Blood Red

Brian was ready to go insane right then and there. That was the first time Boyd had accused him of committing a murder. He didn’t need this, he needed to get out of town before Angie came back for him again and brought her friends.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!”

“I got a fucken DNA test that says otherwise. When it comes back, I’m gonna drop you like a sack of shit.” Boyd was calmer now, or at least he wasn’t screaming.

“And when it comes back negative, I’ll have your badge.” It was the best bluff he could manage.

“It ain’t coming back negative, Freemont. You know it and I know it.” Boyd stepped back a bit and glared. “How many girls did you make suck that limp dick of yours to get out of tickets, Freemont?”

That one made him jump. That one made him want to shit himself. No one was ever supposed to know!

Boyd nodded. “Yeah. I thought so. Guilty as shit.”

“You just leave me alone, or book me.”

“Try to leave town, Freemont. Please. We’ve been looking for a reason.” Boyd opened his back door and pulled out the bundle of weapons. “Gonna hold this for you, so you can’t get too stupid.”

“No! I need those!” He started to reach and flinched back fast and hard when he saw the pistol appear in Holdstedter’s hand.

“You can’t be that stupid, asswipe.” Boyd shook his head.

“I need those!”

“Yeah?” Boyd was staring hard at him. “Why do you need these if you’re all innocent and sweet like you say you are?”

“Because Angie’s trying to kill me!”

“Really? Your missing wife is trying to kill you now?”

Brian shut his mouth. He’d already said too much.

“You don’t wanna talk to me anymore, Freemont?”

Brian shook his head.

“That’s okay. I got what I need for now.” He pulled the cigar out of his mouth and slipped it into his left hand. Boyd was right-handed. Brian figured he wanted a clear path to his piece. “Don’t even think about crossing the city limits. You do, I’ll have you busted so fast you’ll think your mommy was watching out for you.”

“Look, why are you doing this to me?”

“Why do you think, asshole? Because you’ve been raping young girls and you murdered one, too. That makes you shit in my book.”

Boyd walked back to his car. Holdstedter waited until his partner was seated and comfortable before he looked away from Brian. When he was sure, he went to the passenger’s side of the Crown Victoria and joined his partner.

Brian waited until they had backed out of the long driveway and the dust had cleared before he let himself start crying again.

VII

“Are we there yet? . . . Are we there yet? . . . Are we there yet?” Danny sat in the seat next to him and kept going like that pink bunny with the drum in the battery commercial.

Boyd was in too good a mood to be goaded. “I got a lit cigar, Danny. Don’t make me put it out on your forehead.”

“You know, I think he was crying when we left.”

“I love when little boys like him cry. Makes me feel all manly.”

“Probably why he did all the girls the way he did.”

“Yeah, he’d need that sort of shit to feel like a man.” Boyd thought about the crew cut and the hawk nose and the thin lips on Freemont and shook his head in disgust. “That’s what all the shrinks say, anyway.”

“What? That rape is about power?”

“Yeah, or anger.”

“I don’t think that’s always true, Richie.”

“No?”

“No. Maybe violent rape, but I think with Freemont it was just about getting laid and feeling like a man.”

“You don’t think what he did to Veronica Miller was violent?”

“She’s the exception.” Danny shrugged. “Mostly I think he’s just a horny prick on a power trip.”

“Fair enough.” He pulled the car up to open the gate of the sprawling black house, and then moved slowly past it and up the driveway.

“Ever wish you were this rich?”

“Isn’t your family this rich?”

“Yeah, but your family isn’t.”

“Thanks for the reminder, dickhead.”

“Hey, it’s what friends do.”

“Just put on your polite face. We don’t need any rich pricks giving O’Neill a reason.”

“Well, hell, Richie. You already gave him one, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, smart-ass, so he doesn’t need another.”

“Oh, yeah. Good point.”

“What’s his name again?”

“Jason Soulis.”

“You gotta wonder if that name is real, don’t you?”

“It’s real. The FBI checks that sort of shit, too.”

“Lah-dee-dah.”

“Hey. Don’t you go picking on the feds, now. They’re very important to the pursuit of justice.”

“Bite me.”

“Nah, you probably taste like you smell.”

“You saying I smell bad, Danny Boy?”

“I’m saying you should maybe buy better cigars.”

“You’re the one with money, dickhead.”

“Okay, am I dickhead or am I smart-ass? Because I’m starting to get confused here.”

“Drink more coffee. You definitely need to drink more coffee.”

“Maybe Soulis will have some.”

Boyd climbed out of his car and walked toward the front of the place. “Maybe he’ll even let you have some.”

“I can hope.”

Naturally, there was a big damned brass knocker on the door. Boyd used it. When no one answered, he used it again. After the third time, Jason Soulis appeared at the doorway, squinting against the bright sunlight.

“Yes?” The man’s voice was cold but polite.