shrugged. Leave a defenseless woman alone out here. Agent Pidgeon was naked but for her Sig Sauer 9mm. and God Knows What unarmed combat training she had in and out of the FBI.
Du Pré piled her luggage in the backseat. He got in and Pidgeon opened the passenger door and she slid in, and pushed her skirt back up her long thighs. Her foot clunked against a bottle.
Du Pré reached over and picked up the bottle of whiskey. He had a nice long swallow. He rolled a cigarette.
Three minutes later they were shooting along at 120 miles an hour. Agent Pidgeon was moving her mouth a lot but Du Pré couldn’t hear what she was saying because of the wind rushing through the open windows and the screaming engine.
Du Pré didn’t need to hear what she was saying.
He slowed down a couple miles from Toussaint and he drove on in to the bar and he got out and walked inside and left Agent Pidgeon sitting in the car calling him all of the names she could think of, which was quite a few names.
By the time that Agent Pidgeon had run down enough to get out of the car Du Pré was halfway through his second whiskey.
“I need to rent the little trailer,” said Agent Pidgeon to Susan Klein. Susan had two small trailers that she rented by the day or week.
“Both rented, honey,” said Susan. “Harvest time.” “Shit,” said Agent Pidgeon.
“You can stay at Bart’s,” said Du Pré.
“I haven’t got a car,” wailed Pidgeon.
“You would you didn’t keep blowing them up,” said Du Pré.
“OK,” said Pidgeon. “The damsel-in-distress don’t mean shit to you.”
“Stay out at Bart’s,” said Susan. “He’s a nice guy and he has a bunch of cars.”
“It’s against regulations,” said Pidgeon.
“Oh, fuck you,” said Susan.
And they all laughed.
Du Pré turned away and then he looked back at Susan, whose face had gone troubled.
Pidgeon was still laughing but it was not laughter. She began to scream.
Susan raced around the bar and she grabbed Pidgeon and held her, and the FBI agent broke down to gasping sobs and floods of tears.
Du Pré went to the phone and he called Madelaine.
Du Pré came back and Susan Klein looked at him and she jerked her head toward the row of liquor bottles ranked below the big mirror behind the bar. Du Pré went back and he pulled a fifth of brandy out and he put some in a snifter and he slid it across.
Pidgeon took the snifter in both hands. She was shaking so badly that Susan Klein was holding her on the barstool. Pidgeon lifted the glass and she took a sip. Another.
She snuffled.
Du Pré fished out his handkerchief and thought better of it and he took the box of tissues from the cupboard by the cash register and he handed it over.
Pidgeon sipped.
She slumped so deep she seemed boneless.
Madelaine came bustling through the door.
She glanced at Du Pré and then she went to Pidgeon and she hugged her and said something very low.
Pidgeon nodded.
“We take her to my place,” Madelaine said. “Me and Susan, you maybe watch the bar.”
Du Pré nodded. “I bring her luggage.”
Madelaine and Susan led Pidgeon out the front door. In a minute, Du Pré heard them drive off.
Du Pré whistled. He washed some coffee cups and a couple of beer glasses that had tomato juice stuck to the sides.
The bar was empty.
Du Pré flicked on the television.
He poured himself a whiskey and water and he rolled a cigarette and he watched a dumb commercial for snowmobiles. In … July? No, July was maybe two days away.
The news came on.
The announcer, a woman with bright red hair, said that the body of a missing schoolteacher, lost since the Sunday before, had been found near Sheridan, Wyoming. The woman had been abducted, police thought, in Billings, and there was no comment to reporters’ questions.
Was this the work of the Hi-Line Killer?
Oh, thought Du Pré, now they got a name for the bastard, next they have a TV movie.
Hi-Line Killer.
I find that fucker.
Yes.
“Du Pré?” said a
Du Pré piled her luggage in the backseat. He got in and Pidgeon opened the passenger door and she slid in, and pushed her skirt back up her long thighs. Her foot clunked against a bottle.
Du Pré reached over and picked up the bottle of whiskey. He had a nice long swallow. He rolled a cigarette.
Three minutes later they were shooting along at 120 miles an hour. Agent Pidgeon was moving her mouth a lot but Du Pré couldn’t hear what she was saying because of the wind rushing through the open windows and the screaming engine.
Du Pré didn’t need to hear what she was saying.
He slowed down a couple miles from Toussaint and he drove on in to the bar and he got out and walked inside and left Agent Pidgeon sitting in the car calling him all of the names she could think of, which was quite a few names.
By the time that Agent Pidgeon had run down enough to get out of the car Du Pré was halfway through his second whiskey.
“I need to rent the little trailer,” said Agent Pidgeon to Susan Klein. Susan had two small trailers that she rented by the day or week.
“Both rented, honey,” said Susan. “Harvest time.” “Shit,” said Agent Pidgeon.
“You can stay at Bart’s,” said Du Pré.
“I haven’t got a car,” wailed Pidgeon.
“You would you didn’t keep blowing them up,” said Du Pré.
“OK,” said Pidgeon. “The damsel-in-distress don’t mean shit to you.”
“Stay out at Bart’s,” said Susan. “He’s a nice guy and he has a bunch of cars.”
“It’s against regulations,” said Pidgeon.
“Oh, fuck you,” said Susan.
And they all laughed.
Du Pré turned away and then he looked back at Susan, whose face had gone troubled.
Pidgeon was still laughing but it was not laughter. She began to scream.
Susan raced around the bar and she grabbed Pidgeon and held her, and the FBI agent broke down to gasping sobs and floods of tears.
Du Pré went to the phone and he called Madelaine.
Du Pré came back and Susan Klein looked at him and she jerked her head toward the row of liquor bottles ranked below the big mirror behind the bar. Du Pré went back and he pulled a fifth of brandy out and he put some in a snifter and he slid it across.
Pidgeon took the snifter in both hands. She was shaking so badly that Susan Klein was holding her on the barstool. Pidgeon lifted the glass and she took a sip. Another.
She snuffled.
Du Pré fished out his handkerchief and thought better of it and he took the box of tissues from the cupboard by the cash register and he handed it over.
Pidgeon sipped.
She slumped so deep she seemed boneless.
Madelaine came bustling through the door.
She glanced at Du Pré and then she went to Pidgeon and she hugged her and said something very low.
Pidgeon nodded.
“We take her to my place,” Madelaine said. “Me and Susan, you maybe watch the bar.”
Du Pré nodded. “I bring her luggage.”
Madelaine and Susan led Pidgeon out the front door. In a minute, Du Pré heard them drive off.
Du Pré whistled. He washed some coffee cups and a couple of beer glasses that had tomato juice stuck to the sides.
The bar was empty.
Du Pré flicked on the television.
He poured himself a whiskey and water and he rolled a cigarette and he watched a dumb commercial for snowmobiles. In … July? No, July was maybe two days away.
The news came on.
The announcer, a woman with bright red hair, said that the body of a missing schoolteacher, lost since the Sunday before, had been found near Sheridan, Wyoming. The woman had been abducted, police thought, in Billings, and there was no comment to reporters’ questions.
Was this the work of the Hi-Line Killer?
Oh, thought Du Pré, now they got a name for the bastard, next they have a TV movie.
Hi-Line Killer.
I find that fucker.
Yes.
“Du Pré?” said a
Similar Books
