Soultaker

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The name of the place was GUN CITY USA. It was a sort of firearm superstore. A Walmart for hunters and aspiring mass killers. The store offered rifles, shotguns, and sidearms of every make and caliber imaginable. Some of the rifles looked like the kind of thing a motivated sociopath might easily convert into a fully automated killing machine.

Raymond Slater was appalled.

These were the things that had haunted his pre-Lamia nightmares. Every time a story broke about some new school shooting a chill went up his spine. He lived with an ever-present dread that something similar might occur at Rockville High one day. On his worst days, a Columbine-style massacre at his school seemed inevitable, which he realized wasn’t entirely rational, and so he’d sought the help of a therapist, who’d dispensed antidepressants and antianxiety meds by the fistful. The pills helped some, but the affair with Penelope had been the real cure for his stress. But now even that was lost to him, though she didn’t know that yet.

Because the time had come for Raymond Slater to make a stand.

Following a long night of degradation and humiliation, Penelope had left him to his own devices this morning. That bitch. So smug. So certain he was again a thoroughly cowed man. He knew his place in Lamia’s scheme and would perform as required. It was a given. They thought he was a spineless, weak-willed man incapable of rebellion. The threat of torture and death would certainly be enough to keep a cretin like him in line. And if by some remote chance he should develop the testicular fortitude to oppose them, well…

Josefina.

Sweet little Jo…

Something tugged at his heart at the thought of his daughter’s name. His only child. She was all he had left. And they had threatened her. She would die in the slowest and most agonizing manner possible if he attempted to stop today’s planned mass murder at Rockville High. This was according to Penelope, who said she was relaying the message on behalf of Lamia. And though Jo was at a college hundreds of miles to the north, Raymond knew this was no empty threat. So he had been forced to weigh the possible loss of his beautiful daughter against the potential loss of hundreds of young lives.

The decision to rebel was the hardest he’d ever been forced to make.

He felt hollow inside.

Desolate.

But he knew this-a man forced to sacrifice so much must do his damnedest to get the job done.

He sucked in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and turned away from a display of various trinkets emblazoned with NRA-approved slogans. The morbidly obese man in red suspenders behind the register at the checkout counter eyed him with obvious suspicion. Raymond forced his mouth to form something that may have resembled a smile. And he stood there. Still not moving. The big man still watching him, slowly moving a green toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other. The store was nearly empty this time of day. Raymond had actually been counting on that. But now he was wishing he had come at a busier time. Now he wanted nothing more than to blend in with a crowd. To be anonymous. What if this man was in cahoots with Lamia?

Was he paranoid?

Maybe.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

Raymond approached the counter and coughed. “I would like to purchase a firearm.”

The man behind the register smirked around his toothpick. “Didn’t figure you were here for milk and cookies,” the man said in a slow redneck drawl. He removed the toothpick and noisily sucked moisture from the corners of his mouth. “Whatcha lookin’ for?”

“Excuse me?”

The man made a sound that might have been a laugh or a grunt of contempt. “What I mean is, do you need something for protection or…” He hesitated, smirked. “Or something to hunt with?”

Raymond cleared his throat and stepped closer to the counter. “Hunting.”

“No shit.”

Raymond leaned over the counter, dropped his voice an octave. “I would like to buy a handgun and some type of shotgun, something with serious stopping power. The best you’ve got. Price is not an issue.”

“Mister, have you ever fired a gun in your life? Because, no offense, but-”

Raymond’s face reddened as he bristled at the man’s questions. “Is this not a place of business? Do you regularly interrogate potential customers? Because if you don’t want my money, I’m sure-”

“Now hold on, don’t get yourself all riled up.” The big man grinned. “I don’t mind takin’ your money. Was just curious, is all. Let me show you some stuff.”

The big man showed him an array of handguns and shotguns. He spent a lot of time extolling the relative virtues of each piece. Most of the finer points went over Raymond’s head. There was something else he’d been thinking about and while he listened to the man talk he tried to work up the nerve to broach the subject.

To his relief, the man went there for him. “’Course, you know there’s a waiting period. Federal law.”

Raymond struggled to keep his face blank as he said, “I’ve, uh, heard…”

The man grinned, showing him a lot of yellow, uneven teeth. “This here’s the South, son. Federal laws are made to be broken, you know that. We can negotiate. I get the feeling you’re wanting these here hunting weapons sooner rather than later. Am I right?”

Raymond swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Thought so.” The clerk grinned again. “I’ll have to sell you something that ain’t from official stock. And you’ll have to pay cash. A lot of it. That a problem?”

This was a point Raymond had anticipated. He’d fattened his wallet with a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills prior to coming here. “Not at all.”

