Cruel Justice

38

“BUT WHY DO YOU wanna take my picture?”

Abie tried not to slur his words, but he was finding it as hard to talk as it was to stay awake, or to resist—to do anything other than follow Sam’s lead.

“So I can see you when I’m not with you,” Sam replied, smiling calmly. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Abie still thought it smarter not to tell Sam about his doubts. But he had to slow Sam down somehow. “Don’t you already have a picture of me?”

A tiny bit of the placid smile disappeared from Sam’s face. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw it. In your apartment. You had my picture on your wall.”.

“Ye-es,” Sam said slowly. “I got that from, um, an acquaintance at the country club. I like to have pictures of all my friends.”

“Then you don’t need any more.”

Sam rubbed his hands down Abie’s shoulders and firmly clasped his wrists. “But that was such an … impersonal picture, Abie. You’re my special friend, and I want a special picture of you. A personal picture. One that’s just between you and me.”

“Don’t—wanna!” Abie tried to twist away from him, but he didn’t have nearly enough strength.

“Abie. This is very unfriendlike. Didn’t we have fun at Celebration Station? Didn’t I buy you a Sno-Kone?”

“That—doesn’t—”

“Come on, Abie. Be a grown-up. Grown-ups don’t mind doing favors for one another.”

Abie’s eyes dropped down to the floor. “What kind of favors?”

“Like letting me take pictures of you.”

“What kinda pictures?”

“Well … like these.” Sam released the boy’s arms and walked back to the camera equipment. He began rummaging about in a black bag.

Abie glanced at the door they had come in through. He wanted to run, to get away from Sam and go home to his parents. But could he make it to that door without being caught? And that staircase outside—it was so old and dangerous; Abie wasn’t sure he could get down by himself.

And if he didn’t get away, if Sam caught him, what would Sam do to him? It was too risky. Too impossible. He wasn’t even sure he could find the door—his eyesight was so blurry.

“Here we are,” Sam said triumphantly.

The loud voice startled Abie out of his reverie. The opportunity was lost.

Sam handed Abie a magazine. “See? That’s what I had in mind. Just silly little pictures. Harmless.”

Abie thumbed through the magazine. It wasn’t a nice magazine with slick paper, like the ones his mother got in the mail. The paper was rough and coarse.

Abie glanced at the pictures. All of them were of little boys about his age. But they weren’t wearing any clothes, or at least not many. Some of them were posed in strange positions or with chains and black leather stuff Abie didn’t recognize. In some of the pictures, a little boy was posed with a grown-up man. They looked like they were doing really weird gross things to one another. Why would anyone want to do stuff like that?

Abie closed the magazines. The pictures were making him sick. He didn’t even know why. They just did.

“Doesn’t that look fun, Abie? Wouldn’t you like us to have some fun like the people in the magazine?”

Abie didn’t answer. He didn’t want to say yes, but he couldn’t think of any answer that wouldn’t infuriate Sam. It was so hard to think.

“Answer me, Abie. Wouldn’t you like to take some pictures like that?”

There was something new in Sam’s eyes, something that frightened Abie. If he could run through that door now, he would, no matter what the chances. But Sam had clamped his hands down on his shoulders again. Abie couldn’t move.

“Answer me, damn it!” Sam literally picked Abie up off the ground and shook him violently back and forth. “Don’t you want to pose for the goddamn pictures!”

Abie felt tears welling up in his eyes. He didn’t want to cry; his dad had told him that only babies cry. But he couldn’t help himself. He was so scared. So so scared.

“You’re being a bad boy, Abie!” Sam was screaming now. He shook Abie again and again, harder and harder. “You shouldn’t be a bad boy. Bad boys have to be punished! Don’t you understand?”

“S-sure,” Abie said, voice cracking. “What—whatever you want.”

Sam took a deep breath, then released it. The color returned to his face.

“Well, good,” Sam said finally when he had sufficiently recovered himself. “That’s very good indeed. Let’s take some pictures, then. Now, do you want to take your clothes off yourself”—he leaned forward and pressed his face into the boy’s hair, drinking in his scent—“or should I take them off for you?”

Mike drove Ben up and down the streets of the abandoned Richfield section of north Tulsa. Ben scanned the streets on both sides of the car. It was all unfamiliar to him. Richfield was a district Ben had never had any occasion to visit. As far as he knew, no one ever came here.

Most of the buildings had been razed. The few that were still standing were gutted or boarded up. Rubble was strewn throughout the streets and alleys. A few years back a wealthy real-estate developer had proposed developing this part of town into an upper-class preserve, a yuppie enclave. Gilcrease, only nicer. He bought up and tore down most of the residences and street-front stores, but before he got to the renovation part of the plan, the oil bust hit, followed by the long-lingering recession. The project was abandoned. And Richfield was left in shambles, even worse off than it had been before.

“Are you sure this is where the creep lives?” Ben asked as he stared at the urban oblivion.

“I’m sure this is the address the DMV gave me for his license-plate number.”

“Are we sure it belongs to the man we’re looking for?”

“The car registered is a gray Ford sedan. Unless he stole the car, this is the right address.”

Ben peered through the passenger window at the vast wasteland. “But no one could live out here.”

Mike nodded grimly. “I think we have to face reality. The man we’re after is smart. And careful. And he didn’t start this sick business yesterday, either. He prepared.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, for instance, he registered his car and license under a fake address. It’s not that hard to do. No one really checks; most of the time the officials will blindly accept anything you write on the form.”

“That’s disappointing.”

“Very. After all, if the address is fake, it’s a safe bet the name is fake, too.”

“But why here? Why this address?”

“Beats me. Probably it’s the first address that came to his mind. Maybe he’d been out here for some other reason and knew no one lived here. After all, the only way he could be caught would be if he gave an address already claimed by someone else. The computer would catch that. So he probably—”

Without warning, Mike slammed down on the brakes. Since he had been traveling at a considerable speed, the sudden stop threw Ben forward against the dash.

“What are you doing?” Ben screamed. “There’s not another car in sight! Only you could nearly kill us when you’re the only car on the road.”

Mike didn’t say anything. He was staring out the window on his side of the car.

“What’s the matter? What are you looking at?”

“I’m not entirely sure. But I think it’s … yes!” Mike popped open the door and sprang out of the car. “Blue!”

“Blue?”

“Right. I’ll go in the front. You drive around the block and watch the rear exit. And call for backup. We may need it. Don’t let him get away!”

“Blue?” Ben wanted to ask several more detailed questions, but it was too late. Mike was already barreling across the street, his trench coat flapping in the breeze.

What was it Mike saw? Ben squinted into the blazing sun and peered at the building Mike was making a beeline for. It looked like all the rest of them to Ben. Empty, hollowed out. Ruined. Graffiti on the walls. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except—

Wait a minute. He was looking too high. There was something on the ground, something on the sidewalk in front of the building.

Something blue.

Ben crawled into the driver’s seat and threw the car into drive while fumbling with the handset.

It was a blue book bag.