Chapter Nine

Brother Caleb

Canaan Camp, May 26

           Paget shoved the car forward roughly along and across the sun baked, ceramic ruts, heedless of damage to the undercarriage.  He cursed the old man loudly and at length for his single-minded pig-headedness.  At two the old man had fallen asleep again, but not before insisting for the third day in a row that John Campbell be brought up to see him.  Although Joshua was now convinced that the Stick Man had been ignoring his summons, Paget was uneasy about the meeting.

           The combination of drugs, starvation, and misinformation had disorganized the old man's thoughts thoroughly.  Joshua didn't even know what day it was unless Paget told him.  He had finally inverted Joshua's sleep cycle at least.  Currently he sedated him at noon, woke him with a shot of the dust at eight, and then hit him with the "roofies" and alcohol whenever he couldn't stand his hyperactivity anymore.

           Bouncing roughly around a bend in the road, he looked through the dusty windshield at the farmhouse where he would find Campbell.  A picture of Joshua as he had left him flashed briefly into his mind.  He got a kick out of the his eyes with that hot, wild, speed-freak flit spiraling down to that cold vacant stare as the roacha took possession of the old burnout's gourd

           "He'll die on me," he said as he pulled into the drive.

           A girl looked up from her sweeping as he came across yard.  He took in the loose T-shirt concealing her ample rack.

           Ah, Miss Dusky, he thought.  Sister Raven.  The one the old faggot warned me not to defile.

           He almost laughed aloud thinking of the term.  Defile, bend, spindle, and mutilate.  How about that, Miss Dusky?

           "Hi," he said, flashing tooth.

           "Good afternoon," she replied with a shy smile.

           Paget knew that look.  Women were attracted by his muscular build and handsome face.  They got hungry as soon as they saw him, just some of them hid it better than others.  This one was trying hard.

           "Is John here?" he asked.

           "He's out back talking with Shane and Mr. Phillips."

           "Father Joshua sent me to get him," he said, looking around the side of the house as if preparing to go.

           "Say, are you new here?" he asked suddenly.

           "No.  I joined the Church over a year ago.  You came here a few weeks ago, didn't you?"

           It didn't surprise him that she knew.  Women noticed Bobby Lee.

97.

                   "That's right.  I think this is where I belong."

           "I know it's where I belong," she said, relieved that the conversation was turning toward the Church.

           "I'm Cal---Brother Caleb," he said, extending his hand.  "You're Sister Raven, right?"

           "Yes," she said, thrown off balance by his knowledge of her name.

           He held her hand, preventing her retreat.  He stood too close, stared too intently.  Raven had the feeling he was about to reach out his other hand and touch her.  When he released her hand the rising panic receded and she dismissed her fear as irrational. 

           That's all in your head, she told herself.  Part of your past.  People aren't like that here.

           Nevertheless, she took a step back.

           "Ever get bored?" he asked, staring into her eyes.

           "What?"

           "A pretty girl like you.  I bet you'd like a little excitement---like to have some fun, something this place seems to be a little short on sometimes."

           "No," she stammered, shaking her head.  It was the first time anyone in the camp had even hinted that Canaan wasn't perfect.

           "Hey, a beautiful woman like you wasn't meant to spend her whole like scrubbing pots and sweeping floors.  Joshua says there's more to life than that---that we ought to enjoy it.  Wouldn't you like a little fun?"

           Unbelievably, as if summoned by her previous thought, his hand reached out to stroke her cheek.  She flinched away before he could touch her.

           "That's not why we came here," she stuttered.  "I mean, we left all that behind us."

           "No," he said authoritatively.  "There's a time for work and a time for . . . well, for everything.  We aren't supposed to go around with long faces and act like we're suffering all the time.  Ask Father Joshua."

           The words were true, but Raven saw their context and knew exactly what he was driving at, and what he would do if she gave him the chance.  It was all so familiar, and she was dismayed her to discover that there was no escape from it even in Canaan Camp.

           Last year I would have just told him to go to hell, she thought.

