Chapter One: Arrest me? Me? Are you serious?
Goddam Moira and her big tits.
First thought when red lights flashed in the rear-view mirror.
Where the hell did he come from?
Second thought when red lights flashed in the rear-view mirror.
Had to be a sheriff. Outrun him, he’d call ahead and State Police would be waiting with some chickenshit violation on the Interstate. Easier to handle a hick sheriff than a smart-ass trooper.
Flip on the turn signal. Slow down.
What the hell. So he got a ticket. It had been a great week. Tuesday Moira agreed to visit his place on the hill. Wednesday the Jag was delivered. Thursday a major deal came together. Friday he took Moira and the Jaguar to the hills.
Shoulder too narrow here. Looks wider ahead.
Both Moira and the Jag performed as advertised, but Saturday morning it was let’s buy antiques. Saturday afternoon, let’s walk in the woods. Saturday night, let’s see a movie. Sunday morning, let me stay another week. The Jag made no demands.
Tap the brakes.
She thanked him Sunday morning in the kitchen, Sunday afternoon on the deck, and Sunday evening on the plush tan carpet that covered the first floor. By the time he showered and dressed and explained the burglar alarm it was eleven, and he had to step on it.
Shoulder wider here. Looks like a rest area.
Now a rube deputy was going to give him a ticket.
Tires crunched on gravel, rumbled on hard-packed ground. Red lights pulled over behind him, then went off. He pulled his license from his wallet, grabbed the registration and insurance card from over the visor, and lowered the window. A warm earthy smell. Not like the dry grassy air on the hill. Must be animals nearby. He turned to watch the approaching figure.
“What’s wrong, officer?”
Walked like a young guy, stopped close to the Jag. Only thing visible was the front of a sharply-creased uniform. “Are you…” Pulled a card from his shirt pocket. “Are you Noah LeVine?”
“Noah Levin, yeah, that’s me. Why?”
“Please step out of your car, Mr. Levine.”
“It’s Levin, and what’s this all about?”
Glanced again at his card. “I have to bring you in for questioning. Mr. Levin.”
“Questioning? About what? What kind of bullshit is this?”
“Afraid I can’t answer that, sir. There’s been a serious accident at your home.”
“My home? My home is in—”
“I mean your vacation home, sir, on the ridge, other side of town.”
“What kind of accident? What happened?”
“Can’t say, sir. I’ll radio for information. Please come with me.”
“Hell with that. I’ll drive back there myself and—”
“My orders are to bring you back myself, sir.”
“Your orders?”
“I will arrest you, sir, if necessary.”
“Arrest me? Me? Are you serious?”
“I would prefer it if you came willingly, but if not…”
Noah sat for a moment, blinking, shaking his head. Then he turned off his lights, killed the ignition, stuffed the papers into his shirt pocket, and got out. He locked the Jag, followed the other man back to his car, and climbed into the passenger seat.
Pulled out around Noah’s Jaguar and turned onto a path into the woods.
“Where the hell are you going?”
“Back road, sir. It will take us where we’re going.”
“Looks like a dead-end trail to me.”
“Shortest way to your place, sir.”
“This whole thing sounds fishy to me.”
“Sympathize sir, but I have my orders.”
“What the hell happened? Something to do with Moira?”
“The young woman who accompanied you?”
“Yeah, she accompanied me. What’s it to you?”
“Just trying to ascertain the facts, sir.”
“So did something happen to her?”
Said nothing for several seconds, then slowed to a stop. Headlights showed the track, seeming to get narrower and narrower. “Come with me, sir.” Got out of the car, walked around, opened the passenger door, and shone a flashlight in Noah’s face.
“I’m going noplace until you explain what this is all about. And get that goddam flashlight out of my eyes.” The beam dropped slightly, but Noah still hadn’t got a good look at the man’s face. “I’m going noplace until I get some information.”
“You’re not cooperating, sir.”
Noah knew how to handle a smart-ass cop. He shoved the flashlight aside and punched a finger in the man’s chest. “Whatever the hell this is all about, you can be goddam sure I’ll file a bunch of lawsuits about it. Now, unless you want me to wind up with your badge and your bank account and your ass as well, you’d better start explaining.”
“If you insist, sir.” Grabbed Noah’s arm and yanked him out onto the ground. Reached into the car, turned off the headlights, slammed the door, and turned off his flashlight. Everything was suddenly pitch black.
“Sonofabitch! What the… do you know how much this shirt cost?” Noah was on his back in a mixture of leaves and gravel and mud. He scrambled to his feet, reached for the car. But it wasn’t where he reached. His hands grasped thin air. He lost his balance, fell forward, crashed into the back door, and landed on his elbows and knees. “Jesus! And these pants—”
A beam of light hit him from the side. “This way, sir, if you would, please.” Sounded like a ticket taker at a toll booth.
“Whadda ya mean, this way? What the fuck is going on?”
The flashlight beam swung along the track. “This way, Mister Levin.”
“That way? No way!” Noah grabbed onto the car and lurched toward the outline showing in side glare from the flashlight. “I want answers, and I want them right fucking now!”
A pale oval against the dark. Focussed on that, Noah did not notice the right hand, which drew a pistol and slapped it across his left cheek. Before Noah could do more than wince, the pistol slapped his face a second time.
“A satisfactory answer, Mr. Levin?”
