Shop Talk Page 27

  Peter nodded. He slowly lowered the Zippo and the roach spray. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

  “I am Dr. Custer.” The old man extended his hand. “And this is my associate, Dr. Saxon. We are both very interested in the Hares. Perhaps you have made the acquaintance of another of our contemporaries, Marvin Lovelace?”

  “The name ain’t familiar.” Peter kept his eye on the soldiers. The two men were old, but there was a certain alertness about them that belied their age. Their blue eyes were quick, shrewd. It would take only a motion of a hand to have him drilled as full of holes as a pair of his worn socks.

  “Mr. Lovelace has been interested in your niece and nephew for several months.” Dr. Custer smiled as if the corners of his mouth were being pulled by springs. “He served with your brother, Happy Hare, in the military during the … war.”

  “Hell, Happy never did nothin’ but sit over on that spit of sand off the Mississippi coast and pretend he was off in Europe killing Germans.” He saw the flash in Custer’s eyes. “No offense there to your heritage.”

  “None taken.” Custer’s voice was smooth, almost hypnotizing. “Where are Bo and Lucille? Perhaps Marvin is with them now?”

  “I don’t …” Peter swallowed the last of his thought. How could he be certain that once he told this old dude what he wanted to know the old fart wouldn’t kill him outright? The soldier-boys were drilling holes in him with their pale eyes. He could taste their desire to pull the trigger. “Bo and Lucille have gone into hiding. Someone tried to blow Lucille to pieces.” He saw the tension pass over Custer’s face and knew that this man was somehow involved. “I got no fondness for my niece,” Peter added, shrugging one massive shoulder. “Or that Jersey-boy she’s taken up with.”

  “Mr. LaMont.” Custer glanced at his associate. “A most unusual specimen. We’d like very much to talk with him if you should happen to know where he is.”

  “He’s with Lucille.” Peter had begun to enjoy this encounter. He had all the aces, and they had nothing. They didn’t have a clue that Lucille and Driskell were right on the property. He took a deep breath, swelling his chest. Behind the soldiers, bottles of what looked like beer were passing down the line, being capped, boxed, crated, and stored into the back of large trucks that bore the logo, ‘Alpine Lager. Have a beer and make the world a better place.’ “Is this here a new brewery?”

  “Would you like a cold beer, Mr. Hare?” Custer’s smile was angelic.

  “Now my whistle is sorta dry. I think a little brewsky would make it easier for me to talk.”

  Custer signaled one of the men who went behind the machine and returned with a bottle dripping with ice and condensation. The solder flipped off the top with his thumbnail and handed it to Peter.

  “Is this a new brand? I mostly drink Old Milwaukee, in the can. Cans don’t rattle around so much under the truck seat, you know.” The cold beer in Peter’s hand made him feel expansive. “'Course cans don’t make such a good sound when they hit a hitchhiker. Bottles are better for that.”

  “Of course, I know exactly what you mean.” Custer nodded. “Drink up. We’ll be very interested in having your opinion on our … hops.”

  Something in Custer’s demeanor stopped Peter as the bottle touched his lips. “You aren’t going to have a beer with me?”

  “We’re on duty.” Dr. Saxon spoke up for the first time. He rubbed his hands together. “We get off at eleven, but we didn’t think you’d want to wait until then.”

  Peter nodded. “Okay.” A sound outside the factory made him turn around. The doorway was empty, and the cement truck had nearly burned down. Only the big tires still flamed. Peter lifted the bottle again. “Here’s to the road in front of you and the women behind!” He lifted the bottle to his lips and drank the bubbling liquid in one long, steady series of swallows.

  #x201C;They’re standing around talking.” Driskell tried to keep order in the ranks of WOMB as they clung to the branches of the big oak tree outside the factory.

  “Those are soldiers.” Mona’s voice held anticipation. “I’m ready for a little uniform action after riding that buffalo into the ground. That beast is broken, and you’ll be glad to know, Lucille, the beefalo have been set free. At least until someone rounds them up.”

  “Thank you, Mona.” Lucille sat on the limb below Driskell. “I always knew you had a tender spot somewhere in your heart.”

