Cruel Justice

35

BEN GRIPPED THE DASHBOARD of Mike’s Trans Am. “Would you slow down already?”

Mike stared straight ahead at the road before him, hands clenching the steering wheel. “No,” he said politely.

“Look, I know you’re a macho cop. I’ve known for years. You’re two-fisted, hard drinking, and tough as nails. You don’t have to prove it to me by driving fast enough to break the sound barrier!”

“I’m in a hurry,” Mike muttered.

He jerked the wheel to take a sharp left curve. The wheels screeched; Ben thought he felt the two right tires lift off the pavement.

“I’m serious! Slow down!” He would’ve complained more, but as far as he could tell, his protestations were making no impact whatsoever. “What’s your big hurry, anyway?”

“A little boy has been kidnapped. Isn’t that reason enough?”

It was a dire situation, to be sure, but it didn’t explain this burst of reckless driving, even by Mike’s standards, or the gloomy mood that had descended on Mike since he took that phone call. “You think that same creep has struck again, don’t you? The chickenhawk. The one who killed those little boys.”

Mike’s chin rose slightly. “I never hypothesize in advance of the facts.”

“But that’s your gut feeling?”

“One of the witnesses saw a gray sedan speed away from the scene after the last boy was hit by the car on Memorial. And this Rutherford man saw a gray sedan carry away his little boy.”

“Could just be a coincidence.”

Although his speed did not decrease in the least, Mike’s head turned slowly to face Ben. His eyes burned holes into Ben’s forehead. Then he returned his attention to the road.

“What’s the status on the boy who was hit by the car, anyway?”

“About five-thirty this morning he died. He never regained consciousness.” Mike’s voice remained perfectly flat, but Ben wasn’t fooled. “His parents waited by his bedside for days, but they never got a chance to talk to him. Never got to say goodbye.”

Ben was silent for a long moment. “Did the boy … suffer?”

“You mean after he was hit?” Mike twisted his shoulders and shifted into the fast lane, accelerating faster than Ben would’ve thought possible. “Hard to say. No one really understands how much pain people feel when they’re in a comatose state. But before …” Mike took a deep breath. “Before he was hit by the car, he was violated. Molested. Anally. And this chickenhawk did … other things to him, too. Just tortured the poor kid.”

Ben drew in his breath. Words left him.

“The medical examiner says it went on for hours. Maybe days. Till finally the boy managed to escape. And as a reward for his efforts, he got smacked by a car.

“The sooner I talk to Rutherford’s parents, the sooner I can get on this bastard’s trail,” Mike continued. “And the hotter the trail, the better the chance of success.” He glared at Ben. “Understand now?”

Ben nodded quietly. “Floor it.”

Abie watched as Sam inserted his key and opened the door. He tried to pay attention, to be aware of where he was and what they were doing, but it was so hard. He felt sleepy, so sleepy he could barely keep his eyes open. He couldn’t seem to focus; everything was a hazy blur, like when he put on his father’s bifocals.

Sam pulled him through the door. “Wait here while I get a few things. I’ll be right back. Then we’ll go somewhere else and do something really special. I promise. You’re going to love this. Okay?”

“Okay, Sam.” Abie slumped down in a white recliner and flopped his book bag into his lap. His body felt heavy, tired. He didn’t know what he had done to so exhaust himself. He heard a rustling in the back room. Sam was searching for something in a closet. Whatever. Abie leaned back his head and closed his eyes. The clattering continued. What was all that noise, anyway? Never mind; he was too tired to care.

His mind drifted back in time. How had he gotten so worn-out? He had gone to bed at the usual time, didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. It hadn’t been that tiring, riding bumper boats and go-carts. But he felt utterly exhausted now. In fact, he’d been feeling strung out ever since—

His eyes opened.

Since he ate that Sno-Kone.

Was it possible …? He’d heard of stuff like that, on television and in movies. Drugs. Stuff that made you sleep. But nobody did that in real life.

Did they?

Abie felt a nervous shiver run through his body. It seemed to energize him, though, to shake his body out of its stupor.

What did he know about Sam, anyway? Was it possible Sam … wasn’t the friend he acted like he was? Was it possible …?

Abie pushed himself to his feet. He staggered across the living room of the apartment, weaving back and forth like a drunk. Where was Sam? He wanted to ask him a question or two. …

Somehow, Abie managed to find his way to a door and opened it. Oops—wrong room. Sam wasn’t in here. He had almost closed the door again when he noticed something strange about the opposite wall. It was colored and—was it just weird wallpaper, or what? It was so hard to tell; he could barely see it.

He entered the room and approached the wall. They were pictures. Photographs, cut out and taped to the wall.

And all the pictures were of little boys.

Some of them looked like they’d been cut out of magazines, but most of them were actual photographs. School pictures, or posed family shots with the rest of the family cut out. He recognized some of the other boys as kids whose parents were members of the country club. Abie wondered how Sam got access to all these shots.

Then he noticed something about the boys in the pictures.

All of the boys were about Abie’s age. All of them had dark complexions, like Abie. All of them had brown eyes, like Abie. All of them had dark hair.

Like Abie.

The last detail he noticed about the picture wall was the worst of all. One of the photos, the one in the dead center of the wall, was very familiar.

It was Abie.

Abie stepped away from the wall. It was the picture that had been taken at the country club just a few weeks before. His parents hadn’t bought any; how did Sam get them?

Another thought occurred to Abie, a thought that rang crystal clear in his dazed mind.

When they first met, Sam had acted like he didn’t know who Abie was. But now Abie knew that wasn’t true. Sam had Abie’s picture on his wall.

Sam must’ve been looking for him.

Forcing his feet to move, Abie backed out of the room. He was moving quickly, gaining speed, and then—

He hit something solid.

Abie whirled around and saw, to his horror, that he had bumped into Sam.

Sam was standing right behind him. For how long?

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

Abie shrank away from him. Sam had never used that tone with him before. And there was something in his eyes, too, something Abie had never noticed before.

Something terrifying.

“I told you to wait outside!”

“I—I—” Abie stuttered helplessly. What could he say? What could he do? “I got confused.”

“Confused? About what?”

Some voice inside Abie told him that he didn’t need to tell Sam everything he had figured out. “I—I was looking for the bathroom. I’m sorry. I can’t think so good. I feel tired.”

Abie detected a tiny smile on Sam’s lips. “Is that right? Well, let’s move on to our next destination. There’s a mattress there. We’ll both have a nice lie-down.”

“Mister, I—”

“Sam.” He firmly clasped Abie’s shoulders. “Call me Sam.”

Abie squirmed under his grip. “I don’t think I wanna go nowhere else with you.”

“Oh?” A deep furrow appeared on his forehead. “Why is that?”

“I—I dunno. I just—I feel real tired. And I bet my parents are waiting for me.”

“What’s the matter, Abie? Don’t you like me anymore?”

“No, I do! I really do. It’s just—I dunno. My mom gets so worried sometimes. …”

“It’ll be all right. This is play day, Abie.” He moved toward the front door, pulling Abie behind him. “We’re going to go somewhere now and play.”

Abie wanted to resist, but he didn’t have the strength. He wanted to yell, to scream out, but he couldn’t do it. And he was afraid of what Sam might do to him if he did. He grabbed his book bag and allowed himself to be dragged through the door.

He had no choice. He didn’t even know if he could stay awake; he was certain he couldn’t fight Sam.

He was helpless.