           "Of course you're right," she began as if she were doing one side of a formal debate, "But I---"

           "I could be really nice to you," he interrupted.  "I could make you feel the way a beautiful woman is supposed to feel." 

           It's me.  I always cause this, thought Raven on the verge of tears.  It's like I'm wearing a sign, advertising.  I'm still just the whore's daughter.  But even as the thought stole into her mind, she rebelled.  No!  It's not me!  I didn't do anything to deserve this!  It's him.

           "Does your silence mean ‘Okay' or ‘We'll see?'" he asked stepping closer.  "If you need some time to think it over, I can wait."

           "Not now or ever!" she said sharply.  "I'm not interested in . . . anything you were talking about."

           He wanted to backhand her, kick her, knock the frigid superiority out of her.  Instead, he plastered on what he thought was a self-deprecating smile.

           "Look, I'm really sorry.  I . . . uh.  This is all so new to me and sometimes the old me still takes over.  Man is both flesh and spirit, you know.  The flesh took over . . . maybe because you're such a . . . beautiful, young . . . uh . . . sister."

           He thought that sounded good, especially the part about her being beautiful.  Women always wanted to hear that.

           "Can we just forget how stupid I've been, and you know . . . like start all over again?"

           He took her continued silence as evidence that he had succeeded in salvaging the situation.

98.

                   "We'll just be Brother Caleb and Sister Raven.  Okay?" he said, extending his hand again.

           Since she could think of no way to decline, she took his hand.

           "What was your last name?  Or did you say?"

           "I'm Raven Bliss," she replied, unable to keep the ice from her voice.

           Paget suppressed a sneer, and smiled.  It was wasted on her.  As Starry Dawn's daughter, she had been exposed since infancy to all forms and guises of male lust.  She now recognized Brother Caleb as one of those men who enjoyed making a woman do things she didn't want to do.

           "So, maybe I'll see you later?"  he suggested.

           Raven hadn't heard what he had said just before that, but she nodded, eager to end the conversation.  Another fake smile, and he disappeared around the house.  Raven returned to sweeping the porch mechanically, but she had been transported far away.

           "I've got a little girl just like you at home," the man said, showing yellowed teeth.  "Why don't you come sit on my lap?"

           Without waiting for her answer, he pulled her close.  As he picked her up, she looked pleadingly at her mother for rescue.  Starry Dawn only smiled.

           "I've got to run into town for a minute, Sugar.  This nice man will take care of you until I get back."

           The sound of the mufferless car faded, and the man's smile disappeared.

           "What are you girl?  Thirteen?"

           She nodded.

           "Get over here and let's see what you got."

           Starry Dawn's daughter didn't do anything that day that she hadn't done before, but she had never been made to feel so worthless.  The man only hit her once, but afterwards she wished he had beaten her unconscious.  When it was over she was a thing not a person.

           "He doesn't belong here," she muttered as she swept furiously at the already clean porch.  "Why did he have to come?  And why me?  Why always me?"

 

           Paget walked toward the high-pitched whine of a skill-saw slicing through plywood.  In the sudden silence of a finished cut, his voice startled the men working on a small building.

99.

                   "John, have you got a minute?"

           Campbell looked up in surprise.  "Sure, Cal.  I'm about through here.  What do you need?"

           Paget motioned him over, and then spoke softly so that the others wouldn't overhear.  "It's Father Joshua.  I'm worried about him.  Have you noticed the way he's behaving lately?"

           "I haven't seen him for awhile.  You know that."

           "You've known him longer than I have.  Has he ever done this before?  I mean, he isn't getting a lot of sleep, and at times he really seems out of it."

           "I've never known him to be out of it, as you say.  And as far as sleep is concerned, he's like clockwork.  That old saying of early to bed, early to rise---that's him."

           "That's what I was afraid of.  He doesn't seem to be himself the last few days.  I'm worried.  I wish you'd come up and see him."

           It had been a long time since Joshua had called for him, and John had been tempted to blame Cal for it.  Being an honest man, he recognized jealousy as the cause.  Something wasn't quite right about the new man that Joshua had taken to so quickly, and he was eager to talk with Joshua about it to find out what was going on.