  “Who would have thought there’d be a beer factory in the backwoods of Saucier, Mississippi?” Driskell squinted into the window and blinked. There were two old men wearing medical garb, and one of them looked like Boris Karloff in an old black and white movie. Peter Hare looked as if he were having the time of his life.

  “What’s going on now?” Jazz insisted. She was on the lowest perch beside Sonny and Coco and couldn’t see at all.

  Driskell reached down to pull her up as he answered. “Peter’s drinking the beer.”

  “The whole thing in one long swallow,” Andromeda said.

  The words were barely out of her mouth when there was a loud whiff! Smoke boiled out of the doors and windows of the factory, causing the men inside to cough. But in a moment it was gone.

  And so was Peter Hare.

  There was nothing left but smoking black tennis shoes. “It works!” The old men joined hands and jumped up and down to general applause from the soldiers. “It works!” “My god.” Lucille said. “He’s gone. Like magic.”

  “More like spontaneous combustion,” Andromeda replied.

  “Stay in the tree,” Driskell ordered as he swung to the ground. “Stay put.” He had a terrible feeling.

  “Be careful, darling,” Lucille whispered as he slid down the trunk of the tree.

  At the doorway Driskell clung to the galvanized tin of the building and prayed that the jubilations inside would continue. He had to find out what was happening. It was clear that Marvin Lovelace was not on the premises, but he was connected with these people. And they were somehow connected with Bo and Lucille.

  He edged to the doorway where he could hear better. The taller of the doctor-men was speaking.

  “Imagine it, Braun, rolling pastures full of rednecks. The band is playing that awful hillbilly music. The crowd is dancing and singing, stomping barefoot in that Mississippi mud they love to eulogize in song and book. The sun is beating down on them, happy little peasants that they are. Suddenly, the beer truck pulls in and the word goes out. ‘Free beer to everyone.’ They’ll gather round for the six packs and styrofoam coolers. Back they’ll go to their ratty lawn chairs. In a matter of moments the caps will be popped, the beer swallowed and whoomp! nothing left but a field of smoking flip-flops!”

  “Our dream is realized,” Dr. Saxon said. “All of the work has been worth it. We have accomplished what we set out to do. With a little more financing, we can rid the world of the redneck. Just as soon as Marvin gets us the money, we’ll be ready for region-wide distribution.”

  Dr. Custer patted his comrade on the back. “The plan is complete. And the redneck is the perfect choice. There is no other group we could exterminate without repercussion. The redneck has no defenders, no champions. They can be eliminated without fuss. And then we can move on to cleanse the world of other inferior types.”

  “Adolph would be very, very proud of us. We will return the planet to a state of natural beauty, a paradise without litter, impetigo and … the lower life forms.”

  “Load the truck. We’ll make the first delivery at dawn tomorrow. There’s a shrimp festival on the beach in Biloxi.” The old man kicked Peter’s smoldering tennis shoes out of the way.

  “What about Marvin?” the other man asked. “He should have been here by now. He should have witnessed this event.”

  “Marvin knows the necessity of his role. He is a good agent. He will capture Bo Hare.” There was the click of heels together. “Marvin will succeed. He has never failed.”

  Driskell inched away from the door. His heart was pounding, his imagination in ove
rdrive. He went to the tree and signaled the members of WOMB to the ground, herding them toward the gate. As soon as they were away from the factory, he started to jog.

  “Driskell, what is it?” Mona hated to jog.

  “We have to get back to the shop,” Driskell said. “It’s Bo and Iris. They’re in terrible danger.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Bo stared into the barrel of the luger and made no attempt to move. “What do you want?” he asked.

  “A small sample of your tissue. For DNA testing.” Marvin was flooded by the sensation of power and control. It reminded him of the good old days when the Republicans were in charge of covert affairs. He glanced at the doorway of the apartment and waited for Iris. “Mrs. Hare, unless you want to hear your husband scream, I’d hurry up. And don’t try anything stupid.”

  Iris appeared in the doorway.

