch (he'd be damned if he'd take his Caddy across two miles of cow trails), someone stepped into his headlights and he slammed on the brakes. The antilocks throbbed and the Caddy stopped just short of running over a woman in a white choir robe. There was a whole line of them, making their way down the Coast Highway, shielding candles against the wind. They didn't even look up, but walked past the front of his car as if in a trance.
Burton rolled down the window and stuck his head out.
"What are you people doing? It's five in the morning."
A balding man whose choir robe was three sizes too small looked up with a beatific smile and said, "We've been called by the Holy Spirit. We've been called." Then he walked on.
"Yeah, well, you almost got to see him early!" Burton yelled, but no one paid attention. He fell back into the seat and waited as the procession passed. It wasn't just people in choir robes, but aging hippies in jeans and Birkenstocks, half a dozen Gen X'ers dressed in their Sunday best, and one skinny guy who was wearing the saffron robes of a Buddhist monk.
Burton wrenched his briefcase off the passenger seat and popped it open. False passport, driver's license, Social Security card, stick-on beard, and a ticket to the Caymans: the platinum parachute kit he kept with him at all times. Maybe it was time to bail.
Skinner
Well, the Food Guy finally got a female, Skinner thought. Probably because he had the scent of those mashed cows on him. Skinner had been tempted to roll in the goo himself, but was afraid the Food Guy would yell at him. (He hated that.) But this was even better: riding in the different car with the Food Guy and his female and the Tall Guy who always smelled of burning weeds and sometimes gave him hamburgers. He looked out the window and wagged his tail, which repeatedly smacked Theo in the face.
They were stopping. Oh boy, maybe they would leave him in the car. That would be good; the seats were chewy and tasted of cow. But no, they let him out, told him to come along with them to the small house. An Old Guy answered the door and Skinner said hi with a nose to the crotch. The Old Guy scratched his ears. Skinner liked him. He smelled like a dog who'd been howling all night.
Being near him made Skinner want to howl and he did, one time, enjoying the sad sound of his own voice.
The Food Guy told him to shut up.
The Old Guy said, "I guess I know how you feel."
They all went inside and left Skinner there on the steps. They were all nervous, Skinner could smell it, and they probably wouldn't be inside long. He had work to do. It was a big yard with a lot of shrubs where other dogs had left him messages. He needed to reply to them all, so each could only get a short spray. Dog e-mail.
He was only half-finished when they came back out.
The Tall Guy said, "Well, Mr. Jefferson, we're going to find the monster and we'd like your help. You're the only one who has seen it."
"Oh, I think you'll know him when you see him," said the old guy. "Y'all don't need my help."
Everyone smelled sad and afraid and Skinner couldn't help himself. He let loose a forlorn howl that he held until the Food Guy grabbed his collar and dragged him to the car. Skinner had a bad feeling that they might be going to the place where there was danger.
Danger, Food Guy, he warned. His barking was deafening in the confines of the Mercedes.
Estelle
Estelle was fuming as she cleared the teacups from the table and threw them into the sink. Two broke and she swore to herself, then turned to Catfish, who was sitting on the bed picking out a soft version of "Walkin' Man's Blues" on the National steel guitar.
"You could have helped them," Estelle said.
Catfish looked at the guitar and sang, "Got a mean old woman, Lawd, stay angry all the time."
"Got a mean old woman, Lawd, Lawd, Lawd. She just stay angry all the time."
"Don't you ignore me, Catfish Jefferson. I'm talking to you. People in this town have been good to you. You should help them."
Catfish threw back his head and sang to the ceiling, "She gots no idea, Lawd, what's hers and what's mine."
Estelle snagged a skillet out of the dish rack, crossed the room, and raised it for a rocketing forehand shot to Catfish's head. "Go ahead, sing another verse about your 'mean old woman,' Catfish. I'm curious, what rhymes with 'clobbered'?"
Catfish put the guitar aside and slipped on his sunglasses. "You know, they say a woman was the one poisoned Robert Johnson?"
