Twisted: The Collected Short Stories of Jeffery Deaver Page 4

  I got a couple glasses and took the bottle back to the living room. Thinking this was a good idea. When it came time to do it it'd be easier for him and for me both if we were kinda tanked. I shoved my Smitty into his neck and cut the tape his hands were tied with then taped them in front of him. I sat back and kept my knife near, ready to go, in case he tried something. But it didn't look like he was going to do anything. He read over the scotch bottle, kind of disappointed it was cheap. And I agreed with him there. One thing I learned a long time ago, you going to rob, rob rich.

  I sat back where I could keep an eye on him.

  "The last reason. Okay, I'll tell you. I'm going to prove to you that you should let me go."

  "You are?"

  "All those other reasons — the practical ones, the humanitarian ones… I'll concede you don't care much about those — you don't look very convinced. All right? Then let's look at the one reason you should let me go."

  I figured this was going to be more crap. But what he said was something I never would've expected.

  "You should let me go for your own sake."

  "For me? What're you talking about?"

  "See, Jack, I don't think you're lost."

  "Whatta you mean, lost?"

  "I don't think your soul's beyond redemption."

  I laughed at this, laughed out loud, because I just had to. I expected a hell of a lot better from a hotshot vice-president salesman like him. "Soul? You think I got a soul?"

  "Well, everybody has a soul," he said, and what was crazy was he said it like he was surprised that I didn't think so. It was like I'd said wait a minute, you mean the earth ain't flat? Or something.

  "Well, if I got a soul it's taken the fast lane to hell." Which was this line I heard in this movie and I tried to laugh but it sounded flat. Like Weller was saying something deep and I was just kidding around. It made me feel cheap. I stopped smiling and looked down at Toth, lying there in the corner, those dead eyes of his just staring, staring, and I wanted to stab him again I was so mad.

  "We're talking about your soul."

  I snickered and sipped the liquor. "Oh, yeah, I'll bet you're the sort that reads those angel books they got all over the place now."

  "I go to church but, no, I'm not talking about all that silly crap. I don't mean magic. I mean your conscience. What Jack Prescot's all about."

  I could tell him about social workers and youth counselors and all those guys who don't know nothing about the way life works. They think they do. But it's the words they use. You can tell they don't know a thing. Some counselors or somebody'11 talk to me and they say, Oh, you're maladjusted, you're denying your anger, things like that. When I hear that, I know they don't know nothing about souls or spirits.

  "Not the afterlife," Weller was going on. "Not morality. I'm talking about life here on earth that's important. Oh, sure, you look skeptical. But listen to me. I really believe if you have a connection with somebody, if you trust them, if you have faith in them, then there's hope for you."

  "Hope? What's that mean? Hope for what?"

  "That you'll become a real human being. Lead a real life."

  Real… I didn't know what he meant but he said it like what he was saying was so clear that I'd have to be an idiot to miss it. So I didn't say nothing.

  He kept going. "Oh, there're reasons to steal and there're reasons to kill. But on the whole, don't you really think it's better not to? Just think about it: Why do we put people in jail if it's all right for them to murder? Not just us but all societies."

  "So, what? Ooooo, I'm gonna give up my evil ways?"

  And he just lifted his eyebrow and said, "Maybe. Tell me, Jack, how'd you feel when your buddy — what's his name?"

  "Joe Roy Toth."

  "Toth. When he shot that customer by the counter? How'd you feel?"

  "I don't know."

  "He just turned around and shot him. For no reason. You knew that wasn't right, didn't you?" And I started to say something. But he said, "No, don't answer me. You'd be inclined to lie. And that's all right. It's an instinct in your line of work. But I don't want you believing any lies you tell me. Okay? I want you to look into your heart and tell me if you didn't think something was real wrong about what Toth did. Think about that, Jack. You knew something wasn't right."

  All right, I did. But who wouldn't? Toth screwed everything up. Everything went sour. And it was all his fault.

  "It dug at you, right, Jack? You wished he hadn't done it."

