Ten: Call It Even
As soon as Seth came back to the car, to tell them that the way was clear, he motioned for Ritchie to get out of the driver's seat. He did, sliding himself over to shotgun, as Seth got in and started the car.
It was at that moment that poor Augusta just snapped.
The sound of the engine, after what she'd been through in that chase, the gunshots at the hotel, her having to kill a man---all of that pressure had just been building, and for some reason, the sound of the engine just set her off.
She screamed.
Ritchie and Seth both ducked as if something had come flying through the back windshield. Augusta reached for the door and flung it open, stepping out into the woods, and began a frantic dance somewhere between her clothing being on fire, and her having to go to the bathroom very badly.
Seth and Ritchie immediately popped out after her---half for the fact that she was temporarily insane, and half for the fact that it was not a good idea for her to be making that kind of noise after such a close call, especially when it was so quiet around here. For a second, though, they could only stare at her, completely unsure as to exactly what to do. Then she shrieked again, this time much longer, although not a loud, and definitely sounding hysterical.
"Well, do something!" Ritchie snapped.
Seth's nerves were entirely frayed, close to being utterly shot. He spun on Ritchie and said, "Why do I always have to do everything? Why can't you do something for a change?"
Ritchie looked at him, shrugged, and pulled out his pistol. Immediately Seth came back to himself and put his hand over Ritchie's.
"Nevermind, I'll handle it."
He took three steps toward Augusta, who immediately spun on him and backed away, her hands flung out.
"Stay away from me!" she said, her voice hardly recognizable, so high pitched and wheezing it had become. "You...you...you're both...psychos!"
"Augusta, calm down."
"I will not calm down!" she wrapped her arms around herself, took several more steps away, and for a moment, Seth was sure she was going to bolt for the road. The second she broke cover and hit open space, it was over, and Ritchie would shoot her whether Seth liked it or not.
He moved closer, faster this time, trying to cut her off. He grabbed her by the arms, but she struggled, and they wound up spinning, spinning back through the dense foliage around them until finally Seth slammed her against the car and pinned her there.
Long moments passed. Not too much time had gone by, in the big scheme of things, but it felt long enough to both of them.
The pressure of Seth's hands on her forearms, the closeness of his body, the threat of his weight pressed against her, seemed to remind Augusta exactly where she was. She began to tremble, hard.
"I don't want to go back in the car," she said in a whisper.
"I'm sorry, baby, but you have to." His voice was almost comforting.
"No."
"Augusta," now he was half-pleading. "I'm driving. No more craziness, okay?"
"Promise?"
"For now, yes. Now get in the car."
She stopped pushing against him, and he pulled away just enough to open the back door. She slipped inside, and Seth pushed the door shut. He got into the driver's seat, saw that Ritchie was already shotgun, and started the car.
%%%%%%%%%%
Xanny stopped the bike in the lot that the boys had crashed through. They'd broken a gate and chewed up some farm land, from the looks of it. The other cars had kept going, thinking they'd continued down the other road. The fact that there were a few cars on it ahead of them seemed to help complete the illusion that that was where Ritchie and Seth had gone. Somehow, though, she knew, they had gotten off the road.
She got off the bike and hesitantly made her way toward the road. She examined the deep tire-tracks---they looked pretty ordinary, nothing in particular about them to distinguish them from other tire tracks, except the fact that they were in a set of two, while all the motorcycles that had followed only left one continuous tire-print. Then, she heard a rustle.
Someone was in the bushes. His head was turned, looking down the road, but she could see the mark on his neck, even if the profile was a bit hazy at the moment.
It was Seth.
Xanny did the only smart thing to do. She threw herself down. The road went up a bit, causing a nice bit of bankment between them, successfully hiding her from view. She lay flat, curled herself as close to the bankment as possible, knowing she hadn't made a sound. The grass was still thick and soft, still moist with morning dew. She lay in silence.
She heard footsteps, hesitant footsteps. He wouldn't dare come this far, not if he suspected for a moment that they were still being followed. She crept up the bankment just a little bit, grateful for once in her life that her hair was able to blend into her environment. Blond or red might have stuck out, but blue against green was a little harder to see.