“Good.” The man put his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. “Roscoe! Cover the register while I talk to this man in back.”

A big, bearded behemoth of a man emerged from an aisle and approached the register. He looked like a younger version of the the clerk. Father and son, Raymond had no doubt. “Got it, Pa.”

The older man fished a fresh toothpick from his shirt pocket and wedged it in his mouth. “Good boy.” He looked at Raymond. “Now let’s do some business.”

Raymond followed him to the rear of the store, where they stepped through a door, through a room stacked with boxes, and then through another door.

Raymond’s jaw dropped. Then he closed his mouth and let out a low whistle. “My God…”

The clerk chuckled.

Raymond squinted as he moved deeper into the room. “Jesus…is that a…a bazooka?”

The man clapped a hand on his shoulder. “That, son, is a shoulder-mounted AT-7 antitank weapon.”

“I’ll take it.”

Some of the gun seller’s good humor evaporated. “Ain’t for sale. I may skirt the law a lot of ways, but selling heavy artillery’s a good way to wind up in the slam for a long stretch of years. Besides, you could be with Al Qaeda or some other batch of assholes. Nah, that sucker’s just for show. But looky here, I got some good stuff…”

Thirty minutes later Raymond Slater exited GUN CITY USA thousands of dollars poorer and in possession of the first firearms he’d ever owned, a Glock 9mm and a Mossberg pump-action shotgun. He’d also purchased several boxes of ammunition for both weapons. After stowing his booty in the trunk of the Lexus, he sat behind the wheel of the car for several minutes as he considered what to do next.

He was exhausted. It was possible he wasn’t thinking straight. The night before he’d watched his mistress decapitate his wife while his dick was still inside her. It was the sort of thing that would unhinge any man. By all rights, he should be a gibbering, useless mess, but here he was, a man on a mission. A man with murder on his mind.

So now he asked himself: Can I really do this?

But he’d been around the block with that one countless times and knew the answer.

I have to.

I have no choice.

If not me, then who?

Never in his life had Raymond Slater felt so alone. It wasn’t fair. This burden was more than any one human being should have to shoulder.

And yet…

I have no choice.

“Fuck!” He pounded the steering wheel with his fist several times, each blow punctuated with another curse: “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Then his fist missed the wheel and glanced off the horn pad, producing a single loud squawk. He winced and looked at the storefront. The big man-the older one-was behind the register again. At the sound of the horn he turned away from another customer and stared straight at Raymond. Raymond’s heart skipped a beat. If the man had any doubts about the wisdom of doing business with him, those doubts had likely edged closer to certainty. Raymond didn’t think the man would call the cops. That would mean at least as much trouble for him as it would for Raymond. Still, putting some distance between himself and the man’s suspicious eyes was probably a supremely excellent idea.

He started the Lexus and reached for the gearshift.

A knock at the driver’s-side window startled him.

Raymond let out a little squeak and reached for his chest. “Jesus!”

His heart slamming, he turned and saw Cindy Wells staring down at him through the closed window. She smiled and waved. The smile looked grotesque beneath her bandaged nose. Dark sunglasses obscured her eyes. The shades hid a dark shiner inflicted by the thing pretending to be a teenage girl named Myra Lewis. The thought sent a chill through Raymond. He believed in coincidence, but he did not believe in capital-C Coincidence. This was just too much. The idea that Cindy was now allied with Lamia struck him with sudden force and unassailable certainty. Rockville High’s expelled golden girl wouldn’t just happen to be outside a gun shop at the exact moment he was leaving the place.

She was following him.

Keeping tabs on him.

Raymond’s throat tightened. For a few tense moments, he saw all his grand plans going down in flames. He desperately wanted to bolt. His hand hovered near the gearshift as he debated a quick, rubber-burning departure.

Cindy was still smiling, but the expression was beginning to falter at the edges. She made a rolling motion with her hand and said something that was unintelligible through the window.

A thought struck him. His hand came away from the gearshift. He was suddenly sure he should talk with her, if only long enough to allay any suspicions he might be planning something that could piss off Lamia. He pressed a button and the window lowered a few inches.

Cindy’s smile brightened again. “Hello, Mr. Slater.”

Raymond cleared his throat. “Hello, Cindy. What-” He stopped, realizing he’d been about to ask why she wasn’t in school. Stupid. He knew the answer to that. Instead, he settled for the next obvious question. “What are you doing here?”

Still smiling, she said, “Following you.”

Raymond gulped. His gaze flicked to the gearshift. “I, uh…”

Cindy’s expression turned solemn. “Don’t.” A note of pleading entered her voice. “Listen to me, okay? I need to talk to you about Myra Lewis. I know you’ll think I’m crazy, but I think she’s planning to hurt a lot of people. We need to do something to stop her.”

