Creekers. Part 24

Sullivan collapsed.

Phil looked around. The place was a dump, but that's pretty much what he expected. p.o.r.no magazines were spread over the kitchen table; empty beer cans filled a plastic trash can. When Sullivan came to, he rose again on hands and knees.

"I got my rights, bub," he growled. "You can't just walk in here and a.s.sault me."

"Yes, I can," Phil said, and swept his pointed boot right up into Sullivan's belly. "Please pardon my lack of proper law enforcement protocol, but you know, it's a two-way street? I get great pleasure out of kicking the s.h.i.t out of a dope-dealing sc.u.mbag like you. And you can tell the D.A. that I violated your rights till you're blue in the face, but who's he gonna believe? As for the bruises and, hopefully, broken bones, well...you should be more cooperative with the local constables, Paul. It's not nice to resist lawful arrest."

Phil then punched Sullivan in the side of the head so hard his knuckles hurt. Then he straddled Sullivan, and cuffed his wrists behind his back.

"Listen to me, Paul. I don't like PCP, and I don't like guys who sell it. You've been to the joint already, and I guarantee you, this bust will send you up for five to ten. I think the cellblock boys will be happy to see you again, wouldn't you say?"

Phil grabbed Sullivan's mussed hair and gave it a good hard twist.

Sullivan shrieked. "You can't do this, man! You're torturing me!"

"No I'm not, Paul." Phil gave Sullivan's hair another twist. "I'm 'interviewing' you, for relevant information concerning a local police investigation."

One more twist, and Sullivan was a ludicrous sight, squirming flat on his belly in his boxer shorts with his wrists handcuffed behind his back. "But there is one thing you should know, Paul," Phil went on. "There are times when I am mysteriously given to acts of leniency. In other words, you start running that ugly mouth of yours and tell me the stuff I want to know, then maybe, just maybe, I'll drop the distribution charge and see to it that you don't get more than eighteen months in the can. They'll drop it to nine if you show them some good behavior, Paul. So what's it gonna be? Nine months or ten years?"

Sullivan continued to squirm on his belly. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because to a lowlife, sc.u.mbag, two-time loser like you, I'm the most trustworthy guy in town." Phil laughed. "I want to know who your supplier is, and I want to know where he makes his product. But more than any of that, Paulie, I want to know about your compet.i.tion, this other local supplier you and Eagle are trying to undersell."

Sullivan slackened. "I ain't tellin' you s.h.i.t, bub."

"Aw, Paul, don't call me bub. Let's try to cooperate, huh? Who's that local dust supplier? Where's his lab?"

"f.u.c.k you," Sullivan replied, "Okay, be like that." Phil got back up, kneeling on Sullivan's back in the process. Sullivan shrieked again, then shrieked even more when Phil hauled him up by the handcuffs.

"Guess I'll just have to get what I want out of Eagle," Phil remarked, hauling Sullivan toward the door. "I'm taking you to jail now, that's right, in your boxer shorts. How do you like that...bub?"

Phil booked Sullivan into the county lockup, with an isolation request pending investigation-no visitors, in other words. He didn't want Paul telling Eagle or any other cronies that Phil was the law. Let him sit in the lockup for a week or so, he'll change his tune once he remembers what it's like to be back on the cellblock. And as for Phil's overall conduct-well, he didn't feel too badly about it. If he'd learned anything at all on Metro, it was this: When dealing with sc.u.mbags, you sometimes had to be a sc.u.mbag yourself. Nor was he worried about Sullivan filing any brutality charges. The judge would take one look at Sullivan's rap sheet and laugh harder than Slappy White, and Sullivan knew this. Pretty soon that lesser-charge offer Phil had made would be looking better than a pile of ground round to a wolf that hadn't eaten in a week.

He was dog-tired when he pushed through the rickety front door at Old Lady Crane's boardinghouse. What a night, he thought. Then his heart skipped...

Just as he pa.s.sed the stairwell, a figure stepped out.

"Phil?"

"Jesus, Susan!" he nearly yelled. "Don't sneak up on me like that-I was about to go for my piece!"

"My, aren't we jumpy today," she said. "I heard your car pull up, so I came down."

Phil let his heart return to its normal beat, then smiled. "Didn't mean to yell," he apologized. "But I'm getting so deep into the local dope circuit, it's making me edgy." Only then did he take full note of her. Her bright-blond hair was tousled, and she stood bare-legged and bare-foot, dressed solely in a long white nightshirt. Her blue eyes looked at him groggily; she'd obviously been sleeping, and this only reminded him of the ludicrous schedules night-workers kept. "It's almost ten a.m.," he joked. "Isn't that past your bedtime?"