  I didn't say nothing but just drank some more scotch and looked out the window and watched the flashing lights around the town. Sometimes they seemed close and sometimes they seemed far away.

  "If I let you go you'll tell 'em about me."

  Like everybody else. They all betrayed me. My father — even after he went blind, the son of a bitch turned me in. My first PO, the judges. Sandra. My boss, the one I knifed.

  "No, I won't," Weller said. "We're talking about an agreement. I don't break deals. I promised I won't tell a soul about you, Jack. Not even my wife." He leaned forward, cupping the booze between his hands. "You let me go, it'll mean all the difference in the world to you. It'll mean that you're not hopeless. I guarantee your life'll be different. That one act — letting me go — it'll change you forever. Oh, maybe not this year. Or for five years. But you'll come around. You'll give up all this, everything that happened back there in Liggett Falls. All the crime, the killing. You'll come around. I know you will."

  "You just expect me to believe you won't tell anybody?"

  "Ah," Weller said and lifted his bound-up hands to drink more scotch. "Now we get down to the big issue."

  Again, that silence and finally I said, "And what's that?"

  "Faith."

  There was this burst of siren outside, real near, and I told him to shut up and pushed the gun against his head. His hands were shaking but he didn't do anything stupid and a few minutes later, after I sat back, he started talking again. "Faith. That's what I'm talking about. A man who has faith is somebody who can be saved."

  "Well, I don't have any goddamn faith," I told him.

  But he kept right on talking. "If you believe in another human being you have faith."

  "Why the hell do you care whether I'm saved or not?"

  "Because life's hard and people're cruel. I told you I'm a churchgoer. A lot of the Bible's crazy. But some of it I believe. And one of the things I believe is that sometimes we're put in these situations to make a difference. I think that's what happened tonight. That's why you and I both happened to be at the drugstore at the same time. You've felt that, haven't you? Like an omen? Like something happens and is telling you you ought to do this or shouldn't do that."

  Which was weird 'cause the whole time we were driving up to Liggett Falls, I kept thinking something funny's going on. I don't know what it is but this job's gonna be different.

  "What if," he said, "everything tonight happened for a purpose? My wife had a cold so I went to buy NyQuil. I went to that drugstore instead of 7-Eleven to save a buck or two. You happened to hit that store at just that time. You happened to have your buddy" — he nodded toward Toth's body "with you. The cop car just happened by at that particular moment. And the clerk behind the counter just happened to see him. That's a lot of coincidences. Don't you think?"

  And then — this sent a damn chill right down my spine — he said, "Here we are in the shadow of that big rock, that face."

  Which is one hundred percent what I was thinking. Exactly the same — about the Lookout, I mean. I don't know why I was. But I happened to be looking out the window and thinking about it at that exact same instant. I tossed back the scotch and had another and, oh, man, I was pretty freaked out.

  "Like he's looking at us, waiting for you to make a decision. Oh, don't think it was just you, though. Maybe the purpose was to affect everybody's life there. That customer at the counter your friend shot? Maybe it was just his time to go — fast, you know, before he got cancer or
had a stroke. Maybe that girl, the clerk, had to get shot in the leg so she'd get her life together, maybe get off drugs or give up drinking."

  "And you? What about you?"

  "Well, I'll tell you about me. Maybe you're the good deed in my life. I've spent years thinking only about making money. Take a look at my wallet. There. In the back."

  I pulled it open. There were a half dozen of these little cards, like certificates. Randall Weller — Salesman of the Year. Exceeded Target Two Years Straight. Best Salesman of 1992.

  Weller kept going. "There are plenty of others back in my office. And trophies too. And in order for me to win those I've had to neglect people. My family and friends. People who could maybe use my help. And that's not right. Maybe you kidnapping me, it's one of those signs to make me turn my life around."

  The funny thing was, this made sense. Oh, it was hard to imagine not doing heists. And I couldn't see myself, if it came down to a fight, not going for my Buck or my Smitty to take the other guy out. That turning the other cheek stuff, that's only for losers. But maybe I could see a day when my life'd be just straight time. Living with some woman, maybe a wife, and not treating her the way I'd treated Sandra, living in a house. Doing what my father and mother, whatever she was like, never did.