           "Let's go," he said.

           "No.  Give me about an hour.  I'll try to get him up."

           "You mean he's sleeping now?  In the middle of the day?"

           Paget shrugged as if he were at a loss too. 

           "Hey, John.  He's the boss.  If he wants to sleep in the middle of the day, that's the way it is."

           "No.  There's something wrong.  I'm going up there right now."

           "Later, John.  He'll want to shower, shave, get dressed.  You've got to show him the proper respect.  I'm sure you agree."

It rankled that the new convert should be instructing him, but Campbell allowed as how the man was right.  That he was right, didn't make his apparent loss in standing any easier to take, however.

           "Okay, Cal.  I'll come up in an hour.  How's that?"

           "Make it two," said Paget, unable to resist exerting his authority.

 

           "John.  It's good to see you again.  Here.  Sit.  Sit."  Joshua said, indicating the couch across from the armchair in which he was sitting.  "Now, where have you been keeping yourself?

           "I've been busy with various things," said Campbell, noticing a faint sour smell as he approached the old man.  "There's a lot of work to organize in the camp."

100.

                   "Too busy to come and see me?"

           Joshua said it as if he were teasing, but John caught the reproach behind his words.

           "If I had known you wanted to see me, I would have come up immediately."

           "Is that why you ignored my summons?"

           "What summons?"

           "I sent for you yesterday."

           "Yesterday?"

           "And the day before.  Why didn't you come, or at least answer?"

           John looked questioningly at Paget who was standing behind Joshua.  Paget shrugged his shoulders as if to say he couldn't understand it either.

           "Brother Cal came to see me today, Father Joshua.  That's why I'm here."

           "You should have come when I called you, John," said the old man peevishly.

           "I didn't know you wanted to see me until today?"

           "You should have come," insisted the old man sulkily.

           "You're right, Father Joshua," said Campbell, trying to find a way to break free from the old man's looping petulance.  It was beginning to remind him of arguing with a spoiled child.  He wondered if Joshua had suffered a mini-stroke or was in the first stages of senility.  The possibility scared him.

           "I'm thirsty, Cal," said Campbell.  "Is there ice water in the fridge?"

           "No, but I'll go make you some."

           "I can do it," he said getting up and heading for the kitchen.

           The odor he had noticed earlier was stronger in the kitchen, but the sink was empty, and everything seemed to be in place, though there were stains on the counters and dust on the floor in the corners, which was odd and disturbing.  The old man had always been meticulous with his house cleaning.

           "See what I mean?" whispered Paget, coming in behind him.  "He keeps getting confused like that."

           "He's never been like this before, Cal.  He's always been as sharp as a tack."

101.

                  "He's old, John."

           John got ice and went to the sink, noticing with distaste the slightly greasy feel of the improperly washed glass as he filled it.  Whatever else he was, he decided, Cal Hodges was not much of a housekeeper.

           "I've been waiting for you all morning," complained Joshua loudly from the other room, apparently confused as to the time of day.

           "Oh there you are," he said as Campbell and Paget came back into the living room.  "I know you're busy, but I'd like an update once in a while on the new road?"

           "New road?" asked Campbell in surprise.  "What new road?"

           "What new road!  The one I told you to have built from the south entrance up to the house here.  When are you going to get that done?"

           "Father Joshua, we did that three months ago."

           The old man glared at him, or through him rather, his eyes oddly unfocused.

           "You remember when we built the road, don't you?" John asked gently.

           A look of fleeting comprehension came and passed in Joshua's eyes.  He ran the fingers of both hands through his greasy hair and sighed raggedly.

           "Of course I remember the road.  What are you talking about?"

           "About the road.  I---"

           "You neglected to consult me?  I'm to be consulted before you do anything new.  You're usurping your authority," the old man scolded.  "I won't have it!"

           "What are you---"

           "Go on, John.  I don't want to---I'm very disappointed in you!  Of all people, I never thought I'd have to worry about you."