Seth had turned back into the woods. She heard a faint commotion, the sound of a woman's voice, nearly shrieking. Seth's sharp tones echoed briefly, and then it was silent. Within a few minutes, she heard a loud crunching sound, saw the car come out of the bush, and take off down the road, the other way. She watched as it went back onto the main road, took the exit, and returned to the highway, back in its original direction. In the back seat of the car, she saw a the back of a blond head. The woman turned around, looking behind them, obviously still rattled from the chase, not trusting the getaway. The cops weren't that stupid, they'd figure it out eventually, but for now they had a little time.
It was Augusta. Xanny knew that face as well as her own.
They were still headed west.
Something vibrated in her chest pocket. She pulled out the cel-phone and opened it up. "Yeah?"
"Where the hell are you? Are you okay?"
"They're headed west on 70," she said. "I just saw them go. You want me to follow or do you want me to come back?"
A hesitation as Carl pulled the phone away. He was asking Marcos. Then, abruptly, she heard the phone yanked away from him. Now Marcos was speaking.
"Did you see her? Is she okay?"
"I saw her," Xanny said. "She's alive. I don't know much else. Do you want me to follow?"
"Yes, follow," Marcos said, a little breathless. "Call again in a few hours, we'll come find you."
The phone was yanked out of his hand. She heard his outraged growl, but then Carl was there. "I'll call you when we have something from here," Carl said. "They left some bodies behind. There was a break-in to their hotel room, some serious shooting. I'll put together what I can and then call you, okay? You still have your phone on vibrate?"
"It's never on anything else," she said, and then hung up. She got to her feet and walked back to the bike, which she had hidden next to the building in the parking lot. Someone inside the building came out and yelled at her, but she ignored them as she took off again, heading west on the highway.
%%%%%%%%%%
When Carl and Marcos had pulled up to the hotel, they hadn't been quite sure what to expect. There were a few police officers around, marking the scene, and ambulances and paramedics everywhere, but nobody was being moved.
The obvious reason being, everyone was dead.
Carl got out of the car, Marcos at his heels. "You'd better stay behind me," Carl said. "I don't care how rich you are, they won't tolerate you on a crime scene."
"What about you?" Marcos asked.
"They'll tolerate me only a little bit more," he said. "Don't help me, it'll go better."
"Another fuckin' detective?" came the testy answer from Detective Wayne, who had remained in the scene. His reply, when asked, was, "I'm too fuckin' old to be chasing after criminals. Let the little boys do that, who got the energy." He was busy examining things, aside from the obvious, like the bodies.
"Yes, sir, I work for Marcos Ferarre." Carl shot a sideglance at Marcos, deciding not to introduce him, figuring a more imposing, distant figure would be much more intimidating than a life-sized guy dressed in street clothes. Marcos, to his credit, seemed to pick up the hint and kept back. "The woman you met before is my assistant. Very competent assistant-"
"Yeah, yeah, she went chasing those guys half-ass across the countryside," Detective Wayne grumbled. "Glad to see you have more sense. Look, just don't touch anything. I'll give you what information I can about Miss Baxton, but I can't give you any vital information about this case."
"That's fine," Carl said, looking around the hotel room as he was carefully escorted inside. The door had been nearly knocked off its hinges and blasted clean through by several bullets, both from inside and outside. The couch and table were dragged toward the kitchen area, both on their sides, where they were clearly supposed to be some kind of barricade. While a few bodies had been found outside, most of them were inside, and while one or two lay in the first part of the hotel room, the real massacre had taken place in the bedroom.
They had come in through the large window, Carl could easily see. There were imprints on the bed closest to it, where feet had obviously trampled the bedspread, and the indent from where someone had slept earlier still remained, although faint in the folds of fabric. The other bed was missing its bedspread and second blanket entirely---the bedspread was on the floor, bundled in a heap, and the blanket-
Carl followed the trail back, careful to obey orders and not touch a single thing.
