Bad Things Page 5

  Due to their untimely arrival tonight—Art was late picking her up because his hair wasn't cooperating—they've missed out on the prime parking spots and have been forced to take a short drive to a second-tier location. There will be ridicule tomorrow at school. They've had to take the joke spot away from the pack. A place over near the woods. They still have a great view of the mountains and stars, not that they're looking, but this is without question the nosebleed section of Stagstone Hump Central.

  The car is only slightly younger than her, but it’s still a Lexus. She loves the leather seats. So high-class compared to the cloth truck bench seat of her last boy toy. Her parents would never pony up for a nice car. It’s not the money. They have a different set of standards than most, different priorities, and they do not deviate. Ever. Nothing that doesn’t fit in perfectly with their unique criteria. Never anything that didn’t meet their strict guidelines. You see her parents, Walter and Stella, believe the end is coming, soon, and they need a vehicle that can handle the apocalypse. A Lexus, while a damn fine car, isn’t what they look for to guide them through a world that will eventually be packed with fire, panic and blood-soaked zombies.

  Mara places Art’s hand on her breast. He’s taking too long.

  Bad boy my sweet ass, she thinks.

  Mara is in complete control of what goes on in this car. She knows she needs to make Art thinks he's running this thing here, boys are fragile, but if anything goes sideways she can handle it. While hating the way she's been raised, she does appreciate the fact she's been trained to handle just about anything. As Art's hands move over her bra, Mara thinks how she could snap every bone in his hand in the blink of an eye. As he kisses her neck, she's reminded how she can break his. If she's being honest, it turns her on a bit. Yes, Walter and Stella screwed her up really good.

  Mara sees something move in the woods outside the car.

  She puts a stop to Art’s love magic.

  “What?” Art wipes the saliva from his pouty lips. “What’s up?”

  Mara stares outside, whipping her head around to the back window, then back to the front. She knows she saw something out there. Art starts up again. Restarting what he’s positive are the moves of a man who’s more sex machine than human. Mara lets him, easing back into the backseat fun, trying to shake off what she thought she saw out there. She closes her eyes as his fingertips go back to work.

  Mara knows life with Walter and Stella has done quite a number on her and her twin kid brothers. Sometimes she worries about them, her brothers. They're boys, and are going to be trained younger and harder than she was. She also can see they're shaping up to be major little psychos, but, what can a girl do?

  “You like that?” Art asks through his panting breath.

  Mara smiles. “Oh, I do.”

  “Good.” Art unbuttons her shirt’s top button. “How long can you stay out?”

  “Ten.” She knows Walter doesn’t want her out past eight thirty-eight.

  “Good,” he purrs.

  “That is good.” Mara knows this lust show will be over way before ten, but what the hell, now’s not the time. Never let details screw up a good story.

  Mara likes Art. Despite his flaws, he's simple, cute as hell, and slightly above adequate with his skill in the backseat. Those things are more than enough when growing up in a place like Stagstone. She wonders what it's like in New York City. She thinks about it often. Do those girls settle for what's around while getting it on in Central Park? If that's where they do it. Or do they have so much better options that settling isn't even a thing there? She's watched the shows. Pretty girls at private schools running around being gorgeous, spending money and getting down with hot boys.

  They don't have early morning sessions at a firing range. No Hand-to-Hand Combat Wednesdays on the Upper East Side. No weekend survival training in Manhattan, she's guessing. She runs her fingers through Art's hair, pretending he's the fantastic son of a Wall Street tycoon. A trust-fund baby with a condo down the street from a delightful coffee place.

  A massive arm punches through the back window. Glass shards bounce off the leather.

  Mara pushes Art hard, trying to shove him clear.

  The large, dark, slick hand grabs Art by the skull, ripping him out through the window.

  Mara sees what's left of the window spin as it hurtles into the night air. Everything, it all happened so fast she didn't even hear Art scream. Mara’s eyes dance. Her heart pounds like a fist against her ribs. She dives over the seat, landing into the front. With shaking hands, she opens her purse, pulling out her nickel-plated, snub-nosed thirty-eight. Her sweet sixteen present. Daddy’s girl no matter what.

