Blood Test

“You were so good and trusting, Doug... You thought he was being our friend, helping us hide out because he didn’t like doctors any better than we did... Because he understood. But that wasn’t it at all. He would have given us up in a minute but I threatened to expose him if he did... To tell everyone that he fucked me. And knocked me up.”

Houten looked at the Colt. Harbored a terrible thought and dismissed it. “Nona, you don’t wa—”

“He thinks he’s Woody’s daddy, cause that’s what I’ve told him all these years.” She stroked the rifle and giggled. “Course now, maybe I was telling the truth, maybe I wasn’t. Maybe I don’t even know. We never did do any blood tests to find out, did we, Ray?”

“You’re crazy,” he said. “You’ll be locked up.” To me: “She’s crazy. You can see that, can’t you?”

“Is that so?” She put her finger around the trigger and smiled. “I guess you know all about crazy. All about crazy little girls. Like little old fat crazy Maria, always sitting by herself, rocking and writing dumb crazy poems. Talking to herself, wetting her pants, and carrying on like a baby. She was crazy, wasn’t she, Ray? Fat and ugly and a real head case.”

“Shut your mouth—”

“You shut yours, you old bastard!” she screamed. “Who the hell are you telling me what to do? You fucked me every day, taking sloppy seconds without complaining. Shot your scum into me and knocked me up.” She smiled eerily. “Maybe. Least that’s what I told Crazy Maria. You shoulda seen the look in those piggy little eyes. I gave her all the details. About how you lapped it up and begged for more. Sheriff. I must have upset the poor thing, cause the next day she took a rope and—”

Houten bellowed and came at her.

She laughed and shot him in the face.

He collapsed like wet tissue paper. She stood over him and pulled the trigger again. Braced herself against the recoil and put yet another slug into him.

I peeled her fingers off the weapon and let it fall between the two corpses. She offered no resistance. Put her head on my shoulder and gave me a lovely smile.

I took her with me and went looking for the El Camino. It wasn’t hard to find. Houten had parked it just outside the gap in the fence. Watching her closely, I used the radio to make my calls.

26

Late on a quiet Sunday afternoon, I stood on the lawn across from the entrance to the Retreat and waited for Matthias. Furnace-blast winds had strafed the southern half of the state without letup for thirty-six hours and though sunset was drawing near the heat refused to dissipate. Sticky, itchy, and overdressed in jeans, chambray shirt, and a calfskin jacket, I sought the shade of the old oaks circling the fountain.

He emerged from the main building encircled by a cocoon of followers, glanced in my direction and bade them disperse. They moved to a hilly spot, sat and began to meditate. He approached slowly and deliberately, staring downward, as if searching for something in the grass.

We came face to face. Instead of greeting me, he dropped to the ground, folded himself into a lotus position, and stroked his beard.

“I don’t see pockets in the outfit you’re wearing,” I said. “No place to hold a substantial wad of cash. I hope that doesn’t mean you didn’t take me seriously.”

He ignored me and stared off into space. I tolerated it for a few minutes then made a show of losing my patience.

“Cut the holy-man, crap, Matthews. It’s time to talk business.”

A fly settled on his forehead, walked nimbly along the edge of the crater-scar. It didn’t seem to bother him.

“State your business,” he said softly.

“I thought I was pretty clear over the phone.”

He picked a stalk of clover and twirled it in his long fingers.

“About certain things, yes. You confessed to trespassing, assault on Brother Baron, and burglary. What remains unclear is why there should be any — business for you and me to conduct.”

“And yet you’re here. Listening.”

He smiled.

“I pride myself on maintaining an open mind.”

“Listen,” I said, turning to go. “I’ve had a rough couple of days and my tolerance for bullshit is at an all time low. What I’ve got will keep. You want to think about it, go ahead. Just add a thousand a day in late fees.”

“Sit down,” he said.

I settled opposite him, crossing my legs and tucking them under me. The ground was as hot as a waffle iron. The itch in my chest and belly had intensified. Off in the distance the cultists bowed and scraped.

His hand left his beard and stroked the grass idly.

“You mentioned a substantial sum of money over the phone,” he said.

“A hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Three installments of fifty thousand each. The first today, the following two at six-month intervals.”

He worked hard at looking amused.

“Why in the world would I pay you that kind of money?”

“For you it’s petty cash. If the party I saw a couple of nights ago is typical, you and your zombies shovel that much up your noses in a week.”

“Are you implying that we use illicit drugs?” he asked, mockingly.