"Do you know what she used?" Estelle wasn't smiling. "I'm making my shopping list."
"Dang, woman, why you talk like that? I ain't been nothin but good to you."
"And me to you. That's why you keep singing that mean old woman song, right?"
"Don't sound right singin 'sweet old woman.'"
Estelle lowered the pan. Tears welled up in her eyes.
"You can help them and when it's over you can stay here. you can play your music, I can paint. People in Pine Cove love your music."
"People here sayin hello to me on the street, puttin too much money in the tip jar, buying me drinks - I ain't got the Blues on me no more."
"So you have to go wreck your car, or pick cotton, or shoot a man in Memphis, or whatever it is that you have to do to put the Blues on you? For what?"
"It's what I do. I don't know nothin else."
"You've never tried anything else. I'm here, I'm real.
Is it so bad to know that you have a warm bed to sleep in with someone who loves you? There's nothing out there, Catfish."
"That dragon out there. He always be out there."
"So face it. You got away from it before."
"Why you care?"
"Because it took a lot for me to open my heart to you after what I've been through, and I don't have much tolerance for cowards anymore."
"Call it like you sees it, Mama."
Estelle turned and went back to the kitchen. "Then maybe you better go."
"I'll get my hat," Catfish said. He snapped the National back into its case, grabbed his hat from the table, and in a moment he was gone.
Estelle turned and stared at the door. When she heard his station wagon start, she fell to the floor and felt a once warm future bleed a black stain around her.
Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch
The cave lay under a hillside, less than a mile from the ranch road at Theo's cabin. The narrow mouth looked down over a wide, grassy marine terrace to the Pacific, and the interior, which opened into a huge cathedral chamber, echoed with the sound of crashing waves. Fossilized starfish and trilobites peppered the walls and the rocky floor was covered with a patina of bat guano and crystallized sea salt. The last time Steve had visited the cave it had been underwater, and he had spent a pleasant autumn there feeding on the gray whales that migrated down the coast to Baja to bear their young. He didn't remember the cave consciously, of course, but when he sensed that Molly was searching for a hiding place, the map in his mind that had long ago gone to instinct led them there.
Since they'd arrived at the cave, a dark mood had fallen on Steve and, in turn, over Molly. She'd used the weed-whacker on the Sea Beast several times to try to cheer him up, but now the sex machine was out of gas and Molly was developing a heat rash on the inside of her thighs from repeated tongue lashings. It had been two days since she had eaten, and even Steve refused to touch his cows (Black Angus steers, now that Molly knew he couldn't tolerate dairy).
Since the coming of the Sea Beast, Molly had been in a state of controlled euphoria. Worries about her sanity had melted away and she had joined him in the Zen moment that is the life of an animal, but since the dream and the horrible self-consciousness that had descended on Steve, the notion of their incompatibility had begun to rise in Molly's mind like a trout to a fly.
"Steve," she said, leaning on her broadsword and staring him squarely in one of his basketball eyes, "your breath could knock a buzzard off a shit wagon."
The Sea Beast, rather than go on the defensive (which was fortunate for Molly, because the only defense he could think of was to bite her legs off), let out a pathetic whimper and tried to tuck his huge head under a forelimb. Molly immediately regretted her comment and tried to patch the damage.
"Oh, I know, it's not your fault. Maybe someone sells Tic Tacs the size of easy chairs. We'll get through it." But she didn't mean it, and Steve could sense her insincerity. "Maybe we need to get out more," she added.
Dawn had broken outside and a beam of sunlight was streaming into the cathedral like a cop's flashlight in a smoky bar. "Maybe a swim," Molly said. "Your gills seem to be healing." How she knew the treelike growths on his neck were gills, she wasn't sure - perhaps more of the unspoken communication that passes between lovers.
Steve lifted his head and Molly thought that she might have gotten his attention, but then she noticed that a shadow had come over the entrance to the cave. She looked up to see half a dozen people in choir robes standing at the opening of the cathedral.
"We've come to offer sacrifice," one woman managed to say.
"And not a breath mint among you, I'll bet," Molly said.