  The hairs on Mara’s arms stand up. She hears it outside now. There’s a vibration out there. Whatever it is, it’s really close. She can hear her father’s voice in her head. Breathe, is what Walter would say. Control your fear, tame it, then unleash the beast.

  Something big and dark appears in the back window. Its red eyes flare bright. Mara fires off two wild blasts. Not sure what she’s shooting at, but there’s no time for chitchat. That piece of shit thing ripped away her little fun-time boy.

  There’s a grunt outside the Lexus. Primal almost, but nothing like she’s ever heard before. It wasn’t human, that’s for damn sure, but it wasn’t like an animal either. For a blip, a fraction of a second, she sees what she’d swear was a man. A man with long hair dressed in a sharp, dark suit. He’s gone as quickly as he appeared. She shakes her head hard. She can’t help but think her mind is playing tricks on her.

  The stillness returns.

  The night slips back into its usual calm.

  Her breathing is short and fast.

  The car jolts hard. It jerks to the left, as if something had rammed into the side. She can feel the tires skidding in the dirt. Mara twists her body into an impossible pretzel, spinning her way behind the wheel of the Lexus. She’s so thankful she had Art take his keys out while grinding on her. She stomps her foot down on the brake, then stabs the ignition button with her finger. The engine starts up. The sweetest purr she’s ever heard. Mara pops it into D. The Lexus rocks again. Her head bounces off the window. Mara puts the pedal down.

  Art’s head lands on the hood. It bounces, spins in midair, then lands on the windshield with his nose smushed against the glass. Mara screams, flipping on the windshield wipers. It does nothing. The tires spin into the dirt, then find traction as the Lexus screams out of their undesirable parking spot. Mara stares eye to eye with her bad boy’s severed head. She presses the gas harder, hoping the speed will send Art's head clear of the glass. The skin from his nose and cheek cling to the glass like a moist frog. She feels terrible, but shit, she needs to drive.

  As she tears out from the spot, she passes the other cars that are still rocking and shaking with their night moves. Completely unbothered by the gunshots. Mara lays on the horn. Nobody notices.

  The Lexus burns away out the back road, kicking up dirt in its wake. The trees outside blur into a stream of nothingness. The mountains become a jumbled, jagged mass. Mara's knuckles pop as she grips the wheel tighter and tighter. The anger-tears drop then roll down her face. Mara hits Snowbird Lane going seventy miles per hour.

  Art’s head finally peels off the windshield.

  Chapter Twelve

  Carol hacks.

  Mara has been telling her this wild-ass tale about something attacking her while she's dry humping some numbnuts named Art in the back of his Lexus. Carol pretends to take notes, but actually, she's doing her grocery list. She knows she is forgetting something she needs at the store and it is genuinely pissing her off.

  “Are you listening to me?” Mara asks.

  “Is it butter?” She looks to Mara. “No, I’ve got the damn butter.”

  Mara wants to grab Carol’s tongue and staple it to the desk.

  “Trash bags?” Carol clicks her pen, scratches the lone hair on her chin. “No, got those. Pretty sure I do. Dammit.”


  Mara steps back, pacing back and forth. She can see into Chief Dibs’s office. It’s dark, looks like it hasn’t seen much activity. Mara remembers meeting the chief briefly at a thing at school. It was some hey look, there’s a new sheriff in town bullshit meeting with the kids. It sticks in her mind because of the way he said he was a cop in New York City. Just a hint of New York tough guy accent. A touch of attitude. There was this look in his eyes too. A look that told her that he's seen some things. She talked to her friends about it and they accused her of wanting to bang an old guy. That wasn't it, not completely. It was that Chief Dibs is one of the only people she's ever met who lived there.

  New York City.

  A fantasy city she’s convinced holds the keys to unlocking the best life Mara can muster. One day she’ll get the hell out of this dump of a mountain town, bust free of the grip Walter and Stella have on her, and haul ass to the city that never sleeps. She’ll drink cocktails with insanely interesting people with deep pockets and unstoppable cheekbones. One day. But right now, she needs to hang on. Needs to live long enough to see that dream come true.

