As I drove, leaning forward to see better, the rain crashing, the wind whistling, there was a sensation of being underwater in a small submarine with a view shield and windshield wipers. The headlights were almost useless, as night had finally set in on top of the clouded, rain-slick darkness.
Was I sorry I asked Buck to come?
Yep. He would be putting a lot on the line.
Was I glad I had asked?
Yep.
His response to my less-than-inviting invitation had been simple. “I’m armed, wet, and ready.”
He didn’t seem worried, nervous, or scared. Me, I had a lump in my stomach the size of a grapefruit and I could smell the sour stench of my own fear.
“Jefferson Davis?” I said. “How did that work out?”
“You could say he and his car left town.”
“Literally or metaphorically?”
“Let me put it like this. He won’t be coming back. I’m certain of that. Never mention it again.”
The lump in my stomach seemed to be expanding and hardening. I thought suddenly of that sinkhole of oil and mud that he and Chief Dudley had talked about, the one that had swallowed the jeep. I had no choice but to let that thought go.
I said, “My guess is they are going to punish Mrs. Chandler, put her in the chair. I don’t know how much time we have, but we can’t pull up to the front door. Those old Prohibition tunnels, that’s the way we have to go.”
“Flashlight Boy’s tunnel. Didn’t you say he was on the big and mean side?”
“Big and dangerous, but not mean.”
“Klaatu barada nikto.”
“You can try that.”
“Shit. Look out.”
There was a shape in the wet swirl of rain, outlined in the headlights. A figure staggering into the road. The figure appeared to melt into a puddle in front of us.
I slammed the brakes and the car fishtailed and whirled in a circle and went off the road and into a deep ditch with a bone-shaking thump and the sound of metal tearing.
“Goddamn it,” Buck said.
We had landed upright, at least. Steam hissed up from under the hood of the car.
I reached for my flashlight, which had tumbled onto the floorboard at my feet, tried my door. I stepped out into knee-deep water. I clawed my way up the side of the ditch. Buck slid across the seat and was close beside me.
When we made the road, I pulled the pistol out from under the back of my shirt. I didn’t see any dark forms in the night. Fact was, I didn’t see much of anything. I could just make out Mrs. Chandler, a motionless lump in the road.
I still hadn’t turned on the flashlight as I feared making myself a target, but finally I chanced it and hustled over to her.
She moved slightly. Buck was covering me in case someone came out of the woods or the curtain of rain. I pushed my pistol back into place. It felt cold against my already drenched skin.
I bent over Mrs. Chandler, put the light on her eyes. Blood was coming out of her mouth and the rain was washing it away. Her eyes fluttered open, then closed. I moved the light away from her face.
“They thought I was dead,” she said.
“Let’s get her to the car,” I said.
“Another hour or two of this,” Buck said, “and the water will be over it. Already deep in that ditch.”
“It’s what we’ve got for the moment.”
I lifted her under her shoulders so that I could scoop her up and still point the light. Buck took her feet. We managed not to drop her as we slid down the side of the ditch carrying her, but we did give her a bit of a dip in the ditchwater.
It took some work, but we moved the ax handles and shotgun onto the floor and placed her on the back seat sitting up, out of the blast of the wind and the rain. The car shook from the power of the storm as me and Buck climbed into the front seat.
Mrs. Chandler leaned against the car door, coughed once, breathed loudly.
I shone the light in her general direction, but not on her face. I said, “What happened?”
“They thought I was dead,” she said. “I started coughing up blood. I didn’t have my pills. The pain caused me to pass out. Guess they thought they couldn’t do anything more to me. They threw me out into the rain like trash and drove off. I woke up, got up, and collapsed in the road. I think they’re trying to clean house. They wanted you too. They thought you’d gone from your room, that you’d locked up and left. I told them you had gone back to where you came from.”
Since my car hadn’t been parked out front, they might easily have believed that. Mrs. Chandler may have saved my life.
“Who’s this?” Mrs. Chandler asked.
“Buck Rogers.”
“The spaceman?” she said and laughed up blood.
“I’m from the dark side of the moon,” Buck said.
I had Buck hand me a small wrapper of tissues from the glove box. I took one and used it to dab her mouth, gave her the rest. She clutched the little package in her fist.
“You’ve got to end them for good, Danny,” she said. “Write that book. Promise me you will.”
“Before I do, I want their files. My guess is they’re packed with incriminating evidence. They think they’re safe up there on their hill, that no one is going to challenge them, look at what they have. I’m going to. First, though, we need to get the car out of the ditch and get you to a doctor.”
“I’ll stay here.”
“You can’t stay here,” I said.
“No one can help me now. By the time you get the car out of the ditch, even if you could, they might kill someone. They are having a gathering tonight. I heard them talk. Someone will die. It was supposed to be me, but I got the impression they found someone else.”
“Who’s they?” Buck asked.
“The council. That skinny cop that helped take me.”
“Coolie,” Buck said.
“Yeah,” she said. “Him. And you know who was driving the car? Chief Dudley. It was the two of them that took me, and it was Dudley at the top of the stairs checking your room. He gave up because they believed me, didn’t see your car.”
“Ah, shit,” I said.
“Yeah,” she said. “Ah, shit. Funny thing, he really seemed ashamed of himself, like he was glad they didn’t find you, like he wished they hadn’t found me. But not enough to not go along with it.”
“Said you couldn’t trust law enforcement,” Buck said.
“I know what you got to do,” Mrs. Chandler said. “And you need to go do it. As for the water, I’m hoping it will rise and fill the car.”
“Don’t say that,” I said.
“Life seems important until it doesn’t seem like life anymore. I’d never make it home even if the car was on the road and running. I’m about out of juice. Listen to that wind howl. I love the rain.”
She stretched out on the seat with her head slightly propped up against the door. “Go on,” she said.
She closed her eyes. Her breathing was shallow and soon I couldn’t hear it anymore.
I took the light off her.