Twenty-five
Theo
H.P.'s Cafe was crowded with early morning old guys drinking coffee. Theo downed three cups of coffee quickly, which only served to make him anxious. Val and Gabe had ordered a cinnamon roll to share, and now Val was feeding a piece of it to Gabe as if the man had somehow managed to reach middle age and earn two Ph.D.s without ever having learned to feed himself. Theo just wanted to blow the bitter chunks of indignation.
Val said, "I certainly hope that the presence of this creature isn't responsible for how I feel right now." She licked icing from her fingers.
Right, Theo thought, the fact that you've fucked up all the previously fucked-up people in town and committed a string of felonies in the process shouldn't be the rain on your little love parade. However, Theo did sub-scribe to the "honest mistake" school of law enforcement, and he honestly believed that she was trying to right a wrong by taking her patients off their medication. So although Val was currently irritating him like a porcu-pine suppository, he was honest enough to realize that he was merely jealous of what she had found with Gabe. That realized, Gabe started to irritate him as well.
"What do we do, Gabe? Tranquilize this thing? Shoot it? What?"
"Assuming it exists."
"Assume it," Theo spat. "I'm afraid if you wait for enough evidence to be sure, we'll have to find you an ass donor, because this creature will have bitten yours off."
"No need to be snotty, Theo. I'm just being sensibly skeptical, as any researcher would."
Theo scoffed. He didn't scoff often, so he wasn't good at it, and it appeared to Gabe and Val that he might be gacking up a hair ball.
"You all right?" Gabe asked.
"I'm fine. I was scoffing."
"At what?"
"At Dr. Feelgood here wanting to give me a prescription for Valium so Winston Krauss can fill it with M&Ms."
"I'd forgotten about that," Val said. "Sorry."
"It would appear that we have multifarious problems with which to deal, and I don't have a clue where to start," Theo said.
"Multifarious?" Gabe said.
"A shitload," said Theo.
"I know what it means, Theo. I just can't believe it came out of your mouth."
Val laughed gaily at Gabe's kinda-sorta humor. Theo glared at her.
Jenny, who was almost as cranky as Theo for having had to close H.P.'s the night before and then open the restaurant in the morning when the morning girl called in sick, came by to refill their coffees.
"That's your boss pulling up, isn't it, Theo?" she asked, nodding toward the front. Out the window Theo could see Sheriff John Burton crawling out of his black Eldorado.
"Back door?" Theo said, urgent pleading in his eyes.
"Sure, through the kitchen and Howard's office."
Theo was up in a second and halfway to the kitchen when he noticed that Val and Gabe had missed the entire exchange and were staring into each other's eyes. He ran back and slapped the table with his open palm. They looked at him as if they'd been dragged out of a dream.
"Attention," Theo said, trying not to raise his voice. "Sheriff coming in? My boss? Deadly drug dealer? We're criminals. We'll be making a break for the back door? Now? Hello?"
"I'm not a criminal," Gabe said. "I'm a biologist."
Theo grabbed him by the front of the shirt and made for the kitchen, dragging the biologist behind him. The criminal shrink brought up the rear.
The Sheriff
"I'm looking for Betsy Butler," Burton said, flipping open a badge wallet as if everyone in the county didn't immediately recognize his white Stetsonover-Armani look.
"What's she done?" Jenny asked, putting herself between the sheriff and the door to the kitchen.
"That's not your affair. I just need to talk to her."
"Well, I'm on the floor alone, so you have to follow me if you want to talk or I'll get behind."
"I don't want to talk to you."
"Fine." Jenny turned her back on the sheriff and went to the waitress station behind the counter to start a fresh pot of coffee.
Burton followed her, suppressing the urge to put her in a choke hold. "Do you know where she lives?"
"Yes," Jenny said. "But she's not home." Jenny glanced back through the kitchen window to make sure that Theo and his bunch had made it through to Howard's office.
Burton's face was going red now. "Please. Could you tell me where she is?"
