A Time of Predators

Her eyes, those dark shadowed wells without any sign of recognition or comprehension, didn’t react; but when Curt gently took hold of the receiver her fingers released it immediately. Her hand dropped laxly to the twist of ruined cloth which covered her womanhood.

Moving slowly, like a man trying not to startle a wild animal, Curt carried the phone to the far end of the workbench. He got the number from the operator, and dialed, watching Debbie the whole time.

“County General Hospital.”

“Barbara Anderson, please. She’s an R.N. on duty until three o’clock, I don’t know the floor or section. It is an extreme emergency involving Mrs. Anderson personally.”

The switchboard girl was either very bright or very efficient; in less than thirty seconds he heard Barbara’s voice, tight and high with tension, demanding to know what had happened to Jimmy.

“Nothing. This is Curt. I can only tell you this once, Barbara, so take down what you need. They’ve raped another girl, the one I told you about. Debbie Marsden. In the garage behind three-eight-seven Cuesta Avenue, C-u-e-s-t-a. She’s alive and conscious, but she’s catatonic, very pale, her respiration light and fast. I didn’t want to touch her to check the pulse. There’s been some bleeding, I’d guess internally, but I’d guess not very much unless they used something on her besides themselves. She’ll need—”

“The ambulance will be on its way directly.” Her voice was crisp.

“Right.” Curt was still looking at Debbie, his mouth a tight thin line. “Can you keep the police away from her until tomorrow?”

There was a pause. “If she’s in the state you describe, the doctor probably will put her under anyway. But...”

“I need tonight. I know where they are; they’re going to be waiting for me. I don’t want to disappoint them.”

“Oh.” She was silent for what seemed a long time. “You feel you—”

“That’s right.”

Curt could picture her, seemed to look into those remarkably clear green eyes.

She said, “I’ll manage. Come back to me, Curt.”

“Right,” he said again. Then he hung up.

He opened the double doors, waited until he heard the first far whisper of siren, and walked down to his VW. As the ambulance wheeled into Cuesta, he pulled sedately away from the curb. He drove north to Preston’s house in Redwood City, stuck an elbow through the glass of the kitchen door, and spent eight minutes finding Preston’s skin-diving gear.

Back home, he waterproofed a flashlight with electrician’s tape, rummaged through his old foot locker in the study until he found the black commando knife he had carried all through the war, and spent fifteen minutes on it with an oil stone. It had a needle point, double-edged blade. He needed it to butcher them, one by one, as befit the unspeakable pigs they were. Tonight they would die, or he would.

Finally he studied moon, tide, and sunset tables for that night, Friday, August 29th. Planning strategy, all fear burned away.

It was eighteen weeks to the day since Paula’s suicide.

Chapter 28

Champ Mather stood up and stretched his massive body in the deep shadows under the trees just beside the cabin, delighting in the tight powerful play of muscle. By the luminous hands of his watch, 8:45. That guy, that Halstead, he was almost an hour late. Pretty soon it’d be too dark to see him if he did come down the drive. That was too bad, because old Rick had fixed it up real smart. Champ here; Julio up beside the gate; and Heavy inside to answer Halstead’s knock.

But he sure was late, that guy.

A faint scuff of shoe on gravel dropped Champ back into his crouch. Through the gloom he could just make out, beyond the muted gleam of the Triumph, the lighter strip of gravel which marked the drive. That sure was smart of Rick, too, leaving the Triumph right out in plain sight while the wagon was hidden behind the cabin.

That Halstead would think Debbie and Rick were alone in there, would walk right up to the cabin. Once he was inside, they’d do him.

Champ licked his lips in delighted memory. Debbie’d been better than that old woman last spring, because she’d had that look in her eyes. Like a rabbit’s eyes when the back legs are busted with a bad shot, so you can take hold of its head and twist, slow-like, and feel the fibers letting go one at a time while it kicked and thrashed.

That Debbie, she wouldn’t walk with her legs together for a week, he bet. Champ snorted aloud with delight. He’d gone four times, himself. Julio only went the once on her. Heavy, he went twice, like to flattened her just getting on top of her.

“Some lookout you are,” said Julio, from right on top of him.

Wow! Remembering, he’d forgot about watching. He said, “Hey, Julio, how come that professor ain’t showed yet?”

“I don’t think he’s coming. What were you laughing at, Champ?”

“I was remembering how we done Debbie today.”

“Oh.” Julio’s voice was subdued. “Let’s go inside. It’s so dark he’d have to use a flashlight now if he came.”

“Gonna be some moon pretty soon, Julio.”