           "But---"

           "Leave!" shouted Joshua, pushing himself up from the chair.

           He turned his back and shuffled toward his bedroom.

           John looked questioningly at Paget, who held his finger to his lips and motioned him toward the door.

102.

                   Once on the porch, Paget affected deep concern.

           "John, do you think the old fellow is getting that Alzheimer's or something?"

           Campbell thought just that, and it filled him with concern for the Church.  He wondered what would happen when Joshua was no longer able to function.  He was the second in command, so to speak, but he was no prophet. 

           "I don't know, Cal."

           "Caleb," said Paget.  "Father Joshua said I should be called Caleb."

           John looked at him with concern.

           "Caleb and Joshua were a lot alike, weren't they, John?"

           The thought suddenly occurred to Campbell that Cal might try to succeed Joshua as leader of the Wilderness Church, which was ridiculous on several counts, not the least of which was the fact that the Church would never follow a stranger, much less a novice.

           "They were both faithful," he said, dismissing the idea.

           "Well, I'll take good care of him.  Maybe this is just some temporary thing."

           Campbell left the house in a state of shock, not because of the ludicrous idea that the new convert could replace Joshua, but because Joshua might have to be replaced.  He wondered why he had never thought of the possibility (make that the eventuality) before.  Would his beloved Wilderness Church survive without Father Joshua?  He had to have faith that it would, but he couldn't shake his deep foreboding.

 

Canaan Camp Palace, May 28

          People of all ages milled around the bowl of the auditorium carrying trays from the weekly potluck buffet.  Joshua had initiated the tradition to engender a spirit of fraternity.  He had gotten the idea from his memories of the monthly PTA pie suppers of his rural childhood.  It worked well.  Canaan had become an extended family as well as a community.

         Small knots clustered together eating and talking.  Occasional peals of good-natured laughter lent a company picnic atmosphere.  Groups distributed themselves by age, the older ones congregated on the level floor in the center of the room.  The ages decreased as one went further back and higher in the amphitheater.  Here and there unmarried couples sat talking quietly.  One attractive young lady sat alone, as she usually did.

         "Mind if I sit here?"

103.

                 Shane stood a respectful distance away, holding a tray and a soft drink.

         "Of course," said Raven.  "I mean, of course not."

          "Thanks."

          He covered the silence and his feeling of ineptness by arranging his food and drink on a fold out desktop before sitting down beside her.  Shane was sure that he was making a terrible impression.

          Raven was uncomfortable but ambivalent.  His awkwardness portended future complications, but his basic honesty reassured her.  Every emotion he felt was either written on his face or reflected in his manner.  Although she had enjoyed few friendships, and none close, he seemed more like a friend to her than a suitor.  She liked him and enjoyed his company, and wished that she could freeze the relationship exactly where it was.

          It suddenly occurred to her that she was using him.  You're lying to him, she told herself.  Send him away.  Don't let him think anything can happen.

          "What have they had you working on since we got the Phillips moved in?" he asked, finally discovering something to say.

          "I've been with the weavers."

          The camp sold hand woven blankets and other craft items on line.  Along with the rough lumber from the sawmill, it brought in revenue.

          "I suppose it beats working in the cannery," he said.

          "Yes.  Making beautiful things and supporting the Church is rewarding---or it will be when I learn to weave."

          He nodded uneasily.  Knowing nothing about weaving, he had exhausted his store of conversation material.

          "What have you been doing?" she asked.

          "I'm back at the mill."

          "That's a hot job this time of year, I hear."

          "You heard right."

          Although he didn't know the word, the conversation seemed banal to him, and he desperately wanted to find something to talk about that would allow them to get to know each other, but casual conversation seemed beyond his ability. 

          "What brought you here, Raven?" he asked finally.

          She hesitated, considered telling him the truth, but then backed out.  How could she tell him about Starry Dawn?  How could she tell anyone?  Thankfully, the Church policy was to ask no questions about one's former life.

104.

                  "I guess I wanted to belong," she said.  "Canaan is the only place where I've ever felt like I did."