Jenny thought she could jerk this guy around for another ten minutes or so, but it didn't look as if it was necessary. Besides, she was pissed at Betsy for calling in anyway. "She called in this morning with a spiritual emergency. Her words, by the way. The flu I can understand, but I'm working a double after closing last night over her spiritual emergency - "
"Where is Betsy Butler?" the sheriff barked.
Jenny jumped back a step. The man looked as if he might go for his gun any second. No wonder Theo had bolted out the back. "She said she was going with a group up to the Beer Bar Ranch. That they were being called by the spirit to make a sacrifice. Pretty weird, huh?"
"Was Joseph Leander going with her?"
"No one's supposed to know about Betsy and Joseph."
"I know about them. Was he going with her?"
"She didn't say. She sounded a little spaced out."
"Does Theo Crowe come in here?"
"Sometimes." Jenny wasn't volunteering anything to this creep. He was rude, he was mean, and he was wearing enough Aramis to choke a skunk.
"Has he been in here today?"
"No, haven't seen him."
Without a word, Burton turned and stormed out the door to his Cadillac. Jenny went back to the kitchen, where Gabe, Val, and Theo were standing by the fryers, trying to stay out of the way of the two cooks, who were flipping eggs and thrashing hash browns.
Gabe pointed to the back door. "It's locked."
"He's gone," Jenny said. "He was looking for Betsy and Joseph, but he asked about you, Theo. I think he's going up to the Beer Bar to find Betsy."
"What's Betsy doing at the ranch?" Theo asked.
Theo turned to Val. "Give me the keys to your car. I'm going after him."
"I don't think so," the psychiatrist said, holding her purse away from him.
"Please, Val. I've got to see what he's up to. This is my life here."
"And that's my Mercedes, and you're not taking it."
"I have guns, Val."
"Yeah, but you don't have a Mercedes. It's mine."
Gabe looked at her as if she'd squirted a grapefruit in his eyes. "You really won't let Theo use your car?" His voice was flat with disappointment. "It's just a car."
They all stared at her, even the two cooks, burly Hispanic men who had until now refused to acknowledge their existence. Val reached into her purse, brought out the keys, and handed them to Theo as if she were giving up a child for sacrifice.
"How will we get home?" Gabe asked.
"Go to the Head of the Slug and wait. I'll either pick you up or call you from my cell phone and let you know what's going on. It shouldn't take long." With that, Theo ran out of the kitchen.
A few seconds later Valerie Riordan cringed at the sound of squealing tires as Theo pulled out of the restaurant parking lot.
Skinner
Skinner liked chasing cars as much as the next dog, and they didn't get away as easily when you chased them in another car, but despite the excite-ment of the chase, Skinner was anxious. When he had seen the Tall Guy come out to the car, he thought that the Food Guy was coming too. But now they were driving away from the Food Guy and toward the danger. Skinner could feel it. He whined and ran back and forth across the backseat of the Mercedes, leaving nose prints on the window, then jumped into the front seat and stuck his head out the passenger window. There was no joy to the turbo-charged smells or the wind in his ears, only danger. He barked and scratched at the door handle to warn the Tall Guy, but all he got for his efforts was a perfunctory ear scratching, so he crawled into the Tall Guy's lap, where it felt at least a little safer.
The Sheriff
Burton first noticed the Mercedes behind him when he turned onto the access road to the Coast Highway. A week ago he might not have thought twice about it, but now he was seeing an enemy in every tree. DEA wouldn't use a Mercedes, and neither would FBI, but the Mexican Mafia could. Except for his operation, they ran the meth trade out of the West; perhaps they'd decided that they wanted the whole trade. That would explain the disap-pearance of Leander, Crowe, and the guys at the lab, except that it had been a little too clean. They would have left bodies as a warning, and they would have burned down all of Crowe's cabin, not just the pot patch.
He pulled his Beretta 9 mm. out of its holster and placed it on the seat next to him. He had a shotgun in the trunk, but it might as well be in Canada for all the good it would do him. if there were two or less in the car, he might take them. If more, they probably had Uzis or Mac 10 machine guns and he would run. The Mexicans liked to have a crowd in on their hits. Burton made a quick right off the highway and stopped a block up a side street.
