“Even assuming we could get authorization to go in after him,” I said, “which we can’t.”
The beanpole who called himself Daddy Longlegs looked at me. “How come?”
“Politics,” was all I said, but his nod seemed to say that he understood.
“So you want Scar to sing to these guys,” he said, “so they’ll run after her and forget all about guarding this bad guy you wanna bust.”
“Yeah, that’s about right,” I said.
Scar looked at me, hands on hips. “So, what’s the catch?”
“It could be dangerous,” I told her. “Very dangerous.”
Her challenging expression slowly changed into a wide grin. “Shit, man – that ain’t the catch,” she said. “That’s the fun.”
We’d borrowed the flatbed truck from Karl’s cousin Ernie, who owned a John Deere franchise and used the vehicle to move heavy equipment around. Tonight it was being used to transport Banshee’s amps and instruments, along with a portable generator I’d brought to provide power. When I’d suggested that Scar just sing a cappella, the other band members had insisted on being there. I’d explained why this gig might be more risky than what they were used to, and Daddy Longlegs had spoken for the others when he’d told me, “No way, man! We’re a unit, an organic entity. Scar risks her neck, then we’re gonna be right there with her!”
Organic entity. Right. Normally I don’t like being called “man”, but I was prepared to make an exception in the case of Daddy Longlegs, especially when he told me that he could drive a stick shift.
It was Wednesday night. Banshee had been committed to play at the Palace the night before, and although I’d offered to make up the eight hundred bucks they’d lose by not performing, they wouldn’t even consider it. “It ain’t just the money,” Scar had explained. “We punt this gig with zero notice, word’s gonna get around that we’re unreliable. Then who’s gonna hire us? We gotta think about the future of the band.”
We’ve all got our priorities. Mine was to put this crazy scheme into action as soon as possible, before one of Wilson’s pet cops found out what we were up to and warned him. If that happened, Wilson would be in the wind faster than a trailer park in a tornado.
But Karl had just come back from another scout of the Callaway estate, and he reported that all the guards were still in place, vigilant as ever. If Wilson had split, they wouldn’t have bothered. Probably.
For a staging area, we used a construction site where some new apartments were going up, about a mile from the Callaway place. There were no houses close enough for anybody to be disturbed as the band did its sound check. I was glad to see that the gasoline generator I’d rented was putting out enough juice to power Banshee’s big amps.
I also used the occasion to check my own hearing protection – it wouldn’t do much good for me to get caught up in the Siren’s song once it started. Vampire Karl was immune to it and didn’t need special precautions, but I’d bought a set of those metal and plastic earmuffs that airport mechanics use. They look like old-fashioned stereo headphones but give you about four times as much protection from ambient noise. I watched from twenty feet away as Scar and the boys did a sound check, and I could barely hear a thing.
When they’d finished, I took off the earmuffs and walked back to the truck. In my pocket I had two TracFones I’d bought at Vlad-Mart the day before. I handed one up to Scar. “Here, take this.”
She looked at it and said, “I’ve got my own phone, man. It’s lots better than this cheap piece of shit.”
“I’m sure it is,” I said. “But the only one who’s got the number of that particular phone is me. Put it in your pocket, will you? When that thing goes off, you’ll know it’s time to start the party.”
I went over to where Daddy Longlegs was sitting behind the wheel. “Once it starts, keep your eyes on the mirror. This works, a bunch of guys are gonna come bursting through those trees and make a beeline for the truck. They get within fifty feet or so, that’s when you start moving.”
“Keep the speed down to twenty or twenty-five,” Karl told him. “The objective is to keep them following you, not lose them.”
“I gotcha,” Daddy Longlegs said. “Just like a bunch of dogs chasing after a bitch in heat.”
“I heard that,” Scar said from the truck bed. “Who’re you calling a bitch?”
“Not you, baby,” Daddy Longlegs said. “Purely a metaphor.”
“Good thing,” she said. Then she looked at me, and the evil grin reappeared. “Shit, I don’t even like doggy-style.”
That put an image in my mind that I tried to banish by focusing on the task at hand, and the risks it involved for all of us. That worked, more or less.
“OK, follow our car,” I told Daddy Longlegs. “When we stop, come up right behind us and park. Then Karl and I are gonna drive down the road a little farther. Wait for the phone call, then crank it up. OK?”
“Got it. And thanks, man.”
“For what?”
“This here’s the most fun we’ve had in a long time.”
“Glad to hear it. I hope you still think so an hour from now.”
There was no traffic moving on Lake Scranton Road at two in the morning . Good thing, too, since there were now two vehicles driving on it without showing any lights.
After a while, Karl said, “Tree’s coming up, ’bout a hundred feet.”
We’d figured out the night before just where we wanted the flatbed to be, then marked the place by tying a handkerchief around the branch of a nearby tree. Karl touched the brakes, and we rolled to a slow stop. In my side mirror, I could see the flatbed inch up behind us until our bumpers were nearly touching. Daddy Longlegs turned the truck’s engine off, and Karl and I continued on.
Between the big house and the road was about two hundred feet of woods. That was where we expected the guard detail to come bursting through. The house had a driveway leading to the road, but Scar had told me that the men would come to her using the most direct route possible, even if it meant fighting their way through heavy vegetation.
“They’re gonna be outta their fuckin’ minds,” she’d said. “Trust me on that.”
“I will.” Then something else had occurred to me. “Those guys are all armed to the teeth. Are they likely to bring their guns with them?”
She’d thought about that for a moment. “Naw, they always drop anything they’ve got in their hands. These dudes are gonna become what you might call ‘single-minded’ real fast.”
“What if some of them have a backup piece – a handgun in a holster?”
“If it’s something they’re wearing, I guess they’d still have it,” she’d said with a shrug. “So what?”
“So, when they can’t reach you, aren’t you afraid they might shoot, out of frustration?”
“Don’t you get it, man? They won’t be interested in hurting me – they’re just gonna want to fuck me. Like they’ve never wanted to fuck anybody in their lives.”
I was giving silent thanks for the industrial-strength ear protection that I’d be wearing when she said, “I dunno – maybe after a while, we should stop the truck and let them have me. You said you wanted a diversion, right? What’s more diverting than a gangbang?”
“Scar–”
“How many guards did you say there were – six? That could make for quite a party, dontcha think?”
“Now, listen–” I’d said, but she’d stopped me with a peal of laughter.
“Don’t get your undies in a twist, man. I don’t do gangbangs – well, except for that time in St Louis, and I was drunk then. I just said it cause I wanted to see that expression on your face. Priceless!”
I’d decided then and there: if Christine ever wanted to go to college, she was not going to Mount Holyoke. Not if I had anything to say about it.