The blanket was in the other room, on the floor, behind the couch. It had been tossed there when the couch was moved. Which meant the blanket had been sitting on the couch. Had Augusta been sleeping on the couch? Carl moved to see if he could see some a trace of her---some of her blonde hair was most likely---when two glinting golden strands caught the light, wedged between the last cushion and the arm of the couch. It looked like it had been caught there...
Some scent caught his nose. It was a smell all men were familiar with, instantly. Carl looked down the length of the couch. There were at least three or four smears there, milky-white, already dried.
Sperm.
Carl stood up. He glanced toward Marcos, who was waiting outside, although he looked desperately like he wanted to come inside. He was pacing back and forth lightly, his eyes never leaving the open door. He barely glanced at the dead bodies that weren't too far from him.
There was sperm on the couch, where Augusta had slept. Which one of them did she have sex with? It was unlikely that it was Ritchie, since she was obviously still alive, and there was no trace of violence done to her.
"You saw that, huh?" grumbled Wayne from in the kitchen area. "I sure wouldn't wanna be you when I told Mr. Ferarre that."
"Can you tell which man it belongs to?" Carl asked.
Wayne shrugged. "We could, but I doubt it's necessary. They'll scoop it up because its evidence that they were here, but I doubt it'll make it into the report."
"That's not really my concern," Carl said, but Wayne barely heard him because he was reaching for something behind the overturned table.
"Found these," Wayne said, lifting up a couple of golden hairs. "Wrapped around a table leg. One of the guns is missing from one of the bodies---I'm sure each and every one of them had a gun before they came charging in here. And from the angle of the bullet that hit that guy? Well, I don't want to jump to any conclusions..."
"But you already have," Carl said. "So have I. She shot him, didn't she?"
Wayne shrugged. "Nothing's official. And I ain't saying nothing about the case. All I know is Augusta is still alive, and she sure ain't here now, but she definitely was. There were more hairs in the shower---I'm going to assume that meant she used it, too."
"Well, at least they're taking decent care of her," Carl muttered sarcastically. "Thanks, Detective Wayne."
Wayne just shrugged. He really didn't care one way or another.
%%%%%%%%%%
Xanny watched them pull off at an exit for a town called Castleton. She kept going, not wanting them to think she was following, found the nearest place to turn around, and came back. She quickly saw their car in a parking lot for a Dollar Inn. She pulled into the McDonald's across the way and went inside, watching the hotel from the window. She ordered a gallon of Coke and sat down, pulling out her cel-phone.
"Yeah?" Carl said.
"Dollar Inn, in Castleton," she said. "What do you want me to do now?"
There was some heavy consideration. "How long did it take?"
"About ninety minutes. You want me to come back?"
"No, stay there. They should be there the night, right?"
"Yeah."
"We'll come to you. Where are you?"
"At the McDonald's across the way. Who was left behind at the hotel?"
"A bunch of dead bodies, and your friend Detective Wayne."
"Marcos with you?"
"Yeah."
"So we can't talk."
"Not yet."
"Look, Carl, I feel a little funny about this. Shouldn't we tell the police that they're here? I mean, if they're properly coordinated, they could surround and trap both of the Geckos. I can get Augusta out quietly, she won't be hurt."
She heard Carl's smile. "Don't play hero, Xanny. It's too dangerous. We have to make sure that there won't be any more casualties. From what I'm looking at here, these Gecko boys don't play nice."
"I told you that already. But they are just two boys. Enough police and we can overwhelm them."
"Can we? Think about it, Xanny. How have they stayed free for so long?"
She considered it. From her time with them, she knew that they were very good at busting their way out of bad situations, because they simply didn't care who got hurt in the process. They did whatever it took. The only way to bring them in was to trip them up. Which meant they had to work slowly.
"So what do you propose?"
"I'll give it some thought. Meantime, we're on our way to meet you."
"Fine." He hung up, she slapped her phone shut. Her stomach grumbled-- -French fries sounded really good right now.
%%%%%%%%%%
The trip to Castleton had been done in silence. Seth commented about a biker behind them once or twice, but it had disappeared when they went down the exit ramp. They checked into the hotel, went into their room, and life went on as usual.
