Dirty Secrets

Part 81

Two men got out of the Cadillac. The massive Ponytail Guy was unmistakable. Lyla recognized his accomplice as the driver of the SUV who attempted to abduct her. He wore his backward ballcap and white sunglasses. The pair of miscreants began climbing the hill.

"Junebug. Check out that car," said Ponytail Guy gesturing to Jack's car. "I'm gonna take a look up there." He pointed to the summit.

Lyla's heart lurched at the familiar baritone voice.

"Roger that," Junebug replied, tugging the ballcap tighter on his head. He lumbered up the incline toward Jack's car with a gun in his hand and the wind at his back.

Lyla nuzzled close to Jack, holding her breath. The dried leaves in the tall oak behind them clattered loudly against the stiff breezes.

They watched Junebug lean into the open window of Jack's car then skitter to the trunk, peeking inside at the bags of salt. He looked back into the passenger compartment and then returned to the trunk. He raised his handgun then trudged slowly up the hill wearing a vacuous expression, searching for the occupants.

Lyla crouched, rigid. Her fists clenched, her knuckles whitened.

In the fading daylight, Junebug wandered around short-winded, then noticed them bunched together in the shadows behind the rocks. "Hey, Denny!" he shouted. "Look who we got here."

They remained frozen.

"Come on outta there." He gestured with his gun, a stupid grin on his face.

To Lyla, Junebug looked like a twitchy meth head, all tics and nervous gestures, the gun unsteady in his hand.

Jack and Lyla stood, hands raised as Denny plodded down the hill with heavy footsteps.

"I knew you was lying," Denny said to Jack as he approached. "You weren't lost out here. You knew exactly where you were goin', didn't you?"

Jack didn't respond.

Denny shifted his gaze back and forth from Lyla to Jack. "So, you busted the camera. What were you planning to do up there you didn't want nobody to see? Huh?"

Neither said a word.

"So is that like some kind of a turn-on?" Junebug cackled. "You two come out here to bone on somebody's bones? That's pretty fuckin' sick."

"You're a goddamn idiot," Denny huffed. 

"Well, how do you know what they was up to?" Junebug replied.

Denny shook his head with disgust. "The party's over," he said. "Come on." He waved Lyla toward him. "I ain't got all day."

She ducked behind Jack, who took a fighting stance.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be, pal-y," Denny said, advancing. The guy was a wall of beef, stuffed into a stained t-shirt.

"Run," Jack said to Lyla.

"Bad idea." Junebug pointed the gun at her. "Keep them hands up in the air."

She felt the slim canister of Mace in her front pocket pressing against her thigh, unfortunately, out of reach. With worried eyes, she watched the beast close in on Jack.

Denny pulled a sap, a metal weight wrapped in a short stump of leather. He planted a boot, ready to strike when Jack threw a hard combination of punches, which landed squarely on Denny's jaw. The blows did little but enrage the brute. He charged, savagely swinging the sap several times as Jack crumpled to his knees, his teeth clenched in pain.

Lyla screamed when Jack hit the turf, motionless.

Someone in the Cadillac honked the horn.

"Yeah, we got 'em," Denny yelled, wiping the blood from his split lip.

"I'll keep an eye on him." Junebug trained his gun on Jack sprawled on the turf.

"Come on," said Denny. "He ain't going nowheres."

Dragging Lyla by the wrist Denny said, "Somebody wants to see you."

"Let go of me, you circus freak!" She jerked backward but resistance was futile.

Before Lyla could reach her pocket, Denny lifted her, carrying her downhill on his hip like a short wriggling surfboard, her arms pinned to her sides. He lugged her, kicking and screaming down to the Cadillac, Junebug following.

"Bring her to me." The distinct raspy voice sounded muffled and strained.

Lyla shrieked, her mind wiped blank by panic.

How? Rose should be in the hospital! Or in jail!

When Rose leaned forward out of the shadows in the back seat, Lyla screamed at the sight. Like a rotten apple, Rose's weathered face was misshapen, discolored from bruising. One eye was swollen shut beneath a black, inflated lid, the other eye was a patchwork of broken blood vessels. A network of wiring held her broken teeth together, her crooked jaw sagging to one side. Rose drew a straight razor. A glint of light caught the three-inch blade in her bony hand.

Denny shoved Lyla closer to the car, yanking her ponytail to make her throat available. A flare of pain shot down her spine, her eyes bulged from her sockets.

"Your luck's run out," Rose grunted through wired teeth. "I'm gonna watch you bleed out like a little chicken."