Theo
Why hadn't he let Skinner out at the cafe? He hadn't been able to figure out the electric seat adjustment on the Mercedes, so he was driving with his knees up around the wheel anyway, but now he had an eighty-pound dog in his lap and he had to whip his head from side to side to keep Burton's Caddy in sight.
The Caddy made an abrupt turn off the highway and it was all Theo could do to get the Mercedes around the corner without screeching the tires. By the time he could see around Skinner's head again, the Caddy was stopped only fifty yards ahead. Theo ducked quickly onto the passenger seat and tried to call on THE FORCE to steer as they passed the Caddy.
The Sheriff
Sheriff John Burton was prepared for a confrontation with DEA agents, he was prepared for a high-speed escape, he was even prepared for a shoot-out with Mexican drug dealers, if it came to that. He prided himself on being tough and adaptable and thought himself superior to other men be-cause of his cool response to pressure. He was, however, not prepared to see a Mercedes cruise by with a Labrador retriever at the wheel. His Uber-mensch arrogance shriveled as he stared gape-jawed at the passing Mercedes. It made an erratic turn at the next corner, bouncing off a curb before disap-pearing behind a hedge.
He wasn't the sort of man who doubted his own perceptions - if he saw it, he saw it - so his mind dropped into politician mode to file the experi-ence. "That right there," he said aloud, "is why I will never support a bill to license dogs to drive."
Still, political certainties weren't going to count for much if he didn't get to Betsy Butler and find out what had happened to his prized drug mule. He pulled a U-turn and headed back to the Coast Highway, where he found himself looking a little more closely than usual at the drivers in oncoming cars.
Molly
There were thirty of them all together. Six stood side by side at the cave entrance; the rest crowded behind them, trying to get a look inside. Molly recognized the one doing the talking, she was the ditzy waitress from H.P.'s cafe. She was in her mid-twenties, with short blonde hair and a figure that promised to go pear-shaped by the time she hit forty. She wore a white choir robe over jeans and aerobics shoes.
"You're Betsy from H.P.'s, right?" Molly asked, leaning on her broadsword.
Betsy seemed to recognize Molly for the first time, "You're the craz - "
Molly held up her sword to hush the girl. "Be nice."
"Sorry," said Betsy. "We've been called. I didn't expect you to be here."
Two women stepped up beside Betsy, the pastel church ladies that Molly had chased away from the dragon trailer. "Remember us?"
Molly shook her head. "What exactly do you all think you are doing here?"
They looked to each other, as if the question hadn't occurred to them before this. They craned their necks and squinted into the cathedral chamber to see what was behind Molly. Steve lay curled up in the dark at the back of the chamber, sulking.
Molly turned and spoke to the back of the chamber. "Steve, did you bring these people here? What were you thinking?"
A loud and low-pitched whimper came out of the dark. The crowd at the entrance murmured among themselves. Suddenly a man stepped for-ward and pushed Betsy aside. He was in his forties and wore an African dashiki over khakis and Birkenstocks, his long hair held out of his face with a beaded headband. "Look, man, you can't stop us. There's something very special and very spiritual happening here, and we're not going to let some crazy woman keep us from being part of it. So just back off."
Molly smiled. "You want to be a part of this, do you?"
"Yeah, that's right," the man said. The others nodded behind him.
"Fine, I want you all to empty your pockets before you come in here. Leave your keys, wallets, money, everything outside."
"We don't have to do that," Betsy said.
Molly stepped up and thrust her sword into the ground between the girl's feet. "Okay then, naked." Molly said.
"What?"
"No one comes in here unless they are naked. Now get to it."
Protests arose until a short Asian man with a shaved head shrugged off his saffron robes, stepped forward, and bowed to Molly, thus mooning the rest of the group.
Molly shook her head dolefully at the monk. "I thought you guys had more sense." Then she turned to the back of the cave and shouted, "Hey, Steve, cheer up, I brought home Chinese for lunch."