Deviation Read online

  She stared at him. “Maybe.”

  “Trust me, Dianne. He was a threat to our safety. Anyway, we've really got to get moving. He told them the Rodeway in Bellevue. They could be here any minute.” He crossed the room, stuffed the bag of joints into his pocket and then grabbed both their bags.

  Dianne stood up. “I didn't even get to take a shower. Or sleep.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  She found her bottle of rum and her purse, and then began putting on her jacket. “Where are we going to go?”

  “I don't know. Away from here.”

  “Who's going to drive? We're still tripping.”

  “I'll manage. We really have no choice.”

  She nodded. “They're going to be looking for you all over now. A manhunt.”

  “They can look. As long as we get out of here and disappear, they'll have no idea where to look.”

  “But the TV. Anyone might recognize you.” She ran a finger along his collar. “Especially with the way you're dressed.”

  “We'll worry about that later. We've really got to go.”

  They made their way hastily out of the room and down the stairs. As Frank got the Escort back onto the road he could hear a lone police siren somewhere off in the distance.

  19. Leaving Bellevue

  It was the middle of the night and there were very few cars on the road as Frank made his way back toward Interstate 80. He drove slowly, with the window rolled down. There was a problem with the wiper blades, and though it was no longer raining, the windshield was badly streaked and he was unable to do anything about it.

  “How can you even see?” Dianne asked. “The windshield looks like a kaleidoscope.”

  Frank poked his head out the window to get a better look and then ducked back inside. “One thing at a time. We've got to get away from that motel.” He drove on, doing 20 mph in a 40 mph zone. It felt like he was going much faster; the scenery was zipping past at an almost dizzying pace.

  “I'm just glad you didn't use our real names. He would have put that in the computer.”

  “Shit!”

  Dianne was opening up a pine tree shaped air freshener she'd found under the seat. It filled the car with an intoxicating stink and she quickly slipped it back into its plastic sleeve and returned it to its place beneath the seat. “I know you didn't. I saw you pay in cash and write down a fake name.”

  “I know. I just wish I had thought to take our money back. We could have used it in the long run.”

  “Oh, don't worry about that.”

  Frank was squinting, trying to see through the window. “Is that...? No, it can't be.”

  Dianne sat forward in her seat, trying to see what he was seeing. It did no good. She could only see the windshield itself, looking alive and staring back at her. “What?”

  “It looks like a family of kangaroos, up ahead on the side of the road.”

  For some reason, the idea of such a thing terrified her. “Kangaroos?”

  “It can't be, I know. But that's what it looks like.”

  They slowly drove past a group of young men, two of them wearing hooded sweatshirts. Dianne sighed and sat back in her seat. She was feeling paranoid and worried, and still plenty drugged. “Are you sure you even killed that guy? Maybe you just think you did.”

  “I'm quite certain I did. His face was swollen and purple, and he'd stopped breathing.”

  “Still...”

  “He's dead, Dianne. Forget him.”

  “It just pisses me off. He didn't even give you a chance to explain. We did nothing, and we were denied a room that we paid for.”

  “True. But there's nothing we can do about it. The cops are probably there by now.” He stepped a little harder on the gas. “I'm kind of getting the hang of this now. We should be okay.”

  His words soothed her and she leaned her head back on the headrest, closing her eyes. It did very little to stop the onslaught of visuals which were still chaotically prevalent behind her eyelids. She took a deep breath and attempted to calm her nerves. There was no point in worrying about everything. In this new life of hers, there were bound to be a great deal of unexpected twists and sudden developments. If she were smart, she'd learn to benefit from them.

  The car coasted along, stopping occasionally when Frank was able to make out the stop signs or when he couldn't quite see where he was going. They were very close to getting back on the highway when he suddenly collided with the rear end of a Buick Skylark which was parked along the side of the road. The impact came as a jolting shock to both of them, although they were moving so slowly that neither of them were hurt.

  “Sorry about that,” Frank offered. He put the car in reverse and backed up a bit.

  “It's okay. But I think I heard the headlights shatter.”

  There had been an aggressive sound of crunching plastic. It would be a real problem if their headlights were out. “Shit,” Frank muttered, realizing by the reflection on the back of the ancient Skylark that the right headlight was indeed out.

  Dianne looked at him in the gloom. “What should we do?”

  “I'm not sure. Do you know how to hot-wire a car?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Me either.”

  “Maybe we could just steal a headlight.”

  “Or hide until the sun comes up. It's only a few more hours.”

  “Too bad we can't go back to our room.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It's okay.”

  Frank opened his door and climbed out of the car.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I just want to take a look at the damage. Maybe I can fix the light. If it's just a broken bulb, we can get one at any auto parts store.”

  Dianne grabbed her purse and opened her own door, following him out. She was getting used to the acid now. She thought she might even miss the effects when they finally wore off. Everything was new and unprecedented and the night filled her with a sense of real adventure.

  “Shit,” Frank cursed. “We're going to need more than just a bulb.”