For Seth and Ritchie, at least. Augusta felt totally numb. The second she got inside, she laid down on one of the queen-size beds, and went to sleep.
When she woke up, it was dark outside. Seth and Ritchie were talking, had probably been talking for a while now. Then, Seth came around the side of the bed and saw that she was awake.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
She nodded.
"No more fits?"
Her cheeks turned dark red. "I don't know what came over me."
Seth shrugged. "Shock. It's a weird thing. I'm glad it worked out this time, but God forbid you should do something stupid like that in public."
"I'm sorry," she said, a little tense. "I wasn't exactly in my right mind."
"I know," he said, then paused. "Come with me," motioning toward the door. "We're going to get dinner."
"What about Ritchie?" she asked, pulling herself upright.
"We'll bring him something back," Seth said, nonchalant.
"And it's safe to go out, after what happened earlier?"
"It's never safe. We'll be careful," he said. "Go somewhere small."
Small, was the tiny hotel diner. It wasn't really attached to the hotel, but it was a walk across the hotel lot, and other people staying at the hotel were eating there, so it qualified. They got a seat, flipped through the menus, and Augusta decided she wasn't all that hungry, so she planned on just a salad. Until the waitress walked by with a tray of food and her stomach told her she was much hungrier than she thought, so she went with a salad with chicken on it. Lots of chicken. And rolls. She had a taste for rolls and butter.
Seth ordered a steak, rare. He stole a glance at her, and she had the most bizarre inkling that she was supposed to be impressed by his desire to eat nearly-raw meat. And a chocolate milkshake.
"So am I supposed to be Uma Thurman?" she asked wryly when the waitress walked away.
"I'm sorry?"
"Haven't seen Pulp Fiction?"
"I don't really get to the movies that often," he said. "All that action and violence ...I get enough of that from work."
She chuckled, sipped her water. He leaned forward, folded his fingers together, stared down at them. She could hear him thinking of the next thing to say to her. But instead, when he next looked at her, he just looked at her, and nothing else.
She sighed deeply when a few minutes had passed. "Is that what this is going to be about now? You staring at me all the time?"
"I don't stare all the time."
"You looked at me enough times in the rearview mirror today, I'm surprised you even saw the road ahead of you."
"Funny."
"I'm not trying to be. Seth, look-"
He held up a hand between them. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't give me a speech. I know you think last night was a mistake."
"It was," she said, very softly.
He nodded. "Yeah, it was. But..." he sighed. Looked at her. "Oh, hell, fuck if I know," he grumbled, sitting back.
She smiled. "Sweet talker. Look, don't think you've got feelings for me just because I was a good lay, Seth. Don't put yourself under that kind of pressure. It was a chemical reaction, nothing more or less. I'm not blowing you off. You're not blowing me off. We'll just call it even and go from here."
He nodded. "Fine. If that's what you want." He was silent for a moment more, and then said, "I think it's time we made that call to your fiancée."
She nodded. "I understand." She sighed, looked to the kitchen, and said, "Seth, I've got to go to the bathroom."
He cocked an eyebrow, then stood up. The waitress was approaching with their drinks. "We're still here," he told the older woman, "but we gotta run to the back for a minute. Hold our spot?"
"No problem," the waitress replied, and Seth motioned for Augusta to walk in front of him.
"All this and you still don't trust me?" she hissed as they entered the dimmed hallway.
"I don't trust anybody," Seth said. "Sometimes not even Ritchie, but don't ever tell him I told you that." He pushed open the bathroom door to the ladies room. "You've got five minutes."
She shot him a look and walked into the bathroom. There was one stall open, and she went inside.
The second her hand pushed the door completely open, she saw someone squatting on the toilet. Before her eyes could identify the person as a man or a woman, the person had reached out, grabbed her arm and yanked her into the stall. She let out a shriek, and a hand covered her mouth, then the other arm spun her around. To her amazement, a foot extended and slammed the door shut behind her.
