Eventually we were back in the countryside again. "Do you know where we are?" I checked the gas gauge. Off to the right were some mountains that had shaved-off tops and funny angles. "What the hell are those called?"
"The Trona Pinnacles, I believe," Wilma answered. "Part of the charm of this area. And yes," she said, studying her handmade map, "I do have an idea of where we are. We should be heading towards Indian Wells.''
We passed the turnoff we were supposed to take, but Wilma caught it and we doubled back. I drove downhill through all kinds of shrubs on a gravel road barely wide enough for my truck. We hooked right and came upon a lot of bamboo set in front of a stone wall. In the middle was a large, showy iron gate.
"This is the place," Wilma said.
I stopped and turned off the ignition. "Let's scope this out first."
"It doesn't look like there's anyone here. Let's drive in," she said, pointing toward the gate.
"I think it'd be better if we go in on foot."
"So you can bust a move?"
"We should be careful, Wilma." A jack rabbit scooted past us, then back into the greenery.
She looked like she was gonna argue but let it go. "Fine."
We got out and stretched. She got her purse from the car, then we walked up to the gate. Wilma unlatched it and it swung open. I was surprised it was unlocked. Inside there was a mess of plants and the same weird, stick-like cactus that grew on either side of the roadway we'd come in on. Wilma was already marching past me and up towards where the cabin must be. I grabbed her arm.
"We ain't in that big a rush, are we?"
"Why? There's nobody here."
"How do you know?"
"They only use this place for their meetings." She took off again.
"But you said he kept his files here too. Otherwise what are we doing here?"
"You're right. Better safe than sorry." She slowed down, waiting for me to catch up.
We went up the walk, different kinds of plants and cactus and yellow and purple flowers all around us. Any second, I just knew a bad breath Rottweiler with nasty teeth was gonna come running out of nowhere and snack on my leg.
In a few more ticks, we were facing the cabin. Well, it was about as much a cabin as a classic Jaguar is just a car. The joint was big, two stories and a deck, with a triangle for a roof. There was as much glass as there was wood and stone to the place. A satellite dish was on one part of the roof, and some other kind of antenna was sticking up beside that. It looked like a small radio tower.
"How the hell are we gonna get inside this place? He's got to have this thing rigged with fancy burglar alarms. I know we're in the middle of zero, but Stadanko ain't no clown." How come her or Nap didn't bring that up before?
Wilma had her hands on her hips. "Do me a favor, Zelmont. Check around on the side over there, okay? I think there's some kind of work shed."
"Your boy Rudy tell you that?"
She came up and put her arms around my waist. "When I back-traced the address from the phone number, I checked out the property specs. There's an additional piece of property listed, all right?" We kissed, and she grinded against me. I went off to do like she asked.
Coming around a corner of the cabin I found a box of a place with some plants and cactus grown up around it. As I walked I noticed a door in the side of the building. I could also see the area behind the house. There was a nice-ass pool and deck chairs laid out, and I went to check it out. The pool was done in the shape of a football, with a large painting of one on the bottom. Good thing I was staring at the design 'cause I caught the reflection moving behind me and whipped around just in time.
"Trace I said as I tackled the cornfed chump. That caught him by surprise and together we fell back on some of the chairs, scattering them all over the place. I landed a blow on him but he was buffed so it didn't do much damage. His knee came up and I twisted to get away from being groined.
We were holding onto each other, struggling to stand up. "Defiler," he growled, his dog teeth clamped together. He hit me across the face and I'm not too proud to say the faggot hurt me. Motherfuckah was strong. But I'd been knocked around by the dirty boys in my day and knew how to hang with some serious pain.
"That's all you got, bitch?" I went low and sunk one into his middle, then immediately followed with an elbow to his jaw. That got some respect. We circled each other hunched over, hands out like a couple beefheads on the WWF.
"How do you want me to hurt you, Raines?" The flaming cross on his cheek twitched. It seemed bigger than what I remembered.
I lunged but he was ready. He caught me dead on the side of my face, dazing me. I fell against some kind of statue of a chick with four arms and a snake crawling around her. It tumbled over but didn't break. Off balance, Trace rammed a fist into my side, making stars pop behind my eyes. Fuck. I sank down to one knee.
"You're going to be my woman, Raines." He kicked me in the shoulder, knocking me over. I tried to focus my sight, and from the angle I was at I could see some tools leaning against the shed. Knowing he was going to kick me again, I rolled to one side. My shoulder still burned like a mother. I got up and ran for the shed. I could yell for Wilma, but what good would that do? Plus, what kind of man would I be if I did?
"Come on, Zelmont, I want to play," the big punk laughed. "Don't go home yet, your mama will let you stay out a little longer."
I dove through the plants, cutting myself on cactus thorns and what all. I scrambled up faster than I had in any drill I'd ever done and was about to latch onto a handle of a shovel when a fist socked me hard in the kidney. I fell against the shed, damn near crying from the pain. Hands grabbed me and turned me around. It was another Internal Truth Squad sack of shit. His cross had a purple kind of flame dancing from it. He hauled me out of the shrubs and dumped me on the deck like I was wet clothes.
Trace, standing next to his God-fearing pal, looked down at me with a sick smile. "Meet one of my good friends, Zelmont. Randy, meet Zelmont."
I was trying to rise when Randy said, "Mr. Raines," and hit me across the back of my head, knocking my face back into the ground. Trace stepped closer.
"What business do you have out here, Zelmont?" He put his hands in his pockets, relaxed, enjoying seeing me crawling like a prison sissy at his feet.
I looked up. "Your sister asked me up here 'cause she wanted some new dick to suck 'sides yours." That got me a heel aimed at my mouth like I hoped. I grabbed his foot, and with all I had I lifted and shoved him backward. Trace went over. Randy was already on me and had his iron-hard arms around my chest from behind. He had a knee in my back and was pulling the top of my body towards him. I felt like I was going to pass out.
"I like dark meat, Mr. Raines." He started biting the mess that was my face and I screamed, the blood warm against my sweaty skin. I got a hand behind me and latched onto his johnson. I squeezed it like I was trying to get the last drop out of a toothpaste tube.
"Oh Lord, grant me strength," Randy cried, his jaw letting go of my face. Trace was running forward. I shifted, the pressure from Randy's knee having let up some. We fell over, Trace getting tangled up too. This was worse than games where I was half doped on painkillers and my hip was doing weird tricks in the socket. But fuck it, this was no game.
I had my hand on flesh and bone. It was a neck. It was Randy's neck, and I was squeezing it like I was wringing out a rag. Punches were landing on me and I didn't care. Trace had his arms around my waist, trying to pull me loose. But I wasn't going to let go, ever. I got a foot under Trace's jaw, using his solid body to wedge myself against him and Randy. I got my elbow up, then came down hard with it, ramming Trace's partner in the Adam's apple.