“Explain,” I demand.
We’re in our old positions. Barfly in the back, Carl at the wheel, me in the passenger seat. The wind and rain are slamming away, the thunder almost constant. I’m not afraid of the storm. I’m pretty sure nothing will flatten this Chevy truck.
“I took a walk,” Carl says, “and look what I found when I got back.”
“Explain better.”
“I tied Barfly to the tree and went to take a dump in the woods. We had just woken up. I heard a car engine. These two parked about two hundred yards back and got out. Same car from the other night. I just waited while they chatted. Couldn’t hear much. Fat one’s named Marco. They mentioned something purple. What took you so long? Did you find the girls?”
It takes me a second to realize that by “the girls” he means “cameras.” I have no idea what his purple reference means. The name Marco, though, is ringing a distant bell. “Where did you get the gun?”
“Lucky, huh? Got the gun out of the Volkswagen. Under the front seat. Those college girls are pretty damn careless now that they can conceal and carry. I almost didn’t take the gun with me while I did my business in the woods, but I wasn’t sure what kind of a mood you were going to be in when you got up here.”
“Who are these guys?”
“How the hell do I know?”
It’s sinking in. Carl stole a car and a gun. I’m aiding and abetting a weapons charge. I just concussed a human being. I transformed into someone I didn’t recognize when I swung that sack.
It’s still raining furiously. I can barely make out the two men through the wet blur of the window. I pray the tires won’t be mired in mud. In twenty-four hours, Mrs. T, the police, will be looking for us. Someone will be looking for these men. I pull out the key on the chain around my neck.
“I’d like that back. The key belonged to my aunt. Did you use it on her sewing cabinet? She used to wear it all the time as a reminder of her dad. Also, so none of us cousins would get into her private stuff when we were kids.” Carl chuckles. “That turned out to be a box of Fannie Mays, her honeymoon negligee, some slutty novels, and that photo of her in the desert, which my uncle took when they were dating. He was a shutterbug, too. Taught me a lot. Got several of the girls from him when he died.”
“You wore the key to remember your aunt? The photograph in your suitcase—your uncle took it? You used her drawer to store your photos?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
“The cabin…”
“I inherited it when she died. You see why I was so fond of her.”
“Was the whole purpose of this visit for me to find the photo of my house in that drawer? Of my sister?” Do those cameras in any way represent your victims? Ones I don’t know about?
“As usual, you’re full of questions. We need to get out of the truck. Marco is beginning to move.”
It is clear that Carl is excellent at tying people up. Marco is jerking his arms and legs but not going anywhere. His friend is awake and trying more subtle moves, which aren’t working, either.
I got out of the truck holding a garbage bag over my head for cover. I don’t need it. The storm is slacking off, leaving oppressive humidity. The mud is thick pudding under my feet.
Carl rips the tape off Marco’s mouth. He spits at Carl and misses. “I’m going to sue the shit out of you.”
“I doubt that,” Carl says smoothly, untaping the mouth of the other guy. Carl removes the .22 from the back of his jeans and aims it at Marco’s other bright yellow Nike, the one that isn’t bloody. “I want you to tell my friend why you are so pissed at her.”
The other man attempts to sit up. He’s soaked and clearly miserable. “Marco, I’m done here. I’ve got a wife and kids. You’ve taken it way too far.”
“Shut up, Fred. Do you want your wife and kids to know what you did?”
“That was all you! You were almost through before I saw what you were doing to her in the water. I never touched her!”
“You’re just as guilty. Texas likes to fry the people who let things happen as much as the ones who do the deed.”
Fred’s cheeks are turning an ugly shade of maroon. “You—”
A gunshot rips the air. It ricochets into a deep puddle in front of Marco, slinging mud into his eyes.
“Carl!” I yell.
“Those two are making my head hurt,” Carl complains. That’s not hyperbole. He’s beginning to look confused.
I’m less confused now. Water. Marco. Fred. Purple. Violet.
“Carl, I’ve got this, OK? Don’t shoot anymore. Is one of you married to Gretchen?”
Fred appears almost grateful, as if this is going to be our bond, the thing that saves him. “Yes, yes, that’s me. Ten years in May. We’re going to Hawaii to celebrate. Let me explain. When Marco and I got out of the water that night, I figured Violet was just lagging behind. Mad because Marco went too far. You know, worried I might try to screw her, too. She screamed once.”
“You walked into the water with Violet,” I say quietly. “Your friend raped her, maybe drowned her, and you just left. Now you’re married to her best friend.”
“Like I said, I didn’t do anything back then. All I did now was tell Marco that some woman was bugging Gretchen, wanting to meet at the beach. He thought you might be a cop. You sure as fuck don’t act like a cop.”
“What’s a girl expect if she skinny-dips?” Marco asks.
“I just got all that on tape,” Carl announces.
“What?” I’m confused.
“It was a condition,” Carl explains impatiently. “The girls helped me pick out an iPhone back in Austin. Paid $34.99 extra for the gold case but worth every penny. You want me to play it back? It’s easy.”
“Just give me that gun.”
“Why?” But, to my relief, he hands it over.
I empty out the bullets. I use my sack to wipe Carl’s prints off the gun. Then I throw the bullets and gun as far as I can into the woods. Not brilliant, but it will do. The rain is starting to fall harder again. It will help clean things up.
I’m getting much more efficient with one hand. I look at Marco’s shoe. A lot of blood, but Carl just winged him. What a baby.
“Take their picture, Carl. Then let’s go.”
“You can’t abandon us here in the middle of nowhere,” Fred whines. “Creeks could rise. We could drown.”
I check their rope. A snug, wet snake. “Don’t worry. We wouldn’t leave you here to die.”
“That’s sarcastic,” Carl tells them. “She’s not as nice as she looks. She’s mean as a hornet.”