  “You going to do a damn thing or no?” Mara asks as calmly as she can.

  “About what exactly?” Carol doesn’t look up from her list. “Track down the scary monster that interrupted your Lexus amateur porn tryout?”

  Mara’s fingers walk toward the stapler.

  “Yeah.” Carol giggles. “I’ll put my best people on it. Around the clock.” Laughs so hard she almost chokes. “They’ll work in shifts.”

  Mara stops her hand just short from reaching the stapler. She considers this an act of great maturity on her part. The urge to attach a piece of Carol to the desk is so strong, but Mara knows that ultimately won't do shit. Only check a temporary box inside of her. She needs the chief. He probably won't believe her either, but at least he might have an open mind about all this. At least he's free of this small-town mindset. And yes, if she's honest with herself, he does have a certain older man sex appeal to him, but she can't let that shit interfere with her thinking. She needs that aging sexpot to help her stay alive and get her the hell out of this dump.

  She has a flash of an image of the two of them fighting whatever that thing was she saw in the night. That thing that jumped the Lexus. That ripped what’s his name out the back window. She can see herself and Dibs covered in blood and sweat standing atop the slain carcasses of the beaten beasts. Guns smoking. His biceps bulging. Her smile beaming. Him whisking her off to a Manhattan penthouse. The fabulous life they’ll have.

  It’s a stretch. She’ll be eighteen in four months, but it’s not the grossest fantasy she’s ever had. Not even close. Again, if she's honest with herself.

  Mara slams her hand down on the grocery list. Carol jumps back from the table, almost falling off her perch on the chair and down to the floor. Mara locks eyes with her.

  “Thank you for all your help,” Mara says. “I’ll deal with this issue on my own.”

  Mara flings the door open, slipping out into the night. The cold air wraps around her. Looking around, she sees the smatterings of small-town life shutting down for the evening. They've all got their routine down so tight they can run on autopilot. Robots moving with the heavy rhythms they established for themselves years ago, without a hint of vision as to what their lives could have been had they just had the guts to try and live a life worth living.

  Their rules, their banality, it crushes Mara. Her parents are so damn preoccupied with the end of the world they never considered trying to find a way to enjoy themselves while the world is still here. It makes her stomach twist into a string of knots when she really stops to think about it. But right now, she doesn’t care. She’ll be living her fabulous New York City life one day.

  One day soon enough.

  Chief Dibs pulls up in front of Kate’s house.

  As he shuts off the engine, he can see Kate’s outline in the window. The lights are off in most of the house except for a slight glow that illuminates her behind the glass. She’s in a silk robe hanging open ever so slightly, giving him just a peek but nothing more.

  Dibs bites his lip.

  Kate smiles, giving him a finger-curl wave to come inside.

  Dibs puts his hand on the door handle, seconds away from heaven. From forgetting everything that’s happened today. Pushing it all into the dusty corners of his mind.

  His radio crackles to life.

  Dibs closes his eyes, shaking his head violently. “No, no, no.”

  “Hey,” Carol hacks. “That Mara is a piece of work. Came in here all up in my face with her bullshit about bullshit and bull—”

  “What is it, Carol?” Dibs keeps his eyes locked on Kate. “Specifically?”

  Kate has now added wine into the mix. She sips directly from the bottle, then raises it toward him. Dibs grips the steering wheel. His teeth grind. He’s a puppy at the door that wants to be let outside and play.

  “Little bitch,” Carols continues. “Thinks she’s all that. Doin’ the dirty with little Art Pendergrast.”

  “Carol? What do you need?”

  “Mrs. Vandercleef called. Said her rose bushes have been destroyed. She’s all kinds of pissed about it.”

  “Are you kidding me with this?”

  “She’s damn near apocalyptic about—”

  “Carol, not the time—”

  “Chief, she lives down the street from the mayor. They’re buddies. She’s just gonna walk a block over, knock on his door and yell at his dumb ass.”