  “Hands in the air,” Marvin said gleefully. Iris would resist every order. Each concession would be as hard for her as pulling a tooth. That excited him. He hadn’t had a woman as tough-minded since the little Afghanistan rebel he’d captured in a gun raid. Iris raised her hands just above shoulder level. She’d had no time to find a costume. She wasn’t certain where she’d seen this particular scene before, but she knew it by heart. The televisions in the shop gave the appropriate blue note to the night and to what was happening. A real film noire kind of lighting. Bo, back straight even in captivity, looked toward her, his eyes gray streaks of intensity. She wanted to smile at him, to let him know that she was not afraid. She knew the script, and she knew the outcome–and the old man with the gun didn’t.

  “Come here,” Marvin said. His teeth clicked a full nine times before he could bring them under control.

  Iris eased forward. Her body was a smooth, oiled machine. She was delighted that she’d been trying on her new hiking boots when Marvin had made his entrance into their lives. “Please don’t hurt us,” she said, her voice breathy.

  Marvin cut his eyes at her. He’d been contemplating which place to take his tissue sample from Bo, but Iris’ voice distracted him. This was not the full-throated voice he’d heard as she roundly cursed the neighbors or entered into a fray with Bo. This was silk and warm sand. He waved the gun, indicating that she should take the chair beside Bo. He’d tie them first. It would be simpler for what would have to come later.

  “Take whatever you want, but please, please don’t hurt us.”

  Iris stepped toward him, and he felt the air vibrate around her. She was trembling.

  “I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt us.”

  “Iris!” Bo was shocked. He’d never seen a hint of a pliant bone in her.

  “Hush, Bo. My body is a small sacrifice for your safety.” She grabbed the collar of her white poet’s shirt and pulled. Buttons flew everywhere as the material parted and Iris’ lacy white bra was revealed. “Just don’t hurt us,” she whispered as she stepped closer.

  This was not what Marvin had anticipated. He’d expected biting, kicking, resistance in every form. Instead, Iris was acting like some bimbette. It had to be an attempt to divert his attention. He swung the gun at Bo, finger on the trigger. “Move out of that chair and you’re a dead man.”

  Iris’ foot came up with a speed so blinding that Marvin never saw it. Using the toe of her boot, she caught him in the wrist. There was the sound of snapping bone and then the clatter of the gun against the cement floor. Iris didn’t wait. She launched herself at Marvin and caught him in a full body slam, knocking him down to the floor at Bo’s feet. Standing up, Bo stepped on Marvin’s throat as he reached down to pull his wife up. “Good move, baby.”

  “It was easy. I did exactly what that woman did in that old black and white movie. Remember?”

  Bo’s brow wrinkled. “No.”

  “It was a Hitchcock movie. I’m certain of it. I can see the woman. She was brunette. Long, dark hair sort of like mine. They were in a television shop, and …” She halted. She couldn’t clearly remember the show. And she always remembered. Always.

  “I think you made it up,” Bo said softly. He put his big hand on her shoulder and gave it a light rub. “Think of it, baby, an original.”

  “He-ee–ll–p.” Marvin’s voice was strained by the weight of Bo’s foot on his throat.

  “Get some rope, baby,” Bo said. “In the parts box. I think we’re going to have to tie this guy up until the cops come.”

  Iris got the rope and tied Marvin’s feet while Bo tied his wrists, ignoring the broken one.

  “I won’t tell you a thing,” Marvin said between clenched teeth when they pulled him into a chair. “Your sister is going to die a terrible death. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  Iris touched Bo’s shoulder, motioning him to the back of the shop. “Well see about that,” she called to Marvin. Once they were out of hearing she bent to Bo’s ear. “Go out back and put the Mandingo pot on to boil. I’ll bet he hasn’t considered the possibility of being boiled alive!” Her eyes danced with the prospect. “I’ll get into my dress.”

  “Iris!” Bo’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. “We can’t actually boil the man.”

  Iris rolled her eyes. “Of course we can. He tried to kill us, and unless we can make him talk, Lucille will die.”

  “But to boil him?” The idea made Bo slightly ill.

