The gun felt weird in Gabriel’s hand. He’d gone shooting with his dad, but he’d never shot anyone. He put it in his pocket and unsheathed the knife, heading for the back of the store. After all the bullshit and chatter in the truck, it felt good to move his legs again. He looked at the boys as they whispered and argued about who should carry the beer under his jacket.
But he’d never gone for anyone he never knew before, much less three. He didn’t even know if they were armed. He looked over his shoulder and caught the killer’s eye. The older man gave him a smile and mimed slipping the garrote around the man’s throat and pulling. A man in his element. Gabriel breathed evenly, trying to match the old man’s ease.
He caught the first boy in the right kidney, jamming the knife hilt deep into his back. The boy screamed and fell forward onto his face, beer bottles exploding under him. Gabriel looked at him. Guess he wasn’t the one who was going to carry. When he looked up, the other boys were frozen in place. He knew that look. The boys’ minds were still trying to understand what they’d just seen. One at a time they searched Gabriel’s face. They want to know if they know me and I’m someone they have a beef with. He stepped over the fallen boy’s body and the nearest boy, tallest, reached under his jacket for something. He had the gun halfway out when Gabriel swung the blade across his body, hitting hard at the boy’s wrist and cutting deep enough that the tendons and muscles stopped working. The boy dropped the gun. Gabriel lunged for him while he was still in shock, stuck his knife into the boy’s belly, twisting the blade slightly as he pulled up so the wound wouldn’t close.
He looked again. The third boy was running for the front door. Thinking he could push it open and escape, the boy bounced off the locked door. Screaming hysterically, he shook the door’s aluminum handle and clawed at the glass. Gabriel didn’t rush. He knew the boy’s mind was too far gone to figure out that all he had to do was flip the lock right above his head.
It had taken Gabriel a long time to learn to throw the Ka-Bar accurately. It was heavier than most throwing knives and the technique was a little different. He gripped it by the blade and threw it hard. He’d never thrown a knife at anyone’s back before and for good reason. Just like he was afraid it would, the knife dug into the boy’s shoulder blade a couple of inches, hung there and fell to the floor. There was too much bone in the back. You’d have to be William Tell to make a kill throwing it there. Still the blow to the shoulder blade had sent the kid facedown on his knees. He was crying and screaming something in Spanish, snot dripping from his nose. Gabriel rushed him, but at the last minute the boy spotted the knife, grabbed it and held it in front of him. Gabriel tried to stop, but he slipped on the boy’s blood and fell forward, landing an inch from the blade.
There was an explosion from behind Gabriel’s back and the boy’s body slammed against the door and slid down, a gaping hole in its chest. Gabriel looked over his shoulder and saw Suspect Zero leaning over the shelves a couple of rows back, his gun smoking. He nodded to Gabriel. Gabriel nodded back and headed to him.
When he got to the killer’s aisle, Gabriel found the soup man on the floor surrounded by dislodged cans. His head was almost severed from his body. The wire had cut cleanly all the way through skin, cartilage and muscle. All that held the head attached was the vertebrae at the back on the man’s neck.
The killer had the couple cornered at the end of the aisle. He waited there for him.
When Gabriel reached him the killer said, “Good work with the boys. I know you would have finished the last one, but I had the shot, so what the hell.”
“It’s cool. Thanks,” Gabriel said.
“Glad you don’t mind some collaboration.”
Suspect Zero turned his attention back to the couple. They were a couple of Goth kids, pale and skinny, dressed in shades of black and red.
The killer said, “What are you in the mood for tonight?” He pointed his pistol at the girl. “White meat?” He pointed the gun at the boy. “Or dark?”
Gabriel stood where he was, breathing hard. His throat had gone dry. He looked at his bloody hands.
He looked at Suspect Zero.
“I lost my knife.”
“That’s okay. I’ll choose for you,” he said, and shot the boy between the eyes.
Gabriel said, “I thought we were supposed to mix up how we kill. Guns twice tonight?”
Suspect Zero showed him his pistol.
“Different gun. Different caliber. Sometimes you have to improvise. I decided to do a quick one for you. Help you get your sea legs back.”
The killer stepped aside, leaving Gabriel a clear view of the girl. He reached into his pocket for the gun the killer had given him. Gabriel took it out and leveled it at the girl’s face. She held up her hands in front of her, not whimpering, just making little animal noises. She might have peed herself, he thought. For just a second he was back at the reservoir looking into Penny’s shocked and staring eyes. She’d made noises like that when the first knife thrust hadn’t killed her and he’d had to go in for a second and third. Gabriel’s throat was dry. She didn’t look anything like Penny, but he could feel the breeze on his face, the wind cooling as it passed over the water. He let the gun drop a few inches. He felt the killer move up beside him.
“Is that how it is, boy? You’re a true disappointment. I thought you were the right kind of people,” said Suspect Zero. “Guess I’ll take it from here.”
He moved past Gabriel with his knife out and grabbed a handful of the girl’s hair. There was a click as Gabriel pulled back the hammer on the gun. The killer stopped and turned to him. Gabriel pointed the gun at Suspect Zero. A slow grin spread across the killer’s face.