And then, Augusta's vision cleared, and she saw her own face staring back at her, framed by blue hair. The hand pulled away.
"Xanny," Augusta breathed.
"Augusta," Xanny replied. "Nice to meet you."
As soon as Seth came back to the car, to tell them that the way was clear, he motioned for Ritchie to get out of the driver's seat. He did, sliding himself over to shotgun, as Seth got in and started the car.
It was at that moment that poor Augusta just snapped.
The sound of the engine, after what she'd been through in that chase, the gunshots at the hotel, her having to kill a man---all of that pressure had just been building, and for some reason, the sound of the engine just set her off.
She screamed.
Ritchie and Seth both ducked as if something had come flying through the back windshield. Augusta reached for the door and flung it open, stepping out into the woods, and began a frantic dance somewhere between her clothing being on fire, and her having to go to the bathroom very badly.
Seth and Ritchie immediately popped out after her---half for the fact that she was temporarily insane, and half for the fact that it was not a good idea for her to be making that kind of noise after such a close call, especially when it was so quiet around here. For a second, though, they could only stare at her, completely unsure as to exactly what to do. Then she shrieked again, this time much longer, although not a loud, and definitely sounding hysterical.
"Well, do something!" Ritchie snapped.
Seth's nerves were entirely frayed, close to being utterly shot. He spun on Ritchie and said, "Why do I always have to do everything? Why can't you do something for a change?"
Ritchie looked at him, shrugged, and pulled out his pistol. Immediately Seth came back to himself and put his hand over Ritchie's.
"Nevermind, I'll handle it."
He took three steps toward Augusta, who immediately spun on him and backed away, her hands flung out.
"Stay away from me!" she said, her voice hardly recognizable, so high pitched and wheezing it had become. "You...you...you're both...psychos!"
"Augusta, calm down."
"I will not calm down!" she wrapped her arms around herself, took several more steps away, and for a moment, Seth was sure she was going to bolt for the road. The second she broke cover and hit open space, it was over, and Ritchie would shoot her whether Seth liked it or not.
He moved closer, faster this time, trying to cut her off. He grabbed her by the arms, but she struggled, and they wound up spinning, spinning back through the dense foliage around them until finally Seth slammed her against the car and pinned her there.
Long moments passed. Not too much time had gone by, in the big scheme of things, but it felt long enough to both of them.
The pressure of Seth's hands on her forearms, the closeness of his body, the threat of his weight pressed against her, seemed to remind Augusta exactly where she was. She began to tremble, hard.
"I don't want to go back in the car," she said in a whisper.
"I'm sorry, baby, but you have to." His voice was almost comforting.
"No."
"Augusta," now he was half-pleading. "I'm driving. No more craziness, okay?"
"Promise?"
"For now, yes. Now get in the car."
She stopped pushing against him, and he pulled away just enough to open the back door. She slipped inside, and Seth pushed the door shut. He got into the driver's seat, saw that Ritchie was already shotgun, and started the car.
%%%%%%%%%%
Xanny stopped the bike in the lot that the boys had crashed through. They'd broken a gate and chewed up some farm land, from the looks of it. The other cars had kept going, thinking they'd continued down the other road. The fact that there were a few cars on it ahead of them seemed to help complete the illusion that that was where Ritchie and Seth had gone. Somehow, though, she knew, they had gotten off the road.
She got off the bike and hesitantly made her way toward the road. She examined the deep tire-tracks---they looked pretty ordinary, nothing in particular about them to distinguish them from other tire tracks, except the fact that they were in a set of two, while all the motorcycles that had followed only left one continuous tire-print. Then, she heard a rustle.
Someone was in the bushes. His head was turned, looking down the road, but she could see the mark on his neck, even if the profile was a bit hazy at the moment.
It was Seth.
Xanny did the only smart thing to do. She threw herself down. The road went up a bit, causing a nice bit of bankment between them, successfully hiding her from view. She lay flat, curled herself as close to the bankment as possible, knowing she hadn't made a sound. The grass was still thick and soft, still moist with morning dew. She lay in silence.