  “He can climb out of the pot whenever he talks. If he wants to be lobster man, that’s up to him. I have no sympathy for people who won’t help themselves. That’s what’s wrong with this country. This old fart danced the tune, and now he’s going to pay the fiddler, one way or the other. Get the pot. I’ll get the firewood.” When Bo hesitated, Iris touched his arm. “Lucille’s life might depend on making him talk.”

  “Okay, baby,” Bo agreed.

  Iris gathered the wood and placed it around and under the pot Bo situated in the backyard. She returned to the house and pulled out the pale yellow tulle gown.

  Standing at the bedroom window, she watched as Bo added wood to the heating pot of water. The pot, as big as a jacuzzi, had been an impulse buy in the first year of their marriage. They used it as a prop, but never before had they actually set a fire beneath it. Goosebumps galloped over her arms as she pulled the gown up and fastened it behind her. The fire danced in the pane of the window and was reflected again in her eyes. Before Bo had a chance to change his mind, she picked up the luger she’d retrieved from Marvin and went to untie him.

  “You’ll never make me talk,” he whispered hoarsely. “No matter what you do. In fifty years, I’ve never talked.”

  “I’ll bet you weren’t ever caught,” Iris said as she matter-of-factly worked the knot, the gun poked in Marvin’s ribs. “One thing I have to tell you, Marvin.” She was delighted with his reaction when she used his name. “Yes, I know your name. Keep in mind that Bo will do whatever is necessary to protect Lucille. Whatever. And I have no compunctions about cooking you ‘til the meat falls off the bones.” She jerked the rope she’d tethered him with and led him through the apartment and out into the yard.

  “What’s this, a stew pot?” he asked.

  Bo had situated several cement blocks to make steps up to the big cast iron kettle.

  “You can climb in, or we’ll throw you,” Iris said, waving the gun.

  “Go ahead and shoot me here.” Marvin set his feet apart and braced. In all of his years, he’d never expected to confront a situation where Americans would try to boil him alive. But he could take as good as he gave. If this was his end, he’d go down like a man.

  “Suit yourself.” Iris nodded at Bo.

  Marvin closed his eyes only to find himself lifted end over end and dropped into the cold water of the pot. Only the bottom was developing a little warmth. He came up sputtering. “It’s cold, damn you.”

  Iris lifted her chin. “Don’t worry, it’ll get hot quick enough.” She turned to Bo, who stood near the back door of the apartment, several sticks of firewood in his hand. He looked a
little uncertain, and she decided to use a distraction that had never failed in the past. Her voice rising half an octave and her eye lashes batting madly, she advanced on her husband. “Oh, Hammond, let’s do have ourselves a little shot of whiskey so that when the water gets hot, we’ll be ready to enjoy the show.”

  “Straight up or on the rocks?” Bo didn’t feel like participating in Iris’ game, but she was already dressed and they had agreed long ago not to leave the other high and dry in a scenario.

  “On the rocks, in a crystal glass. I do so love pretty things. But not as much as I love you, Hammond.”

  Bo added another armload of wood before he went into the apartment to make the drinks. Iris was quite capable of holding Marvin in the pot. By his best calculation, they had about twenty minutes before the water got hot enough to make Marvin sweat.

  Driskell led the band of WOMB out the blasted gate and into the road. The night was quiet, too quiet. The beefalo and their bull had headed south. They were probably miles away. So why were the crickets and other woodland creatures so still?

  When the floodlight struck him in the face, he squinted and spread his cloak to protect the women who clustered behind him.

  “Driskell LaMont,” a voice boomed.

  “That’s me.” Driskell could not deny the fact.

  “Throw down your weapons and step forward, one at a time.”

  Driskell peeled off his cloak and sent it fluttering to the ground, an eloquent statement. “We’re unarmed,” he said. “But those guys back at the beer factory aren’t, and they’re brewing up more than beer. They’re brewing up big trouble.”

  Into the glare of the light a tall, thin figure stepped forward. Driskell could make out only an overcoat and a hat. There was the smell of cigar about the man who stopped some twenty feet from Driskell.

  “What do you have to report on the Hares?” the man asked.

  Lucille stepped up and took Driskell’s hand. “Why is he asking about us? How does he know your name?”

  “Roger?” Driskell asked. It could be no one other than his mysterious contact.