  Dianne stepped closer to the front of the car, taking in the damage. As she did, she noticed another car traveling toward them from the same direction they'd just come. Frank looked up, too, sensing its approach.

  “It's not a cop,” Dianne said, mild relief in her voice.

  She saw his hand move to the pocket of his cassock, where she knew he'd stashed Lester's pistol after they left the motel. After reassuring himself that the gun was still there he let his hand fall away. “Hopefully he'll just drive past.”

  They waited, and to their dismay the car pulled right up to them and stopped. A single occupant could be seen inside, an older man with both hands on the wheel. He looked out at them for what seemed a long time and then finally put his car in park and began to climb out.

  “You folks need any help?” he asked. He was in his late 50's, with a wild ring of white hair circling the back of his head.

  “I think we're okay,” Frank told him. “Unless you've got a spare headlight.”

  The old man feigned a laugh. “Can't help you there. Is that your only problem? A headlight?”

  “For the time being, yes,” Frank responded.

  The man surprised him then by sauntering over for a closer look. He nodded and smiled at Dianne as he passed by. “I've been fixing cars for a living for almost 40 years. I might be able to rig something up for you.”

  Dianne was staring at his car. It was a Honda Civic, almost new. The keys were in the ignition and it was still running.

  “Oh, bloody hell,” the man said, observing the damage close up. “You rear-ended that poor bastard. A Skylark, too! I haven't
seen one of those in ages.”

  “We got the worst of it,” Frank told him.

  “True. But I doubt you can claim it was his fault.”

  “No one is blaming anyone. I just want to get that light fixed so I can get moving.”

  “Well, it's all busted up. You're going to have to get some new parts. See here? The whole assembly is in pieces.”

  “I'm aware of that.” Frank caught Dianne's eye and attempted to gauge her reaction to this unexpected interloper. He was unable to do so, although he could clearly sense she was contemplating something.

  The man was staring at Frank, his back to Dianne. “Say, you're not a priest, are you?”

  “I am.”

  The man looked suddenly troubled. “There was just a thing on the radio about a priest. Or was it a reverend? Something about a little boy. A kidnapping.”

  Frank's pulse began to accelerate. “It wasn't me, I assure you.”

  The old man eyed him suspiciously. “Where you headed, anyway? This time of night?”

  “What business is that of yours?”

  He shrugged. “I'm just asking, is all.” He looked back at the damaged cars. “Something just doesn't seem right here.”

  “You're a nosy old fellow, aren't you?” Frank's hand slipped into his pocket. He didn't want to kill this man, but he would if he had to.

  “How the hell did you hit that car, anyway? You been drinking?”

  “Why don't you climb back into your car and leave us alone? We don't require your assistance, or your trivial inquiries.”

  The man seemed to grow angry at the comment. He balled his hands into fists. “I only stopped to see if I could help. You don't have to be an asshole about it.”

  “We don't need your help.”

  He stared Frank in the eyes. “I wish I had paid more attention to that report on the radio. I got a bad feeling about you, mister.”

  “Thanks for stopping. You can leave now.”

  The man nodded, his eyes squinting as he studied Frank. “Maybe I will. Maybe I'll put the news back on and listen more closely this time.” He glanced at the license plate on Dianne's car, taking it in. “Maybe I'll let my friend Tommy know about your little accident, too.”

  Frank felt a stab of panic. “Tommy?”

  “Detective Tom Hanson, Bellevue Police Department.”

  Frank was very close to involving his gun. He hesitated, sensing that Dianne had an idea of her own.

  Their visitor was smiling contemptuously. “Tommy'll get to the bottom of this, no question about it.”

  “I'll ask you one more time to leave,” Frank warned.

  The man noticed Frank's hand clutching an unseen object in his pocket. His smile disappeared. “Oh, so now you're threatening me? I suppose that makes my decision a little easier.” He began to turn around to check on Dianne, but just as he did her arm came around from behind, catching him by surprise. He never even saw the little paring knife she held as it tore open his throat, sending great gouts of blood coursing down his chest and gurgling to the street below. He screamed and clutched at the gaping wound, staggering back as she jumped out of the way. As the man fell to his knees, bleating like a wounded pig, Dianne leaned over, putting her hands on her knees and breathing harshly.

  Frank stepped up to her, placing a hand on her back. “I didn't expect that,” he confessed dryly. He glanced up and down the street, worrying someone would happen by and see what had happened. So far there was no one.

  “Neither did I. I just...” She looked down at the man dying in the street. “I'm really getting tired of people making it their business to fuck with my life.”

  “I know just how you feel.”

  She straightened up and hugged him, the knife still clutched in one hand. “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why can't they just leave us alone? I've never once in my entire life gone up to someone and poked my nose into what didn't concern me.”

  “Shit beetles, Dianne. They don't think, they merely act and react.”

  “They suck!”

  “They do indeed.” He held her for a moment as the stranger finished dying and then he kissed the top of her head. “Do you have a tool kit in your car? Or at least a screwdriver?”