She heard footsteps, hesitant footsteps. He wouldn't dare come this far, not if he suspected for a moment that they were still being followed. She crept up the bankment just a little bit, grateful for once in her life that her hair was able to blend into her environment. Blond or red might have stuck out, but blue against green was a little harder to see.
Seth had turned back into the woods. She heard a faint commotion, the sound of a woman's voice, nearly shrieking. Seth's sharp tones echoed briefly, and then it was silent. Within a few minutes, she heard a loud crunching sound, saw the car come out of the bush, and take off down the road, the other way. She watched as it went back onto the main road, took the exit, and returned to the highway, back in its original direction. In the back seat of the car, she saw a the back of a blond head. The woman turned around, looking behind them, obviously still rattled from the chase, not trusting the getaway. The cops weren't that stupid, they'd figure it out eventually, but for now they had a little time.
It was Augusta. Xanny knew that face as well as her own.
They were still headed west.
Something vibrated in her chest pocket. She pulled out the cel-phone and opened it up. "Yeah?"
"Where the hell are you? Are you okay?"
"They're headed west on 70," she said. "I just saw them go. You want me to follow or do you want me to come back?"
A hesitation as Carl pulled the phone away. He was asking Marcos. Then, abruptly, she heard the phone yanked away from him. Now Marcos was speaking.
"Did you see her? Is she okay?"
"I saw her," Xanny said. "She's alive. I don't know much else. Do you want me to follow?"
"Yes, follow," Marcos said, a little breathless. "Call again in a few hours, we'll come find you."
The phone was yanked out of his hand. She heard his outraged growl, but then Carl was there. "I'll call you when we have something from here," Carl said. "They left some bodies behind. There was a break-in to their hotel room, some serious shooting. I'll put together what I can and then call you, okay? You still have your phone on vibrate?"
"It's never on anything else," she said, and then hung up. She got to her feet and walked back to the bike, which she had hidden next to the building in the parking lot. Someone inside the building came out and yelled at her, but she ignored them as she took off again, heading west on the highway.
%%%%%%%%%%
When Carl and Marcos had pulled up to the hotel, they hadn't been quite sure what to expect. There were a few police officers around, marking the scene, and ambulances and paramedics everywhere, but nobody was being moved.
The obvious reason being, everyone was dead.
Carl got out of the car, Marcos at his heels. "You'd better stay behind me," Carl said. "I don't care how rich you are, they won't tolerate you on a crime scene."
"What about you?" Marcos asked.
"They'll tolerate me only a little bit more," he said. "Don't help me, it'll go better."
"Another fuckin' detective?" came the testy answer from Detective Wayne, who had remained in the scene. His reply, when asked, was, "I'm too fuckin' old to be chasing after criminals. Let the little boys do that, who got the energy." He was busy examining things, aside from the obvious, like the bodies.
"Yes, sir, I work for Marcos Ferarre." Carl shot a sideglance at Marcos, deciding not to introduce him, figuring a more imposing, distant figure would be much more intimidating than a life-sized guy dressed in street clothes. Marcos, to his credit, seemed to pick up the hint and kept back. "The woman you met before is my assistant. Very competent assistant-"
"Yeah, yeah, she went chasing those guys half-ass across the countryside," Detective Wayne grumbled. "Glad to see you have more sense. Look, just don't touch anything. I'll give you what information I can about Miss Baxton, but I can't give you any vital information about this case."
"That's fine," Carl said, looking around the hotel room as he was carefully escorted inside. The door had been nearly knocked off its hinges and blasted clean through by several bullets, both from inside and outside. The couch and table were dragged toward the kitchen area, both on their sides, where they were clearly supposed to be some kind of barricade. While a few bodies had been found outside, most of them were inside, and while one or two lay in the first part of the hotel room, the real massacre had taken place in the bedroom.
They had come in through the large window, Carl could easily see. There were imprints on the bed closest to it, where feet had obviously trampled the bedspread, and the indent from where someone had slept earlier still remained, although faint in the folds of fabric. The other bed was missing its bedspread and second blanket entirely---the bedspread was on the floor, bundled in a heap, and the blanket-
Carl followed the trail back, careful to obey orders and not touch a single thing.