"I couldn't sleep. I was too worried about you getting your a.s.s shot off," she came back. "What happened with Sullivan?"

Again, Phil was flattered that she actually worried about him. What did that mean? "I busted him," he told her. "Come on, I'll fix us some coffee and tell you all about it."

She padded behind him to his room. "My room's hotter than a steambath. How about ice water instead?"

"Coming right up." He went to his cubby of a kitchen and plunked ice into two gla.s.ses. "Anyway, like I was saying, I went to Sullivan's place and busted him on a distro charge. You should've seen how ridiculous the guy looked standing in front of the booking sergeant in his boxer shorts. It was great!"

"Did he give you any trouble?"

"Not after I broke the coffee table over his head." He gave her the gla.s.s of water, then they both sat down on his busted couch. "They took me on to drive for them, and Eagle verified that they're trying to undercut another dust distributor in the area-"

"Natter?"

"I'm sure," Phil said. "And they also told me their point people have been disappearing right and left, so that just verifies our suspicions even more. We were supposed to meet some drop-man named Blackjack last night, and the guy never showed. I'm convinced now. Natter's putting contracts out on anyone trying to move dust on his turf."

Suddenly Susan looked distressed. "Phil, you're getting too close too fast, aren't you? This is really getting scary."

Phil wasn't sure what she meant. "How so?"

"How so? Natter's. .h.i.tting the outside compet.i.tion, Phil, and with you driving for Eagle, that makes you as big a target as any of them. If they catch you with Eagle, they'll kill you."

"And if I flash my badge-"

"They'll kill you anyway."

Phil shrugged at the undeniable reality. "I've been doing stuff like this for years. And I'm very careful."

"You better be," she whispered more to herself than to him.

It seemed strange, the way she was acting, but by now it was occurring to Phil very clearly that something was up. As always, her plain, honest beauty was tuning him up. Here she was, in an old nightshirt, her hair mussed, and her eyes puffy with fatigue, but she still seemed more beautiful to him than a thousand centerfolds. She's gorgeous even when she's a mess, he thought. He could tell she was braless beneath the nightshirt, and probably pantiless too, judging by her obviously conscious effort to keep her legs closed. Any other guy, he knew, would be making a move now, but Phil also knew that Susan was not a woman men made "moves" on; she didn't live by typical social games and s.e.xual tactics. He'd like nothing more right now than to take her to his bed and make love to her. But...

"You look tired," he said.

Her sleepy blue eyes fluttered. "Yeah, I guess I am. Getting used to midnight shifts is harder than I thought. Anyway, what's your next step with Eagle?"

"I'm supposed to meet him tonight at Sallee's. He doesn't know that Sullivan's busted-I'm betting that he'll think the guy 'disappeared' like the others." Phil grinned. "I can't wait to see his reaction."

"What did Mullins say about you busting Sullivan?"

"He-" Phil's train of thought collided with a brick wall. "d.a.m.n it! I'm supposed to be keeping him posted on this, and I haven't even told him yet. Be right back."

Phil rushed to the den and dialed the station. The last thing he needed was the county detention center calling Mullins and asking him about the jurisdictional processing of a prisoner he didn't even know had been arrested.

Fortunately, Mullins was at his desk when he called, and Phil gave him the rundown.

Mullins, once Phil explained his plan, was ecstatic.

At least I'm making things happen, Phil told himself. Hope it works out.

When he came back to the main room, Susan was asleep on the couch. He didn't want to wake her; she'd been up for hours, worrying about him. So he put her legs up and turned off the light.

Before he went to bed himself, he went into the bathroom to take a quick shower. And while he was showering...

Susan, nude now, came into the bathroom. She didn't utter a word when she got into the shower with him.

Twenty-One.

Ah-no-prey-bee...

Ona-for-blood...

Gut shuddered.

The dream-words siphoned round his head. His eyes bugged open. He felt cold and hot at the same time; he felt drenched in sweat yet dry as pumice.

It was always dark in here, and the darkness was his nemesis. It seduced him with its comfort, then dropped the memories into his lap like freshly severed heads.

The darkness whispered the dream-words again and again as he lay helpless and churning...

But they weren't really dream-words, were they?

Ah-no- They were real...

prey-bee...