          Shane wondered how such a beautiful girl could feel insecure.  Before he came here, he would have said she was hot, but no one ever said anything like that here.

          "A girl like you would fit in anywhere---where there were nice people I mean."

           Raven had already said more about herself than she wanted, so she didn't respond.   

           "I like it here too," he said.  "But I honestly don't know if I can really fit in.  I've never really fit in anywhere.  I'm not like you, Raven.  People don't like me much."

          Shane abruptly stopped, wishing he hadn't said anything.

          "I like you, Shane," she said.  "You're an honest person."

          He tried to capture her eyes, to see if she were putting him on, but her head was down.  When she finally did look up, her large dark eyes held his for just a moment, and she smiled shyly, before looking away again.

          She could love me, he thought.  She really could.

          The amazing idea both elated him and filled him with dread.  He had messed up everything in his life, and he would probably mess this up too.

          Raven thought she had already messed things up.

         Why am I encouraging him? she wondered.  I just want a friend, but that's not what he wants.  No matter how nice he is, it won't be enough. 

 

          The noise in the auditorium went into decrescendo as the congregation gradually realized that Father Joshua had come to the dais.  Neither Shane nor Raven had their attention completely on Joshua's opening remarks, but, as with everyone else in attendance, that would soon change.

105.

                  "Tonight I will open to you the third seal," intoned Joshua, his familiar voice not as resonant as usual, but still commanding.

          "And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand.  And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine."

          Joshua looked blearily around the auditorium, and slammed his bible shut.  The amplified sound startled the auditorium to dead silence as members of the congregation looked mutely at each other for explanation of their leader's uncharacteristic behavior.

          "Now, any fool can tell you that this passage, the third seal, foretells a great famine," began their prophet in something resembling his customary manner.  "However, this is not a normal famine," he shouted.  "It is a contrived and world-wide famine brought about by the connivance and conspiracy of a world organization---and there are many world organizations already---yet they are one---and many, and their name is Legion.  I have seen---and they didn't want me to see---they don't want anyone to see what they have done---that I have seen when they didn't know that I was looking because their eyes were blinded by their own---and it was so that when they thought to do this thing, that God decided to confound them with a great confusion and they knew it not---but being the blind leading the blind, they all fell in the ditch---the pit, and it will be a deep, dark pit---lit only with the black fire of Hell!"

          Joshua paused to catch his breath.  He couldn't remember all that he had said, but was compelled to continue.  The words coming to him were piling up behind his eyes and demanded to be loosed before they split open his skull.  The blood pounded in his temples, and he wondered what was wrong with the air conditioning.

          The stunned congregation sat mute as each tried to understand what was happening.

          "This is a dreadful place," began Joshua again, now in a quiet voice full of despair.  "It is none other than the house of God.  I speak in parables---in tongues of fire---to gain a prophet's reward.  Will you receive a prophet in a prophet's name?"

          He paused puzzling over his own rhetorical question.  Staring slack-mouthed around the room, he tried to fix his gaze upon one set of eyes, any set, but his attention wandered, his eyes spiraled, flitting from one thing to another, making him nauseous.  To end his waxing vertigo he fixed his eyes upon the open book.  He peered intently, but couldn't make out a single word on the printed page.

          "This famine---yes, this famine---" he began slowly as he caught a glimmer of his retreating train of thought, "This famine commences the beginning of sorrows that herald the last times.  Already the enemy is at the gates---he will soon shut down the world economy---seeking to destroy the Church in a general conflagration that licks its evil tongue around every precious thing in this corrupted universe---the pains of Hell will lick into the open, festering sores that are the truths that this world trusts in!"

          Now the words came in quick staccato.  "Vanity of vanities---all is vanity that vain men have vainly trusted and opened their veins that they might spill their life's blood upon the alter of this altered world---but I alone saw and understood with a profound lack of moral courage when the evil one---in his time lack of understanding that this---this thing is now upon us and oh, that it might pass us by without noticing where we have hid and what we have been up to."