For a moment, Raymond felt something that might have been hope. More than anything, he didn’t want to do this alone. He touched the button again and the window lowered another few inches. He leaned toward Cindy and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I have a plan. It’s not much, but it’s better than-”

He let out a startled shriek as Cindy stuck her head through the newly widened opening and wriggled in to her waist. Her right hand went for the key ring dangling from the ignition, but he batted it away. She laughed and reached for the keys again. Raymond knew he had to do something drastic or risk losing his chance at salvation. He backhanded her with a tight, hard blow, knocking the sunglasses off her face. Cindy howled in agony and started screaming about her nose. Raymond unclipped his seat belt, twisted in his seat, and braced his palms against the top of her head. The fleeting thought that her soft, conditioned hair felt nice against his fingers whistled through his mind like a bottle rocket; then he gave her a mighty shove and she fell back through the opening. She staggered backward, wobbling on high heels for a moment, then fell hard on her ass. He saw that she was dressed in a tiny halter and a tight black miniskirt. They made her look like a cheap hooker. Nothing at all like the effervescent, brainy head cheerleader he’d known for four years. Seeing her lying there on parched asphalt with her long, shapely legs splayed open triggered a spark of crazy lust.

He gave his head a hard shake and put the Lexus in gear.

Cindy began the laborious process of getting to her feet.

Slater backed up the Lexus and executed a quick three-point turn. Then he stomped the gas pedal down and the car shot to the edge of the parking lot.

He hit the brakes and let out a scream of frustration. An 18-wheeler was blocking his way, slowing down as it neared the intersection. Raymond glanced at the rearview mirror. Cindy still wasn’t upright. The older gun-shop clerk was at her side, offering his assistance. A knife appeared in her hand. The blade flashed in the morning sunlight before she stuck it in the man’s throat. Raymond whimpered and whipped his head back toward the street. The 18-wheeler was rolling slowly through the three-way stop. He heaved a sigh of relief and let his foot off the brake, allowing the Lexus to roll closer to the edge of the street.

Then Cindy was there again, screaming and launching herself through the halfway-open driver side window. Raymond might have cursed his stupid failure to close the window had he been capable of coherent thought in that moment. Instead he matched Cindy’s scream with an impressive one of his own as he dodged the bloody blade in her hand. Then he looked in front of him and saw that the street was clear again. He hit the gas and the Lexus surged into the street, straight toward the brick wall of a building on the opposite side. He spun the wheel hard to the left and the car swerved back to the street.

There was a massive thump and Cindy loosed a scream of sheer agony. Raymond realized two things in the next moment.

One, the lower half of the psychotic cheerleader’s body had struck a telephone pole with extraordinary force.

And two, the Lexus was still speeding down the street.

He pulled his leaden foot off the accelerator and hit the brake. Then he twisted the steering wheel and ducked down an alley, dragging Cindy Wells’s now very limp body along with him. He slammed the gearshift to the park position and sat there struggling not to hyperventilate for several moments. After he had calmed down some, he forced himself to look at Cindy. She was very still and at first he was sure she was dead. Then he looked at her throat and saw the slow throb of a weak pulse.

He thought about taking her to a hospital, but dismissed the idea as ridiculous. Doing that would doom everything and Cindy would probably die anyway.

Frustration made Raymond pound the steering wheel again. “Fuck!”

His breath hitched and a sob worked its way out of his throat. A series of progressively more wrenching sobs followed. This lasted until it hit him that he was living down to Lamia’s worst assumptions about him. He wiped the tears from his eyes and looked at the rearview mirror. There was no one behind him. A glance through the windshield confirmed that the opposite end of the alley was also deserted. But it wouldn’t be for long.

He got out of the car. The sight of Cindy’s badly mangled legs made him gag. They were twisted and broken, though he saw no compound fractures, no shards of bone sticking through punctured flesh. In that regard only she’d been lucky. Not that it mattered. Cindy’s limited future remained very bleak. Raymond choked down bile and forced himself to act quickly. He extracted the girl from the shattered window and dragged her to the rear of the Lexus. She whimpered softly, but did not regain consciousness. Raymond opened the trunk, hoisted her up, and dropped her inside. He hesitated a moment, his hand poised on the trunk lid, ready to slam it down. By all rights, the broken girl should no longer pose much of a threat, but he knew he shouldn’t take that for granted. With this much weirdness in the air, that would be the height of arrogance.

He removed his GUN CITY USA purchases from the trunk and stowed them in the backseat.

Then he slammed the trunk and got the hell out of there.