CHAPTER 30
Maybe he came back in fifteen minutes; maybe he didn’t. I wasn’t there.
Right after Jake left for take-out food, I got a call from Pusser. Nikki had bolted during the ride from the hospital to her new facility and was on the run.
She could be halfway to Nashville by now, or anywhere, but I knew from experience that the first thing she’d do was try to get a fix. And a fix cost cash. And the readiest supply of cash would be at Lucky’s. Supply and demand. She’d said that the first time I interviewed her. Supply her customers; get cash; and fulfill her body’s demand for a fix.
Twenty minutes later I parked in Lucky’s lot and called in my location. Wilco was vested, on lead, and at attention. His nose twitched overtime as we worked down the line of trucks. Diesel fumes hung heavy in the air, along with the smell of grease and rubber and the zing of ozone riding in on the downdraft of a pending rainstorm.
I picked up my pace and headed down the next line of trucks. Another five yards and Wilco lifted his snout and drew in a deep whiff of air, lowered his head, spread his legs, and went low to the ground. The first drops of rain started to fall, and people dashed from the restaurant back to their rigs to beat what promised to become a deluge. The wind whipped at my hair. Then a sudden flash of lightning sent Wilco scooting under the undercarriage of a nearby truck. I yanked the lead. He gagged but didn’t budge.
Damn it, Wilco. I got down on all fours, spread out, belly on the ground, and reached for him. My fingertips connected with a spike of fur sticking out from under the edge of his vest. I stayed like that, my cheek flat against the concrete, my fingertips brushing against Wilco’s neck, soothing and coaxing. His forehead wrinkled with worry; his eyes darted back and forth. I tapped him, tried to engage his stare. If he focused on me, there was a chance I’d get him out of there.
A high-pitched voice came from the other side of the truck, familiar and slightly slurred. Nikki’s voice.
I rose up and gave Wilco’s lead another yank. “Come on. Come on!” He didn’t move. I dropped the leash—Suit yourself —and rounded the front bumper just in time to see Nikki climbing into the rig’s cab.
Oh, no you don’t.
I banged on the door. “Nikki!”
A face appeared, bearded and angry, and the window lowered.
I spoke before he could say anything. “I want to talk to Nikki.”
“Who?”
“The woman in your cab. It’s police business. Tell her to come out here.”
He looked me up and down. “Sorry, Officer. Don’t know no Nikki. That’s my girlfriend you saw. Ain’t no law against my girlfriend visiting me now, is there?”
“Sorry to tell you, buddy, but your girlfriend’s a known prostitute.”
“What is this? Why you harassing us out here? I’m just—”
“Send her out. Now.”
He looked over his shoulder, started talking. “Hey, darlin’. . .”
I radioed in for backup and was giving my location when the rig’s passenger-side door popped open and feet hit the pavement.
I sprinted around the front of the truck, collided midway with Nikki. I clamped my hands down on her shoulders. “Hold up, Nikki. I just want to talk to you.”
A hollowed-out face stared back, pale, with black-rimmed, lashless eyes, tightly drawn lips edged with little puss-filled sores. A whisper away from death. How was she even able to get from point A to point B, never mind from the hospital to here?
“I can’t go back to that place.” She was calmer, clearer minded than before. She had already had a fix, had got the meth pumping back through her blood. The first hit off the wagon was sweet but short lasting. She’d need to get more and fast, or she’d crash twice as hard.
She was desperate but at least coherent.
“Come with me, Nikki. We’ll just talk. I promise.”
“I already told you, I’m not goin’ back.”
“They can help you there.”
“No. No. They want to kill me.”
“It’s hard to give it up, but—”
“It’s my fault.”
“That’s the truth, Officer.” I wheeled, surprised to see the trucker behind me. “I didn’t know nothing about her bein’ no prostitute. I swear.”
“Shut up and get back in your cab, or I’ll cuff you right now. You understand?” I turned back to Nikki. “You need help, Nikki. Let me help you.”
“I just need some money.”
