CHAPTER 12
The Book of Death
Wild Bill snarled, “That motherfucker killed Larry and took the ice! He killed Fred. Likely killed Terrell and took our twenty grand. He’s got our ice, our cash, and he’s killed two of our friends.”
Creases radiated from the bridge of Curtis’s nose. “Terrell should have been here by now. Terrell is one punctual cat.”
Mad Dog stared at Fagan. “Maybe the pig took the ice, you ever think of that?”
Wild Bill snorted. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me. Look at him! Do you think he’d drag his sorry ass in here holding our ice? Well here’s your chance, pig. Ride with us—help us get that Fred killer.”
Macy looked up with red eyes.
Fagan measured his words carefully. “Guys, that’s tornado weather outside. I advise you to stay inside until the power comes back on and we get an all-clear from the state highway patrol.”
“Yeah, right,” Wild Bill sneered.
“Pussyyyyyyyy,” Mad Dog hissed. He laid lines out on the table top. “I told you not to trust no jigs.”
“Shut the fuck up, Dog,” Wild Bill said, bending to the table and hoovering a line. He looked up energized. “How about you, Macy. Want a bump?”
“No thanks.”
“Come on. Maybe it might uncrank your ass.”
“No, thank you.”
“Jesus, Macy. You used to be fun.”
Macy got up and went behind the bar where she drew a glass of water and sat on a stool. Curtis set down his tape measure and followed her. The rest of the Dogs could care less except for Doc who watched warily.
Fagan leaned on the bar. Curtis knelt next to Macy and said just loud enough for Fagan to hear, “Does Wild Bill know?”
Macy shook her head. “And don’t tell him.”
“How long have you known?”
“A week.”
“You need something for cramps or nausea?”
Macy looked up. “What have you got?”
Went unsaid were, do you plan to tell Bill, and what do you plan to do with the baby?
“Please don’t make a fuss, Curtis. I don’t want anyone to know.”
Curtis turned his soulful eyes on Fagan. Macy looked up.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” she said.
“I won’t.”
Wild Bill snorked and bellowed, “Saddle up, boys!”
“Not before we get that window sealed,” Curtis said. “You ain’t gonna leave your woman open to the elements, are ya?”
Wild Bill looked from Curtis to Macy with little pig eyes.
“Go a lot quicker if you guys chip in,” Curtis said.
Chainsaw sprang to his feet. “I’ll help you measure those plywood sheets. How we gonna cut ’em?”
“Fred’s got a table saw in the shed.”
Curtis called off measurements. Chainsaw wrote them down. He, Curtis and Mad Dog returned to the shed. Soon Fagan could hear the shriek of the table saw. Even Wild Bill helped mount and seal the window. Chainsaw’s measurements and cuts were spot on. The replacement sheet was exactly the size of the plate glass window. Mad Dog found a tube of window putty in the shed and squeezed the whole thing out around the frame so the wind couldn’t get through.
He stood back, hands on hips, proud of his handiwork. “Got any spray paint?”
“All right?” Wild Bill said. “Everybody happy?”
“That’ll do ’er,” Curtis said.
“Lock and load, boys.”
Mad Dog pulled out his nine, Chainsaw the magnum, Wild Bill the double .45, Doc a Taurus Judge five-shot revolver chambered for .410 shotgun shells.
Curtis looked at Doc. “What the fuck, Doc?”
“Curtis, we took an oath. You saw what he did to Fred.”
Wild Bill stood. “Let’s roll.” He looked pointedly at Fagan. “You coming?”
Fagan backed away with his hands up, palms forward as if to say, “I don’t have a thing to do with this.”
“Don’t be here when we get back. Macy darling, make yourself beautiful for me.”
The quintet trooped out of the bar shaking the floor. Fagan remained standing at the bar, Macy seated at a table with her face in her hands. Seconds later the Road Dogs’ bikes exploded into five kinds of thunder, revved, gassed, goosed and shredded down the road.
For a moment there was silence. The room was much darker with the plywood in place. Macy looked at Fagan with red-rimmed eyes. “Fred kept a book.”
“What book?”
“About the killings.” She pushed the chair back with a screech, got up and went behind the bar. She went into Fred’s private quarters and returned a moment later with a big vinyl scrap book covered with dust, the cover plastered with a peeling Grateful Dead logo and a Harley decal. She stood behind the bar and smacked the bar top with it causing a mini dust storm that rolled over an ant. Macy flicked the ant off the bar top with a finger, flipped the book open to the first page and turned it toward Fagan, a yellowed newspaper article clipped from the Carbondale Courier dated June 20, 1999.
CYCLIST BEHEADED BY GUY WIRE
State and local officials have declared the death of Chicago native Robert MacGruder to be the result of a first-degree homicide. They believe the 48-year old motorcyclist was beheaded by guy wire stretched between trees in the Shawnee National Forest.
Sheriff Jonah Brach of Sharon County said the killing bore similarities to a five-year-old homicide, the unsolved death of motorcyclist Wayne Cappucio. “We may be dealing with a serial killer,” Sheriff Brach stated, asking that anyone with any knowledge of either case to please contact his department.
Fagan’s throat dried up. “Could I have a glass of water please?” he rasped.
Macy filled a bar glass with water and handed it to him. He drank it all, handed it back. She refilled it.
“How is it possible nobody knows about this?” he said. “Why isn’t this a big deal?”
“Nobody gives a shit about outlaw bikers.”
Fagan wondered if Sheriff Fullerton were incompetent or merely ignorant. From the way he talked, Fagan always assumed Fullerton was from around these parts. How could he not mention this?
How could he not know?
Fagan had interviewed for the job three months ago. It had taken them that long to make up their minds.
He turned the page. A story from the Harrisburg Gazette about a biker found with his head lopped off only this time the killer left the head. Some grad student riding cross country. Dartagnan Broddus was a history major and Civil War buff. Police were looking for “an historical re-enactor, possibly with a Confederate cavalry sword.”
Someone with deep-seated racial prejudice.
Broddus’ family offered a five thousand dollar reward for information leading to an arrest. Fagan had a feeling there had been no arrest. Coming from a medium-sized city Fagan understood the politics of unsolved cases. After awhile they became an embarrassment which the higher-ups simply wanted to go away. Maybe the killings had stopped for awhile. Fagan flipped ahead—there were only two more entries, the last from 2008. Four killings in all. Not exactly an epidemic.
Unless there were others that had gone unnoticed.
Macy had a point. No one cared about a bunch of hoodlum bikers whose life expectancy was equivalent to that of some Third World country.
“Are you really a cop?” Macy said.
Fagan showed her his badge and ID card.
Macy picked up the ID card, her face twisting in consternation. “It’s your fourth day on the job?!”
“Ma’am, this looks like a criminal conspiracy to distribute meth.”
Macy’s mouth dropped open in a half guffaw. “Are you for real? Don’t you think we have other stuff to worry about?”
“Sooner or later power will be restored and so will the rule of law. Do you have any outstanding warrants?”
“Who, me? No.”
“Do you know if any of the others do?”
“I’m no snitch.”
“Does he often lay hands on you like that? I should have arrested him for assault. I would be happy to do that.”
“Yeah right. And get the shit beat out of you.”
“I’m looking at a criminal conspiracy. Sooner or later they’re going to restore power in Ptolemy and I’ll be able to get through on my radio.”
“You want to know about me and Bill?”
The wind picked up. Thunder rumbled. The lights flickered.
Macy buried her head in her hands and sobbed. Before he knew it Fagan found himself on the other side of the bar with his arm around her shoulder. She stood and let him embrace her.
“Bad, huh?”
***