in a cell, and for a while he couldn’t sleep.
He did sleep, but when he heard the tires crunching on the snow, he was awake in an instant. He sat up and took the Bulldog off the floor. A moment later, he heard footsteps, and then the door rattled.
“Who is that?” he asked.
A woman’s voice came back: “Sandy.”
HER FACE WAS tight, angry. “You jerk,” she said. He was looking down at her, the gun pointed at her chest. Coldly furious, she ignored it. “I want you out of here. Now.”
“Come in and shut the door, you’re letting the cold in,” he said. He backed away from her, but continued to look out over her head. “You didn’t bring the cops?”
“No. I didn’t bring the cops. But I want you out of here, Dick . . .”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “We’re heading for Mexico.”
“At the funeral home, they said you were gunning for these cops that killed Candy and Georgie.”
“Yeah, well . . .” He shrugged.
“Why’d you kill the prison guard?” she asked.
His eyes shifted, and she felt him gathering a reason, an excuse: “He was the meanest sonofabitch on the floor. If you knew what he’d done . . .”
“But now they’re looking for you for murder. ”
He shrugged: “That’s what I was in for.”
“But you didn’t have anything to do with that,” she said.
“Didn’t make no difference to them,” he said.
“My God, Dick, there is a difference . . .”
“You didn’t know this guy,” LaChaise said. “If you’d known what Sand put my friends through back in the joint . . .” He shook his head. “You couldn’t blame us. No man oughta go through that.”
He was talking about rape, she knew. She didn’t buy it, but she wouldn’t press him, either. She wanted to believe and if she pressed him, she was afraid she’d find out he was lying.
“Whatever,” she said. “But now you’ve got to move. Martin was bragging about how good his truck is: If you leave tomorrow, you can be in Arizona the day after, driving straight through. You can be in Mexico the day after that, down on the Pacific Ocean.”
“Yeah, we’re figuring that out,” LaChaise said, but again, his eyes shifted fractionally. “What happened at the funeral home?”
“The police kept us there for a couple of hours—and two detectives from Minneapolis talked to us—and then they took us down to Menomonie, to the courthouse. We had to sign statements, and then they let us go. A couple of deputies came around again, about dinnertime, and checked the house.”
“They have a warrant?”
“No, but I let them in, I thought it was best,” she said. “They looked around and left.”
“What about Elmore?”
“Elmore was at work,” Sandy said. “They already talked to him.”
“Would Elmore turn us in?” LaChaise said.
“No. He’s as scared as I am,” Sandy said, and the anger suddenly leaped to the surface: “Why’d you do it, Dick? We’ve never done anything to you, and now you’re dragging us down with you.”
“We needed a place to ditch,” LaChaise said defensively. “We didn’t know what the situation would be. If the cops were right on our ass, we needed some place we could get out of sight in a hurry. I thought of this place.”
“Well, I want you out,” Sandy said. She poked a finger at him. “If you’re not out, I’ll have to take the chance and go to the police myself. When you get out, I’ll come out here and wipe everything you’ve touched . . . and I hope to hell if you get caught, you’ll have the decency to keep your mouth shut about this place.”
“I won’t get caught,” LaChaise said. “I’m not going back inside. If I get killed, that’s the way it is: but I’m not going back.”
“But if you do get caught . . . you know, shot and you wake up in a hospital . . .”
“No way I’d tell them about this,” LaChaise said, shaking his head. “No way.”
“All right.” She glanced at her watch. “I better get going, in case
He did sleep, but when he heard the tires crunching on the snow, he was awake in an instant. He sat up and took the Bulldog off the floor. A moment later, he heard footsteps, and then the door rattled.
“Who is that?” he asked.
A woman’s voice came back: “Sandy.”
HER FACE WAS tight, angry. “You jerk,” she said. He was looking down at her, the gun pointed at her chest. Coldly furious, she ignored it. “I want you out of here. Now.”
“Come in and shut the door, you’re letting the cold in,” he said. He backed away from her, but continued to look out over her head. “You didn’t bring the cops?”
“No. I didn’t bring the cops. But I want you out of here, Dick . . .”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “We’re heading for Mexico.”
“At the funeral home, they said you were gunning for these cops that killed Candy and Georgie.”
“Yeah, well . . .” He shrugged.
“Why’d you kill the prison guard?” she asked.
His eyes shifted, and she felt him gathering a reason, an excuse: “He was the meanest sonofabitch on the floor. If you knew what he’d done . . .”
“But now they’re looking for you for murder. ”
He shrugged: “That’s what I was in for.”
“But you didn’t have anything to do with that,” she said.
“Didn’t make no difference to them,” he said.
“My God, Dick, there is a difference . . .”
“You didn’t know this guy,” LaChaise said. “If you’d known what Sand put my friends through back in the joint . . .” He shook his head. “You couldn’t blame us. No man oughta go through that.”
He was talking about rape, she knew. She didn’t buy it, but she wouldn’t press him, either. She wanted to believe and if she pressed him, she was afraid she’d find out he was lying.
“Whatever,” she said. “But now you’ve got to move. Martin was bragging about how good his truck is: If you leave tomorrow, you can be in Arizona the day after, driving straight through. You can be in Mexico the day after that, down on the Pacific Ocean.”
“Yeah, we’re figuring that out,” LaChaise said, but again, his eyes shifted fractionally. “What happened at the funeral home?”
“The police kept us there for a couple of hours—and two detectives from Minneapolis talked to us—and then they took us down to Menomonie, to the courthouse. We had to sign statements, and then they let us go. A couple of deputies came around again, about dinnertime, and checked the house.”
“They have a warrant?”
“No, but I let them in, I thought it was best,” she said. “They looked around and left.”
“What about Elmore?”
“Elmore was at work,” Sandy said. “They already talked to him.”
“Would Elmore turn us in?” LaChaise said.
“No. He’s as scared as I am,” Sandy said, and the anger suddenly leaped to the surface: “Why’d you do it, Dick? We’ve never done anything to you, and now you’re dragging us down with you.”
“We needed a place to ditch,” LaChaise said defensively. “We didn’t know what the situation would be. If the cops were right on our ass, we needed some place we could get out of sight in a hurry. I thought of this place.”
“Well, I want you out,” Sandy said. She poked a finger at him. “If you’re not out, I’ll have to take the chance and go to the police myself. When you get out, I’ll come out here and wipe everything you’ve touched . . . and I hope to hell if you get caught, you’ll have the decency to keep your mouth shut about this place.”
“I won’t get caught,” LaChaise said. “I’m not going back inside. If I get killed, that’s the way it is: but I’m not going back.”
“But if you do get caught . . . you know, shot and you wake up in a hospital . . .”
“No way I’d tell them about this,” LaChaise said, shaking his head. “No way.”
“All right.” She glanced at her watch. “I better get going, in case
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