          Joshua paused for breath.

          "Children, bind up your wounds and hew the course of the battle with pride and humility lest ye fall by the wayside as wayfaring fowls foul the air with their ways and weigh down and devour your good works---and wait for the sign in the face of the sky!"

106.

                  Joshua spun away from the podium and lurched through the curtain behind the dais.

          Raven didn't know what to think except that something was horribly wrong.  She didn't know what a person would feel like when the last day arrived and the world was ending, but she imagined it was something like the way she was felt now.

          "My Lord, what was that all about?" asked an elderly woman near her.

          "Why, he was speaking in tongues," explained her husband with calm assurance.

 

          It took two glasses of wine laced with the roofies and nearly an hour to bring the old man down from the PCP.  Tonight's was the only church service Paget had ever enjoyed.  The sight of all those idiots squirming in their seats as they tried to rationalize the old man's crazy babbling had made him want to laugh out loud.  He remembered the shocked look of the stuck up slut while the old faggot was in full rant.  Some kid was sniffing around her.  Immediately a fantasy began forming in his mind.

          I'll use the roofies on both of them.  She'll wake up and think her boyfriend slipped her something and raped her while she was out.

          He laughed.

          She's probably so damned stupid and naive that she won't even know something happened---probably just think she had a rash.  Unless she's a virgin.  She'd have to be retarded not to figure it out then.

          The thought of her being a virgin excited him.

          She'll be too embarrassed to say anything, but that'll be the end of it for the kid.

          Paget's daydream only frustrated him.

          A loud snort drew his attention to the emaciated figure on the bed.

          The old man was getting a tolerance for the roofies.  At first the stuff had put the old man dead to the world for a good three and half hours.  Now it took more of it, and the effects wore off quicker.  Still, the stuff was powerful enough to cause total amnesia.

          It would be a shame to use that on you, Raven Bliss.  Bobby Lee wants you to know what's happening to you, and to remember it for the rest of your life, which may not be too damned long.

          He went in the bedroom and stood over the old man, listening to him snore.  Experimentally he placed his hand over Joshua's mouth.  The old man tried to turn his head, and his eyes flickered, but didn't open.  Paget released him and turned the light off.  He stood in the doorway, looking at the unconscious figure lying fully clothed on top the covers.  He went back and placed his hand over Joshua's mouth again.  The old man twisted away, groaning a muffled protest.  Paget grabbed Joshua's wrists, pinned them at his side, and jumped up onto the bed to straddle him.

          Joshua's eyes opened, making him think for just a moment that the drug hadn't taken effect.  He pressed his right hand over Joshua's mouth again, and then pinched shut his nostrils with the other.  The old man's feeble attempts to twist away quickly subsided to nothing.  The temptation to finish him off was intense, but Bobby Lee reminded himself that he was only experimenting.  In the morning he'd find out if the drug really produced total amnesia as everyone said.

          When the old man's struggles had ceased, Paget released him.  Climbing off the bed, he went to flip on the lights.  The old man's eyes were closed which was good, because he wasn't much use dead.  His face was bright red, and he was breathing raggedly.

107.

                  "Since you're still alive, I better get you ready for bed, Old Faggot."

          He roughly stripped off the old man's clothes, then yanked the covers out from under him, and threw them carelessly over him, before going to the kitchen for a drink of the sickening sweet wine the old man preferred.

          "My luck to be stuck with a wino," he grumbled.

          He momentarily considered the PCP.

          "No.  That screws up your head too much."

          He looked at the kitchen clock.

          "Only four!" he snorted in disgust.  "They're gonna kill you with boredom, Bobby Lee."

           If I could get Miss Dusky to come up here, I wouldn't be bored.

           He really wanted her.

            I ought to go get her---tell her Joshua needs her.

           But she was in the barracks with all the other single women.

          If I ran this place, I'd make me up a few rules, take me a few perks.  Old Joshua could get just about anything he wanted with this flock of sheep.  Just find him some verse he could twist around---he does that anyway.  I'll bet half the little lambs here would fall all over themselves to service the old boy.