  "If I was to let you go," I said, "you'd have to tell 'em something."

  He shrugged. "I'll say you locked me in the trunk and then tossed me out somewhere near here. I wandered around, looking for a house or something, and got lost. It could take me a day to find somebody. That's believable."

  "Or you could flag down a car in an hour."

  "I could. But I won't."

  "You keep saying that. But how do I know?"

  "That's the faith part. You don't know. No guarantees."

  "Well, I guess I don't have any faith."

  "Then I'm dead. And your life's never gonna change. End of story." He sat back and shrugged.

  That silence again but it was like it was really this roar all around us. "You just want… What do you want?"

  He drank more scotch. "Here's a proposal. Let me walk outside."

  "Oh, right. Just let you stroll out for some fresh air or something?"

  "Let me walk outside and I promise you I'll walk right back in again."

  "Like a test?"

  He thought about this for a second. "Yeah. A test."

  "Where's this faith you're talking about? You walk outside, you try to run and I'd shoot you in the back."

  "No, what you do is you put the gun someplace in the house. The kitchen or someplace. Somewhere you couldn't get it if I ran. You stand at the window, where we can see each other. And I'll tell you up front I can run like the wind. I was lettered track and field in college and I still jog every day of the year."

  "You know if you run and bring the cops back it's all gonna get bloody. I'll kill the first five troopers come through that door. Nothing'll stop me and that blood'll be on your hands."

  "Of course I know that," he said. "But if this's going to work you can't think that way. You've got to assume the worst is going to happen. That if I run I'll tell the cops everything. Where you are and that there're no hostages here and that you've only got one or two guns. And they're going to come in and blow you to hell. And you're not going to take a single one down with you. You're going to die and die painfully 'cause of a few lousy bucks. But, but, but…" He held up his hands and stopped me from saying anything. "You gotta understand, faith means risk."

  "That's stupid."

  "I think it's just the opposite. It'd be the smartest thing you'd ever do in your life."

  I tossed back another scotch and had to think about this.

  Weller said, "I can see it there already. Some of that faith. It's there. Not a lot. But some."

  And yeah, maybe there was a little. 'Cause I was thinking about how mad I got at Toth and the way he ruined everything. I didn't want anybody to get killed tonight. I was sick of it. Sick of the way my life had gone. Sometimes it was good, being alone and all. Not answering to anybody. But sometimes it was real bad. And this guy Weller, it was like he was showing me something different.

  "So," I said. "You just want me to put the gun down?"

  He looked around. "Put it in the kitchen. You stand in the doorway or window. All I'm gonna do is walk down to the street and walk back."

  I looked out the window. It was maybe fifty feet down the driveway. There were these bushes on either side of it. He could just take off and I'd never find him.

  All through the sky I could see police-car lights flickering.

  "Naw, I ain't gonna. You're nuts."

  I expected begging or something. Or him getting pissed off more likely — which is what happens to me when people don't do what I tell them. Or don't do it fast enough. But, naw, he just nodded. "Okay, Jack. You thought about it. That's a good thing. You're not ready yet. I respect that." He sipped a little more scotch, looking at the glass. And that was the end of it.

  Then all of a sudden these searchlights started up. They was some ways away but I still got spooked and backed away from the window. Pulled my gun out. Only then I saw that it wasn't nothing to do with the robbery. It was just a couple big spotlights shining on the Lookout. They must've gone on every night, this time.

  I looked up at it. From here it didn't look like a face at all. It was just a rock. Gray and brown and these funny pine trees growing sideways out of cracks.

  Watching it for a minute or two. Looking out over the town. And something that guy was saying went into my head. Not the words, really. Just the thought. And I was thinking about everybody in that town. Leading normal lives. There was a church steeple and the roofs of small houses. A lot of little yellow lights in town. You could just make out the hills in the distance. And I wished for a minute I was in one of them houses. Sitting there. Watching TV with a wife next to me.

