“So how do we find Peanut?”
“We don’t. You go back to the hotel and get some rest. If I don’t call you by daylight, you call the cops anonymously and tell them where Click is. He doesn’t know your name. If I get the location, I’ll call you. I never show up, it’s not your fault.”
“What are you going to do?”
“The best I can,” he answered. “I know you want to help, but you’re in my way. If you really want the Dockerys, back off.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m going to go see someone who should know where they are, who might be willing to tell to save his skin.”
“Who?”
“A lawyer.”
“You’re not serious?” Alexa said. “You’re just going to tip our hand early. Laughlin isn’t some kid, Winter.”
“Lex, don’t worry. If he doesn’t tell me where the Dockerys are, I’ve got more padded cells.”
48
Lucy Dockery would have one chance at survival. She had formulated a plan based on what she was sure she could lay her hands on in order to effect an escape. She had done her best to weigh what she was capable of doing against what wasn’t as likely to work. For example, she had seen a bottle of antifreeze in the bathroom, probably used for winterizing the trailer’s toilet. She imagined that if she could get some of it in Dixie’s coffee, the woman might drink it and it would probably kill her the same way it did dogs that drank it. But as far as Lucy knew, the poison could also take a long time to work, and she wasn’t going to get a chance to pour it in the coffeepot, and maybe Dixie wouldn’t even drink any coffee. She was resigned to the fact that her plan was dangerous and it was likely that, if it worked, Dixie probably wouldn’t survive. Well, Dixie planned to kill her and Elijah, and if she had to kill in self-defense, she was pretty sure she could do it.
In theory.
Every time she imagined striking a fatal blow to Dixie, every fiber of her being resisted the alien thought. Lucy was horrified and revolted at the very idea of taking a life.
Yes. To save Elijah, I will. If I absolutely have to, Walter, I will. I promise.
She heard Dixie making noise in the kitchen, mumbling to herself, running water into the sink, opening and closing the refrigerator. Lucy lay still, curled herself into a fetal position. When the door opened, Dixie entered carrying a glass and a plastic bowl. She had a T-shirt draped over one shoulder and a towel over the other. She sat down on the bed.
“Missy?” she said in a low voice. “Baby, you awake?”
Lucy drew herself into a tighter ball.
“You poor little thing. Dixie’s going to clean you up,” the big woman said. “I’m sorry for what Buck did. He got punished for it. He sometimes has trouble controlling his temper. I know you didn’t mean to upset him like you did.”
Dixie reached out and dabbed at Lucy’s blood-matted hair with a wet end of the towel.
Lucy moaned, playing barely conscious as Dixie worked halfheartedly to clean her up. “You are one lucky gal,” Dixie chirped. “This isn’t near as bad as he can do. Not by a long shot it ain’t. It’s sort of his way of fore-playing. Buck’s used to doing like he wants, and that won’t never change. But he won’t bother you again. Not so long as you don’t give me call to turn my back and let him. Think of me as your angel standing between you and. . Honey, you need to sit up and let Dixie put this shirt on you so you won’t be naked.”
Lucy allowed herself to be lifted so that Dixie could wrestle the T-shirt onto her. It was huge and reeked of stale sweat. Lucy assumed it belonged to one of the men. She remained as limp, as listless, as she could manage, returning silently to her fetal position as soon as Dixie finished dressing her.
“You know it wouldn’t do you any good to try to get out of here. We know everybody around for miles and my daddy about supports half the people out here. You could say we’re very instrumental in this community. A lot of the people around here are our kin.
“Honey, you need to sit up and drink this medicine Dixie got for you,” Dixie said, her voice sticky with false concern. “It’ll make you feel better.”
Lucy had known this was coming, but she was filled with sudden terror, knowing the concoction would probably put her out, or at the least turn her into a staggering mess. If she was going to have a chance, she couldn’t allow it. Dixie turned her over, raised her up, and put the coffee mug to her lips, pressing the rim against Lucy’s teeth. The main odor was that of orange juice with an undercurrent of cough syrup.
“Don’t make Dixie mad,” the powerful woman warned. “Drink it.”
Lucy wanted to scream, but instead she opened her mouth to allow the thick, sweet liquid to flow down her throat. Dixie didn’t take the mug away until it was empty.
Dixie stood, letting Lucy go back into her curl. “You get some rest, missy. A nice restful sleep is just what you need. You’ll wake up at home.”
Dixie stood in the doorway staring in at Lucy for a long time. All the while, Lucy was visualizing the medicine cocktail working itself into the lining of her stomach.
Keep thinking you’re winning, you muscle-bound freak, Lucy thought. Just keep thinking it.
Eleven-letter word for Dixie.
P S Y C H O B I T C H
49
Clayton Able knew exactly where Dixie Smoot had called her father from, but he wasn’t going to share that with anybody except the Major. Winter Massey was, as Clayton had insisted from the start he would, proving to be difficult to control. It appeared that if Massey was left to his own devices, he could make a very large mess of things, and generate complications they didn’t need.
He turned to Antonia. “We have to stop Massey.”
“Slow him down,” the Major answered. “It isn’t necessary to do anything so rash. Massey can’t get anything done before tomorrow, and then it’ll work for us. He can die as planned while shooting it out with the kidnappers. No need to change the plan.”
“Randall is hot over what happened at Click’s house. Says we should have warned him that Massey was there.”
“Screw Randall. He didn’t tell us he was going there. This is a two-way street. Max had better not forget who’s calling the tune. Where’s Alexa?”
“Coming here.”
“Good.”
“Massey’s on his way to Laughlin’s.”
“And Laughlin won’t be home. So Massey will go back to see the Smoot kid and-”
“I’ve seen this happen a hundred times and I know in my gut when something is about to go up in flames,” Clayton insisted nervously. “If you don’t let me handle him, I’m not going to stay with this. I’m not going to spend my golden years in prison. We need to let Randall deal with Massey now.”
He heard her exhale loudly. “Go ahead. But it means a change in plan. I’ll work out an alternate with Alexa. Make sure Max understands that Massey’s body can’t be found until Monday. We’ll have to play some hocus-pocus with the forensics. No biggie, since we’ll be controlling the evidence-gathering process and reports.”
“I’ll make the call. You are paying me for my experience with these sorts of matters. It’s the right thing to do,” Clayton said, smiling. “The smart thing is the correct course.”
“It had better be, Mr. Able. It sure as hell better be.”
50
Winter Massey locked the gate to the closed-down clinic, then waited for Alexa to leave. She had the damned phone to her head before she was fifty feet away, probably calling Clayton Able for advice, no doubt begging him for some intelligence that would negate the necessity of Winter’s trip to Laughlin’s. Winter wasn’t going to run everything he did through Clayton, or wait for him to toss Winter some eleventh-hour bone. Winter didn’t care for men who sat at computers playing with human lives that were no more real to them than some teenage sorcerer in a game of Dungeons and Dragons. Clayton was working with Alexa, but the man had worked for Military Intelligence. He gave Winter the creeps, and every bone in his body told him not to trust him.