“You rascal you, playing possum this whole time. And here’s me starting to wonder if your heart was in the work. You planned to kill me this whole time and waited until you found your moment. That’s cold, son. Good for you.”
The killer spread his arms like wings and took a step forward.
“You want to take my truck? Want to be an eighteen-wheel nomad? Roam the country like a king taking lives and giving them to those you leave alive? You want to be me? Do it, boy. Do it. We both know it’s why you flagged me down and why I stopped.”
Gabriel looked at the floor where all the blood on his clothes had mixed with the rainwater to form a pinkish pool at his feet.
“That was before. I don’t know now,” said Gabriel. He glanced at the cowering girl. She slid down the wall to the floor. Her boyfriend’s blood had spread across the linoleum and she was half-lying in it.
The killer made a sour face.
“You don’t know? Bullshit. People never mean it when they say that. What they really mean is they know exactly what they want, but they’re afraid to take it. Don’t be one of them. You got the drop on me. You beat me. Take the shot.”
Gabriel looked at the killer and then the girl. Gabriel put the pistol to the killer’s temple and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. Nothing happened. It was empty.
Suspect Zero gently took the gun from Gabriel’s hand.
“I told you a killer knows another killer when he sees one. You never hand a killer a loaded gun.”
Without turning, keeping his eyes locked on Gabriel’s, Suspect Zero shot the girl. Gabriel watched as the man walked down the aisle, opened the locked door and stood there waiting. A few seconds later he followed.
The killer unlocked the door and said, “The kid behind the counter. Take his wallet and whatever’s in the till. This’ll just be a robbery gone sour.”
“What about the security camera?”
“It isn’t working. I can tell.”
Gabriel did what he was told, stuffing the wallet and cash into the pockets of his peacoat. Suspect Zero pushed open the door and shoved Gabriel out. He’d left the truck idling. They got in and they started moving almost immediately, driving in silence for
a few minutes. When Suspect Zero took the on-ramp to the freeway out of town, Gabriel finally spoke.
Chapter 5
“If I’d’ve shot you back there, would I have become you?”
“You’d have become something. More than what you are, but no. You wouldn’t become me.”
Gabriel touched the sticky blood on his chest and legs.
“I don’t think I want to do this anymore. I want it to be over. Can you help me out?”
“Kill you? I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. You want to sacrifice yourself, go feed the homeless for Jesus. I’m not interested in those who want to be taken. There’s others for that kind of thing. There’s no nourishment for me in suicides. For me eating suicides is like trying to eat the fog hanging in the empty spaces between the stones on a mountainside. There’s nothing to sink your teeth into.”
“If you’re not a ghost, then what are you?”
They changed lanes several times. The killer turned the truck off the local freeway and onto the interstate.
“Please. I’ve got to know.”
Suspect Zero reached up and pulled a cord, letting loose two long blasts from his air horn. He whooped with the sound.
“I’m a road shaker and a heartbreaker.” They hit a straightaway and he looked at Gabriel. “But most of all, I’m the toll taker.”
“What toll?”
“You asked me before if I was a ghost. I’m not. But I wasn’t always such a grizzled bastard either. Hell, for the longest time I didn’t have any form at all. You people called me all sort of nonsense back then. Devil. Old Wolf. Ogoun. Soo-oop-wa. Our Lord of the Flayed One. I grew two legs, two arms and two eyes. I walked on the ground because that was what I needed to do to be near you.”
“Are you an angel?”
“Shut up and listen. Over ten thousand years you’ve been coming here. You walked here over ice bridges, marched up from the South and beached your ships on the coasts. You came to me. To the dirt. The mountains and the lightning. The rivers and the dust devils tearing up the Mojave. You wanted my blood and built your lives and homes on my flesh. Now I’m in your pavement and wires, your concrete, subways and sewers. I’ve always been here. I am this place. And you, every one of you, owes me a blood payment. Get it, boy? It’s like this truck. It’s my home. It’s me and no one rides for free.”
“You’re God.”
“Don’t be stupid. But you’re not the first who’s thought that. I’ve been worshipped and exorcised. I’ve buried you people in blizzards and earthquakes. Cooked you in brush fires burning all the way from Mexico to the Yukon. I’m the price you pay for being here.”
“You’re all that and you still can’t kill me?
“I told you. I’m not an angel or your god. I’m not here to ease your pain. You’re a nice kid. I wish I could help you out, but it’s not my place.”
Gabriel nodded thoughtfully, trying to absorb it all. His head was spinning. He only understood a little of what Suspect Zero said, but it was enough. Gabriel looked at the old man.
“You’ve been real nice to me tonight and I really appreciate it. I’ve been wandering around for so long. I’m glad I finally got to meet you. I hope you don’t think I’m rude.”
“Rude how, kid?”
“I’m going to go now.”
Gabriel pushed open the passenger door, stepped out and was gone.