  I turned back from the window and I said, "You'd just walk down to the road and back? That's it?"

  "That's all. I won't run off, you don't go get your gun. We trust each other. What could be simpler?"

  Listening to the wind. Not strong but a steady hiss that was comforting in a funny way even though any other time I'da thought it sounded cold and raw. It was like I heard a voice. I don't know. Something in me said I oughta do this.

  I didn't say nothing else 'cause I was right on the edge and I was afraid he'd say something that'd make me change my mind. I just took the Smith & Wesson and looked at it for a minute then went and put it on the kitchen table. I came back with the Buck and cut his feet free. Then I figured if I was going to do it I oughta go all the way. So I cut his hands free too. Weller seemed surprised I did that. But he smiled like he knew I was playing the game. I pulled him to his feet and held the blade to his neck and took him to the door.

  "You're doing a good thing," he said.

  I was thinking: Oh, man. I can't believe this. It's crazy. Part of me said, Cut him now, cut his throat. Do it!

  But I didn't. I opened the door and smelled cold fall air and wood smoke and pine and I heard the wind in the rocks and trees above our head.

  "Go on," I told him.

  Weller started off and he didn't look back to check on me, see if I went to get the gun… faith, I guess. He kept walking real slow down toward the road.

  I felt funny, I'll tell you, and a couple times when he went past some real shadowy places in the driveway and could disappear I was like, Oh, man, this is all messed up. I'm crazy.

  I almost panicked a few times and bolted for the Smitty but I didn't. When Weller got down near the sidewalk I was actually holding my breath. I expected him to go, I really did. I was looking for that moment — when people tense up, when they're gonna swing or draw down on you or bolt. It's like their bodies're shouting what they're going to be doing before they do it. Only Weller wasn't doing none of that. He walked down to the sidewalk real casual. And he turned and looked up at the face of the Lookout, like he was just another weekender.
r />   Then he turned around. He nodded at me.

  Which is when the cop car came by.

  It was a state trooper. Those're the dark ones and he didn't have the light bar going. So he was almost here before I knew it. I guess I was looking at Weller so hard I didn't see nothing else.

  There it was, two doors away, and Weller saw it the same time I did.

  And I thought: That's it. Oh, hell.

  But when I was turning to get the gun I saw this motion down by the road. And I stopped cold.

  Could you believe it? Weller'd dropped onto the ground and rolled underneath a tree. I closed the door real fast and watched from the window. The trooper stopped and turned his light on the driveway. The beam — it was real bright — it moved up and down and hit all the bushes and the front of the house then back to the road. But it was like Weller was digging down into the pine needles to keep from being seen. I mean, he was hiding from those sons of bitches. Doing whatever he could to stay out of the way of the light.

  Then the car moved on and I saw the lights checking out the house next door and then it was gone. I kept my eyes on Weller the whole time and he didn't do nothing stupid. I seen him climb out from under the trees and dust himself off. Then he came walking back to the house. Easy, like he was walking to a bar to meet some buddies.

  He came inside. Gave this little sigh, like relief. And laughed. Then he held his hands out. I didn't even ask him to. I taped 'em up again and he sat down in the chair, picked up his scotch and sipped it.

  And, damn, I'll tell you something. The God's truth. I felt good. Naw, naw, it wasn't like I'd seen the light or anything like that crap. But I was thinking that of all the people in my life — my dad or my ex or Toth or anybody else, I never did really trust them. I'd never let myself go all the way. And here, tonight, I did. With a stranger and somebody who had the power to do me some harm. It was a pretty scary feeling but it was also a good feeling.

  A little thing, real little. But maybe that's where stuff like this starts. I realized then that I'd been wrong. I could let him go. Oh, I'd keep him tied up here. Gagged. It'd be a day or so before he'd get out. But he'd agree to that. I knew he would. And I'd write his name and address down, let him know I knew where him and his family lived. But that was only part of why I'd let him go. I wasn't sure what the rest of it was. But it was something about what'd just happened, something between me and him.