         He laughed as he thought again of Joshua's incoherent raving.  At first, he was alarmed, afraid that he'd blown it.  After all, if Joshua lost the confidence of the people, then he might lose his hiding place.  But, in the end, it hadn't mattered.  If the idiots had followed the old man out here to the middle of nowhere, then they'd accept anything he said or did.

          "Damned lunatics!" he said as he drained the glass of awful-tasting wine.

          He couldn't get his mind off Miss Dusky.  He wanted her tonight, but that was out of the question unless he came up with a damned good plan.  He thought about it awhile, but inspiration refused to strike.  Seriously aroused by imagining what the girl would look, sound, and feel like, he decided that he needed relief.  Clearly, none was available at the camp, at least not tonight.  He went to the bedroom to get the car keys.

 

Springfield, Mo.

          He drove out past the barn where he had watched the teenagers making out when he had first come to the camp.  Then took the back road past bus graveyard on out to the highway.  By dusk he was prowling the streets of Springfield.

          He had found what he needed downtown when it leaned into the car window to flash its wares.  He agreed to a ridiculous price because it reminded him, until it opened its mouth, of Miss Dusky.  Price didn't matter anyway, because he wasn't going to pay.

           It had a specific motel in mind like always.  Paget tried to think of it as "she," which would have worked because it looked the part:  small, dark-haired, full-figured, and fine featured.  But as soon as it got in the car he realized his foolishness.  It smoked.  It talked incessantly.  But, worst of all, it plied its trade with a combination of nonchalance and aggressiveness that was a total turn-off.

          When he tried to salvage the situation by offering it liquor (with a roofie kicker, of course) it refused, and he lost it.  He jerked the car into a parking lot in the warehouse district.  Sensing danger, it yanked open the door and almost got away.  He used his fists to silence it.  Then it started begging, which got on his nerves, so he used his fists some more.  After checking to see that no one was near, he dragged the unconscious prostitute out and dumped her into the trunk.

           Outside of Springfield, he found a suitable spot to do what he had set out to do, but it turned out just as unsatisfying as he knew it would be.  It sensed its danger and began apologizing, which further infuriated him so he hit it until it was unconscious.

           Why is it so hard to find a decent whore? he asked himself as he studied the filthy thing lying unconscious on the passenger's seat.

           As he laughed aloud at the absurdity of the idea, headlights glared blindly in the rearview.  He hastily pushed the prostitute down out of sight just as the car stopped beside him.

108.

                  "Problems?" asked a male voice from the idling car.

           Paget smiled thinking that the cop was as lazy as most of them, and wouldn't get out of the car.

          "Not if this is Highway 60," he improvised.  "I haven't seen a sign in awhile, so I pulled off to consult a map.  Unfortunately I don't have one."

          "You're on 60 all right," said the man.  "Just about twenty miles east of Mansfield."

          "Well that's a relief," said Paget as he turned the ignition.

          "Glad to set your mind at ease.  You keep her under the speed limit and between the ditches, you hear."

          "Yes, sir.  Thanks, officer."

          When the car pulled away he saw the lights on the roof and the county insignia.  Luckily the whore had been out cold, but then she moaned, coming around.  He pulled onto a secondary road and turned into the driveway of a house set far back from the road and cut the engine.  He cut the lights, set the parking break, pocketed the keys and got out.

          He pulled it from the car and had it undress again.  When he was through he knelt over it, flexed his cramping fingers and catching his breath as he contemplated leaving the body where it lay.

          Not smart, he said to himself.  The county mountie had to have run the plates, so I can't leave this garbage here.

          He went back and popped the trunk.

          "You're no end of trouble," he said as he hefted the dead weight.

          He threw it into the trunk crookedly, and one leg refused to bend far enough to be forced inside.  Paget grabbed a handful of hair and pulled the body over so that he could get the foot inside.  He picked up the clothing and checked the ground to make sure that he was leaving nothing that could be identified.  Satisfied, he tossed the clothes atop the body and slammed the deck lid.