  “Yes. There's a silly little kit under the front passenger seat. It's not good for much.”

  “It's good enough for what we need it for.” He released her and stepped back. “We've got to move. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Can you start transferring our things? Put them all in the Honda.”

  She smiled, her pupils still fully dilated from the acid. “Alright.”

  While Dianne busied herself moving their suitcases and liquor, Frank found the tool kit and quickly removed the license plates from the Escort. He put them on the back seat of the Honda and then helped Dianne with the last few bottles of booze. When they had everything out of her car, he stepped up to the corpse and bent over.

  “Are you ready for this?”

  She was grinning. She felt insane. She thought for a moment that she might really be insane and the thought made her grin even wider. “Our third one.”

  “Our forth, if you count the desk clerk.”

  “Jesus. Where are we going to put him?”

  “In the trunk.”

  “Of my car?”

  “Yes. Make sure you get all your paperwork out of the glove-box when we're done. They'll trace it eventually, maybe, but we won't make it any easier for them than we have to.”

  Before moving the man, Frank removed the wallet from his back pocket. Mr. Horace Newton was from Plattsmouth, Nebraska. Frank helped himself to the small amount of cash and then shoved the wallet back into Horace's pocket.

  “He's quite bloody,” he warned Dianne. “Try not to get too much of it on you.”

  Horace was small, and relatively thin. They had no problem transferring him to the trunk, and within half a minute Frank had it closed, the body gone from sight. While Dianne removed her papers from the glove-box, he found the VIN between the dashboard and windshield and scraped at it with a screwdriver, rendering it unreadable. Another car drove by during this time, but the driver didn't even slow down.

  Frank stepped up to Dianne, slipping the screwdriver into his pocket. “Do you still have the knife?”

  She shook her head. “It's in the trunk, with his body.”

  He considered this. “Are your prints on file anywhere?”

  “I'm not sure. I don't think so.”

  “Good enough. We've really got to get moving.” He kissed her quickly. “Are you okay to drive? Just for a few blocks?”

  She studied him. “You're not mad, are you?”

  Frank was puzzled by the question. “Mad?”

  “That I killed him.”

  “No. Should I be?”

  “I didn't really want to. I just...” She looked away. “I thought it would be in our best interest.”

  Frank put a hand on her shoulder. “It was.”

  She looked back into his eyes. “I'm glad you're okay with it.”

  “You don't ever have to worry about me, Dianne. I'm on your side. Always.”

  The words completed her somehow. She felt very good, as if by dispatching Horace and obtaining Frank's approval she'd increased her overall prominence. She felt renewed, and unusually confident. “Thank you. And yes, I'm okay to drive.”

  “Okay. Drive your car several blocks, and park it wherever you can find a spot. Leave the keys in the ignition. I'll follow you in the Honda.”

  She was nodding. “Just don't forget to pick me up.”

  “I won't.”

 
; “And don't have any more accidents.”

  Frank smiled. “I promise.” He squeezed her shoulder and then hurried off toward the Honda.

  20. An Unexpected Visitor

  The Post Harbour Place Apartments were located on Harbour Post Dr. in Tampa, Florida. Edgar Stevens had chosen the place from a website based primarily on its location. Now that he was actually there, he was beginning to regret his decision.

  The apartment itself was perfectly adequate. It was a large one bedroom unit on the top floor, and the price was fair, which was another of the reasons he'd chosen it. What the website failed to mention was the overabundance of college students living on the premises. It was noisy all the time. He'd only been there for one day, but the noise hadn't diminished a bit since he'd arrived; if anything, it had gotten worse. The kids seemed to party around the clock. There was constant drinking, and the sharp, skunky odor of marijuana drifted up to him on an almost hourly basis. He doubted he'd be staying any longer than his six month lease required him to.

  Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. He'd simply have to endure it for the time being. He was scheduled to begin his new position at St. Andrews on Saturday morning; until then he planned to hang out in his new rooms as much as possible and do some drinking of his own.

  He'd stopped at The Liquor Depot earlier in the day and stocked up on supplies. He could show those kids a thing or two about drinking if he wanted to. He stood in his kitchen, tearing open a bag of pretzels and dumping them into a large bowl. He opened a bag of Ruffles potato chips and dumped in half of those as well. Finally, he added a small bag of Bold Chex Mix, almost filling the bowl to capacity. He used one hand to reach in and stir the snacks together, pulling out a large chip and stuffing it into his mouth.

  “Mmm,” he said aloud. “Time to get the party started.”

  Stevens took down a plastic tumbler from the cabinet above the sink. He hadn't finished unpacking yet, not by a long shot, but he'd taken care of the essentials. He threw a few ice cubes into the tumbler and then filled it halfway with vodka and halfway with apple juice. It was a concoction he'd been partial to for years, since a fateful night in 2009 when he was unable to locate any orange juice. He stirred it with one fat finger and then slipped the finger into his mouth.