The hideous face, like a cracked mask, was always there, hovering in the dark. Day or night, asleep or awake-it didn't matter.

It was simply...always...there...

Gut shuddered fiercer this time.

He peed his pants again.

The screams were there, too. How could he forget them? And how could he forget what they'd done to Scott-Boy?

Christ...Scott-Boy...

"Fergive me, G.o.d," he whispered.

It had to be G.o.d, sending demons after 'em for their sins. Gut knew they'd done terrible things, all the razzin' and dope-sellin', sellin' all that s.h.i.t ta kids just ta turn a buck. Not ta mention all the rape and throat-cuttin'. He'd rucked plenty of guys for their green, and he'd laughed right along every time Scott-Boy busted some chick's coconut with that hickory pick handle of his.

We deserved it.

Yeah, that was fer sh.o.r.e. He and Scott-Boy, they had done some down-an'-dirty things all right, and now G.o.d was gonna fix their wagons fer it, an' He was gonna fix 'em so they'd never roll again. Tears streamed down Gut's blubber face, glistening like slug trails. Aw, s.h.i.t, G.o.d, I'se really sorry fer all the razzin' we pulled an' all the splittails we f.u.c.ked with, an' all them poor folks we hooked on the dust so's we could git reg-ler scratch out of 'em. Yeah, G.o.d, I'se really sh.o.r.e's s.h.i.t sorry fer it all.

It was a fine time ta get religion. But maybe G.o.d had fergiven him 'cos, if not, weren't He have let the same thing that happened ta Scott-Boy happen ta him, too?

Oh, yessir, Gut remembert what they up and done to Scott-Boy. One thing he remembert expressly was how one of 'em got ta whittlin' the flesh offa Scott-Boy's fingers like he was just plain whittlin' bark off a pine switch...

Gut's sweat turned rank as dead fish gone belly-up in a swamp. He felt grimy in his layin'-down-goin'-nowhere-sheer-f.u.c.kin' terror, like somebody had throwed him smack-dab in a s.h.i.thole and made him roll around in it fer awhiles.

And the memory of the face hovered.

We give you this day your daily flesh.

Yeah, ol' G.o.d had sent demons.

Thing was, Gut reckernized one of 'em.

Yessir.

He sh.o.r.e's s.h.i.t did.

Phil's alarm went off at 4 p.m., another unwelcome reminder of his queer night hours. He turned irritated in bed, then noticed the unfamiliar warmth of the sheets on the other side.

Then he remembered the rest- Susan...

She'd slipped into the shower with him. Neither of them said a word. Her gesture should've surprised him, but it didn't. It was nothing like that at all. Their attraction to each other was self-evident, so perhaps he even, in some unconscious way, expected something like this.

Oh, jeeez...

Beneath the cool torrent, they touched each other as if they'd been lovers for years. The water cascaded; her denuded beauty shone like a beacon. They alternately kissed, sudsing each other with the foamy soap. Their tongues frolicked, their hands strayed through bubbles over each other's flesh.

She was so soft, so wonderfully warm. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s squeezed against his broad chest as she slipped her arms tight about his waist to desperately draw him closer. The cool water turned hot the instant it hissed against her skin.

Her skin felt like fine, warm silk...

It was a dreamscape of sensation and cool rain. Of timeless kisses and wet, caressing hands. Of undistracted love. Phil was aware of nothing else in the world but her. This was his only world right now, a world of her beauty and his desire, a perfect domain where the only inhabitants were the two of them, and where the only sounds were their ardent breaths, their moans, their gasps, and their sighs, and the endless hiss of the water.

Dripping wet, they hauled each other from the shower. They kissed and fondled and stumbled across the hot room and fell onto the bed in one another's arms.

She was beautiful. He'd always known that, but never in his life did he fully understand the meaning of the word until now. It was so much more than her body, so much more than her gleaming blue eyes, her damp silver-blond hair, her face. It was everything ineffable about their being together like this.

His pa.s.sion became palpable. His pa.s.sion delved into her, explored her every inch. His hands ranged over her perfect skin as a novice sculptor might touch a masterpiece. He touched and kissed and licked her everywhere, from her eyes to the tips of her toes, to her most secret and private places. Her ardor gave; second by second she opened herself to him.

But first, before he demonstrated his pa.s.sion most fully, she stopped him, whispered into the crook of his neck- "Phil. I-I need-"

"What?" he asked, trailing his tongue up the sleek, damp slope of her throat.

"I need to know something..."