“I didn’t pay her nothing,” the trucker said. “And you can’t take me in unless money was exchanged. I know my rights.”
Nikki’s eyes darted; her muscles tensed. “Please. Just a little money. I’ve got to have some money.”
A softer voice. Be gentle, Brynn. She needs understanding. “You can beat this, Nikki. Come with me. I can help you.”
A flash of lightning and a crack of thunder. Nikki flinched, and rain fell hard.
“I gotta leave. Get away from here.”
“Listen, Nikki. We’ll make it work. We’ll get you someplace else. Away from all this, so you can get better.”
She met my gaze, pleading, scared. “You’re not listenin’ to me. I knew what happened to that boy . . . Chance told me what they did back then, and I . . . I told someone . . . It’s my fault. What happened to Chance is my fault.”
“What boy? What happened?”
The trucker started in again. “Nothing happened, lady. We weren’t doin’ nothin’, I swear.”
I whipped back around. “You just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?”
Sounds behind me. I turned back. Crap! Nikki was running for it.
I started after her and my foot slipped on the wet concrete. The momentum propelled me forward, my hands hit the pavement, and hot pain radiated past my shoulders and into my neck. I righted myself, looked left and then right, rows of rigs blocking my views, and then heard a scuffling sound off to the left.
I headed that way, skirted between two semis. Where’s my backup? A small scream. More scuffling. I sped up. . . . Nikki!
I rounded a black rig with a jawlike grill painted with red and orange flames. A ways down, a man had Nikki pinned against another trailer. Her arms flailed, she thrashed back and forth, he got rougher, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her head back. Her throat swelled and was exposed.
He screamed, his voice rising above the pounding rain, “Where’s my money? You took the stuff. Now pay up. Ain’t nothing comin’ for free around here.”
I kept running.... Thirty feet, twenty-five . . . “Stop! Po—” Lightning flashed, and more thunder erupted. “Stop!”
The man released her hair. She stumbled forward, raised her hands, and went wild eyed as his hand flew up and cracked across her cheek. She careened back, slammed into the trailer, then crumpled to the asphalt, a pile of pale bones and wet clothes.
He reeled his leg back, nearby headlights gleaming off the steel toe of his boot.
“Nooo!” I flung myself and connected with a thump, my shoulder sinking into his back. We went down, and my neck snapped back, jawbone vibrated, teeth pierced the edge of my tongue, and hot, coppery blood swirled inside my cheek. You son of a bitch! I clenched, raised my arm; we rolled, pelvis to pelvis, his body on mine.... I can’t move. I can’t move! Car doors slammed, footsteps, and guys yelling . . . No, they were cheering, an audience of assholes. Backup. Where’s my backup! He leaned in, a wiry beard, black nose hairs, snarling lips, chipped yellow teeth, hairy knuckles coming in fast, clenching my neck, squeezing my throat. I bucked, jerked my leg up into his groin, felt the satisfying connection of knee bone to meaty scrotum. He popped up, eyes wide and back arched. He clenched his crotch, howling like a wounded coyote, then plunged forward, eyes boring into me, nasty and angry, hands vise gripping my throat. Oh shit!
I tried to scream, to raise myself up, got an inch or so, and fell back again. More cheers, black dots. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Click, click, click . . . I knew that sound: nails on pavement. Click, click, click back and forth, growls, deep and fierce. Wilco!
I raised my hand and motioned.... Attack. Attack!
A blurry arrow of fur, muscle, and teeth flew through the air and connected—thunk!—and then screams, high-pitched baby squeals mixed with low, undulated snarls permeated the air, along with hot dog breath and the ammonia sting of piss, dumb ass’s, not Wilco’s. I pushed backward, free and clear, and scrambled to my feet, wiped the blood from my lips, and sucked in air. Wilco stood with all three paws on the man’s chest, his teeth buried in the guy’s shoulder.
The air lit up with lightning, thunder boomed, but my dog didn’t budge. “Good boy.” I looked back toward the semi, through the pounding rain, past the crowd of onlookers....
Nikki was gone.