Noah reeled, but stayed on his feet. His fists clenched, but he knew better than to hit back. Blood was trickling down his cheek; he tasted it in the back of his mouth. Shock wearing off. Pain rushing in. Behind that, a plan. This cop was in for serious payback.
“Now then, Mr. Levin, ready to take a walk?”
Noah’s brain rebelled, but his body followed the flashlight beam along the narrow roadway. The whole left side of his face was throbbing. By God, he’d hire someone to kick the shit out of this bastard.
“Where the hell you taking me?” Noah tried to snarl, but it came out soft. He hardly recognized his own voice.
“To a spot in the woods, Mr. Levin. I’ll leave you there.”
Noah’s abdominal muscles tensed. He forgot the throbbing cheekbone and the blood dripping on his collar. “Goddam pervert—”
“Cooperate, Mr. Levin. No one will touch you all night.”
“What do you mean, all night?”
“I mean all night.”
Like some goddam fraternity initiation. Noah’s stomach muscles relaxed. He was in good shape, adrenaline was flowing. Stay calm. Get on top. “So like I said, where are you taking me?”
“A walk in the woods may increase your appreciation of the finer things.”
“What the hell do you know about finer things, living up here?” Again, mushiness in his words.
“I wonder what you know about finer things, Mr. Levin living in the city.”
Noah almost managed a smile. He swallowed several times, ignoring the taste of blood, and worked his jaw muscles. Cough, loosen throat. Gain confidence.
The track had been running on a downward slope. Where it dipped to cross a ditch full of rocks, the beam of light flashed downhill to the right.
“Turn here.”
Noah stopped. “No fucking way,” he said. Vitality was back in his voice. “Let’s settle this bullshit right now.” He started to turn around.
“Do not turn around, Mr. Levin.”
But Noah had taken martial arts courses. His brain and his muscles were ready. He turned, combat ready, arms poised to protect his head.
This time the butt of the gun hit, hard, just below his shirt pocket, knocking him to his knees. He gasped. Stabbing pain shot through his left side. The son of a bitch had broken a couple ribs. Noah wanted to lie down.
“Start walking, Mr. Levin, or the next one will really hurt.”
Noah struggled to his feet. Christ, he might shoot. Do what the bastard says. Find a chance to break away. Noah hobbled onto the stones, stumbling in his own shadow. The gash on his cheek was bleeding again. His left side was torn open. He hunched his shoulder and pulled his arm in, holding his body together. Leaves brushed his face, like bat wings, or spider webs. Branches clutched at his arms and shoulders. Rocks, wet and slimy, shifted and turned under his hand-made Italian shoes.
“Why ... you ... do ... this?” He could push out only one syllable at a time.
“You’re not a victim of senseless violence, Mr. Levin. This is quite rational.”
“Bull… shit.” Fuck lawyers. Know some people. Kill son of bitch.
Walking, stumbling over branches, slipping on wet rocks, left side throbbing with pain. The stones got bigger and smoother. The ditch got deeper and wider, ending in a hard-packed clearing.
“Stop here.”
With the flashlight aimed at the ground, Noah could see only a few feet in any direction. Trees and rocks behind him, open space in front.
“What ... I ... do?” Each breath another stab. Voice weak. Can’t make other sound.
“Turn around, Mr. Levin.”
Noah turned, cringing, expecting another blow. What hit him was a bright light, straight in his eyes.
“What ... you ... do?”
“You have a few bruises. Nothing to worry about.”
“Why ... do ... this?” Left side on fire. Breathe, pain.
“Think of it as a lesson, Mr. Levin.”
“Some ... one ... fine ... out.” More breathe. More pain.
“I’ll be very surprised if they don’t.”
“What... now?” Voice, cry. Wet face. No blood. Tears.
“Walk to the middle of the clearing, Mr. Levin.”
“Don ... un ... stan.” Walk? Clear?
“You will walk to the middle of the clearing and spend the night there. I will walk back to my car and drive away. Your car will stay where it is. Someone will bring you out in the morning.”
“Fine ... own ... way ... out?”
“I doubt it.”
A glimmer of hope. Leave alone? Ten minutes out, ribs or no. Jag locked, got keys. Come back. Kill son bitch.
Noah waited, light still in his eyes.
“About twenty feet in that direction, Mr. Levin. You won’t walk into any trees.”
Last awful thought. “Turn ... back ... you ... shoot ... me.”
“I will not touch you again.”
“Not ... touch ...?”
The light beam dipped. The pistol dropped into its holster.
Noah did not move.
“If you don’t trust me, walk backward.”
One step. Noah backed away from the light, left arm tight to his side, reaching behind with his right to keep from bumping into anything.
Two steps. Goddam light in eyes. No night vision. Few stars, no moon.
Three steps. Crickets? Birds? Only sound feet, drag on dry ground, slide on wet.
Four. Twenty feet. Eight, nine steps. But hurt, walk backward.
Five steps. Reach behind. No trees.
Six steps. Five more, maybe. Get far away, make break.
Seven steps.
Eight.
On the ninth step, his right foot slipped in sand, or mud, and his leg dropped out from under him, as if he had stepped in a deep hole. Instinctively, he tried to grab hold of something. But his hands waved in empty air, and Noah Levin toppled backward over the brink of what had been, many years before, the Lower Falls of Raven Creek.