The truck was doing sixty and the last thing the old man wanted to do was jackknife, so he eased on the air brakes and slowed enough that he could pull onto the shoulder and stop. He checked his mirrors, but didn’t really expect to see the boy. He was probably a good half mile from where the kid had jumped. He got out of the truck and walked to the shoulder side. There was nothing to do now but wait. He lit a cigarette with the silver lighter. He finished one cigarette and was about to light a second when he saw Gabriel crest the nearby overpass. The boy had a slight limp where the bone stuck out of his left leg and his chest looked funny and puckered where the tires had run him over. His clothes were torn and he was covered in road rash. Other than that, the boy looked pretty presentable.
The killer put away the cigarette and lighter. When Gabriel reached him he helped the boy into the truck and got in on the other side.
“I’m proud of you, son,” said Suspect Zero. “I couldn’t help you, so you helped yourself. You doubted yourself tonight, but you came through in the end. You are the right kind of people.”
“Can you help me now?”
“Absolutely. You smoke?”
“Yeah.”
He handed the boy his cigarettes and the silver lighter.
“Keep them. You earned them.”
They drove in silence. A few miles ahead, the old man took an exit Gabriel didn’t remember as having been there before. Out the window, he watched as they pulled into an enormous truck stop. A bright sign stood over the parking lot. It read END OF THE LINE. He’d never noticed it before. How could he have missed something that big in all the times he’d hitched up and down this stretch of freeway? But he’d been alive back then. Maybe that made a difference.
His door opened and the old man helped him down. The night felt light and slightly unreal. The leg with the bone sticking out didn’t hurt, but it wouldn’t work right so he was slow getting across the lot to the diner.
Inside, the place was longer than a football field, lined with rows of booths and Formica tables. Gabriel couldn’t even see the far end. The big parking lot hadn’t been more than a quarter full of trucks and their drivers and passengers were spread out over so much space that even occupied, the diner looked empty.
The old man scanned their faces, spotted one fifty rows ahead and they headed to where a pretty, dark-haired young woman was sitting by herself, nursing a cup of coffee and a plate of corn fritters. The young woman looked up as she saw Suspect Zero and Gabriel.
She smiled an easy smile and said, “Hello, you old vagrant. Long time no see. Sit down and take a load off.”
“Hello Crow, what do you know?” He and Gabriel sat down across from her in the booth. “I haven’t hauled any special cargo for a while, so I haven’t had a chance to stop in.”
Crow, the young woman, glanced at Gabriel. She was beautiful. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, but not scary dark like Suspect Zero’s eyes had been. Hers were soft. When he looked back at her, Gabriel felt something enter him. It was warm and curious, and as strange as the feeling was, he wasn’t frightened. A moment later, it had passed.
“You must really be something for this bone picker to come out of his way like this,” she said to Gabriel.
“He’s been very nice to me.”
She looked at Suspect Zero and cocked her head quizzically.
“Picking up strays? I never took you for sentimental.”
“Call it old age. Call it helping out a colleague,” he said.
“Those bones and crush marks don’t look like your work.”
“No. The boy did that himself. Straight up and out. Made the choice and did it like a man.”
She took a sip of her coffee and drew in a breath.
“Kid, if I give you a lift you know where I’m taking you, right? That old man next to you is special, but there’s only one road for human killers. That includes suicides.”
Gabriel nodded.
“It’s okay. Everything is okay now.”
Suspect Zero leaned over to Gabriel.
“Now’s when
you pay her.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“She’s a professional like me. Call her a psychopomp. And she doesn’t haul freight for free.”
Gabriel patted himself down, not sure what the old man expected of him. He still had the money from the convenience store in his pockets, but he was pretty sure money wasn’t worth much here. Then he felt it in his pocket. He took out the silver lighter, set it down flat on the table and slid it to Crow. She picked it up eagerly.
“Shiny. Very pretty,” she said.
“That enough to get the kid a ride?”
“First class. He can even ride up front with me like a big boy.”
“Time for me to go,” the old man said. He slid out of the booth and looked down at Crow. “Thanks for all your help, chickadee.”
“Take care of yourself, road man.”
“That’s what I do.”
The old man squeezed Gabriel’s shoulder and said, “Try the peach pie before you go. It’s the best you’ll ever get.” Then he turned and walked away.
Suspect Zero bought a cup of black coffee and a jelly donut, which he devoured on the way back to the truck. Inside the cab, he set the coffee in a holder on the dashboard. He took the pistol from his jacket pocket, reloaded it, wrapped it in plastic and stashed it back in the cooler.
He reached down and pulled a flat bog-iron box from under his seat. Inside were seven bone cups carved with runes. Inside each cup were slips of paper in a language only he could read. He pulled one slip of paper from each cup and set them on the dashboard. They read: MAN. 30s. BLOND. BANK. INSIDE. BUSINESS HOURS. HAMMER.
The killer sighed. This was going to take a little doing, but it would be a banquet when he pulled it off. Not fun, though. He wished the boy had stuck around long enough to understand that. Not fun. Just the work. The work and the blood that feeds the land.