  Dibs knows she’s right. And he hates the hell out of it. “Shit!” Dibs slaps the steering wheel as hard as he can. His face is red as a cherry tomato. “Snot! Balls!”

  Kate's sexy expression changes as she watches her gentlemen caller become unhinged inside the Blazer. Without the benefit of hearing him, he looks like he's lost his mind while attacking the steering wheel. She sips her wine as the realization dawns that good lovin' isn't happening tonight. Something's happened on the job. Kate blows him a kiss, throws him an understanding look and waves goodbye.

  Dibs sucks in a hard gulp of air, waves his throbbing hand, then mouths the words, I’m sorry. He pops the Blazer into reverse, backing away while trying to look at Kate as long as he can. As he makes the turn out of the driveway his phone buzzes. It’s Kate.

  Dibs sighs hard, answering, “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Everything alright?”

  “Stupid cop stuff.”

  “My hero.”

  “True.” Dibs presses the phone closer to his face. “Maybe I can stop by later. If you’ll have me.” His begging tone hits a new octave.

  "Well…" Kate amps up the sugar. “You take too long, I may have to call in a backup."

  “Oh yeah?” Dibs smiles. “He bigger than me?”

  “No. Well, only his penis.”

  Dibs laughs. Kate laughs.

  "I'll hurry then." Dibs wants to say more. A hanging feeling that he should tell her something. Something about he doesn't want to hang up. Tell her something about how he feels tingly and warm inside. But he knows that isn't a good idea. It's too soon, and he's not the sort to vomit words about feelings. He's pretty bad at it. Never goes particularly well.

  "I'll hurry."

  “Please do. Later, Chief.”

  Dibs opens his mouth about say his something, but stops.

  “Later.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Will you look at them?”

  Mrs. Vandercleef is not a happy woman.

  Her prize-winning rose bushes, although Dibs isn't sure exactly who runs those types of competitions, are a mess. A crumbled disaster of stems and petals that look like they've been eaten by a yak and vomited back out into the lawn. They're everywhere.

  "I mean, I'm beside myself," Mrs. Vandercleef says, as if her life were spread out over the lawn. She's a little long in the tooth for neighborhood MILF status, but she is an attractive woman at sixty. She works hard at it. Held it together via the magic of
money, grit and the turnstile of multiple husbands. Some dead, some divorced, all happy to be away from her.

  "Yeah." Dibs fights every instinct to roll his eyes. "This is a damn shame." He’s not sure that was the response she was looking for, matter of fact he knows it wasn’t the response she was looking for, but he did what he could. He braces himself for whatever she’s got locked and loaded next for him. Dibs can see it in her eyes.

  Mrs. Vandercleef’s face rushes through multiple shades of red. He’s pretty sure she is actually biting her tongue while her mind runs wild, flipping through the variations of what she wants to say.

  “Chief Dibs,” she says in a low, almost guttural voice.

  “Yes.”

  “This might pass for a damn shame in that rancid cesspool you came from, but here, in my yard, this is…” She takes a deep breath then unloads. “A motherfucking disaster!”

  Dibs lets a silent moment fill the air. Counts to five.

  “Okay,” he finally says. “I can—”

  “You can do what, Chief Dibs?” She sucks in air between her teeth. “What exactly will you do about this?”

  Dibs thinks about shooting her. Instead says, "Do you know who would want to do this?"

  “There’s no question who did it.”

  “Oh?” Dibs says, pulling out the obligatory pad and pen. “This has happened before?”

  “No,” she says, trying to get ahold of herself. “Never like this, but I know who did it. Oh, I know damn well who did this to my babies.”

  “Okay.” He can see she’s slipping back down into the abyss. Really wants to keep her on the right side of the cliff. “Tell me then. Who do you think did this?”

  Mrs. Vandercleef puts a hand on Dibs’s shoulder and squeezes as hard as she can. Dibs is a pretty tough dude, but this woman is absolutely crushing his shoulder. The only thing that’s masking his pain is the shock. He dips his body down a bit.