The blanket was in the other room, on the floor, behind the couch. It had been tossed there when the couch was moved. Which meant the blanket had been sitting on the couch. Had Augusta been sleeping on the couch? Carl moved to see if he could see some a trace of her---some of her blonde hair was most likely---when two glinting golden strands caught the light, wedged between the last cushion and the arm of the couch. It looked like it had been caught there...
Some scent caught his nose. It was a smell all men were familiar with, instantly. Carl looked down the length of the couch. There were at least three or four smears there, milky-white, already dried.
Sperm.
Carl stood up. He glanced toward Marcos, who was waiting outside, although he looked desperately like he wanted to come inside. He was pacing back and forth lightly, his eyes never leaving the open door. He barely glanced at the dead bodies that weren't too far from him.
There was sperm on the couch, where Augusta had slept. Which one of them did she have sex with? It was unlikely that it was Ritchie, since she was obviously still alive, and there was no trace of violence done to her.
"You saw that, huh?" grumbled Wayne from in the kitchen area. "I sure wouldn't wanna be you when I told Mr. Ferarre that."
"Can you tell which man it belongs to?" Carl asked.
Wayne shrugged. "We could, but I doubt it's necessary. They'll scoop it up because its evidence that they were here, but I doubt it'll make it into the report."
"That's not really my concern," Carl said, but Wayne barely heard him because he was reaching for something behind the overturned table.
"Found these," Wayne said, lifting up a couple of golden hairs. "Wrapped around a table leg. One of the guns is missing from one of the bodies---I'm sure each and every one of them had a gun before they came charging in here. And from the angle of the bullet that hit that guy? Well, I don't want to jump to any conclusions..."
"But you already have," Carl said. "So have I. She shot him, didn't she?"
Wayne shrugged. "Nothing's official. And I ain't saying nothing about the case. All I know is Augusta is still alive, and she sure ain't here now, but she definitely was. There were more hairs in the shower---I'm going to assume that meant she used it, too."
"Well, at least they're taking decent care of her," Carl muttered sarcastically. "Thanks, Detective Wayne."
Wayne just shrugged. He really didn't care one way or another.
%%%%%%%%%%
Xanny watched them pull off at an exit for a town called Castleton. She kept going, not wanting them to think she was following, found the nearest place to turn around, and came back. She quickly saw their car in a parking lot for a Dollar Inn. She pulled into the McDonald's across the way and went inside, watching the hotel from the window. She ordered a gallon of Coke and sat down, pulling out her cel-phone.
"Yeah?" Carl said.
"Dollar Inn, in Castleton," she said. "What do you want me to do now?"
There was some heavy consideration. "How long did it take?"
"About ninety minutes. You want me to come back?"
"No, stay there. They should be there the night, right?"
"Yeah."
"We'll come to you. Where are you?"
"At the McDonald's across the way. Who was left behind at the hotel?"
"A bunch of dead bodies, and your friend Detective Wayne."
"Marcos with you?"
"Yeah."
"So we can't talk."
"Not yet."
"Look, Carl, I feel a little funny about this. Shouldn't we tell the police that they're here? I mean, if they're properly coordinated, they could surround and trap both of the Geckos. I can get Augusta out quietly, she won't be hurt."
She heard Carl's smile. "Don't play hero, Xanny. It's too dangerous. We have to make sure that there won't be any more casualties. From what I'm looking at here, these Gecko boys don't play nice."
"I told you that already. But they are just two boys. Enough police and we can overwhelm them."
"Can we? Think about it, Xanny. How have they stayed free for so long?"
She considered it. From her time with them, she knew that they were very good at busting their way out of bad situations, because they simply didn't care who got hurt in the process. They did whatever it took. The only way to bring them in was to trip them up. Which meant they had to work slowly.
"So what do you propose?"
"I'll give it some thought. Meantime, we're on our way to meet you."
"Fine." He hung up, she slapped her phone shut. Her stomach grumbled-- -French fries sounded really good right now.
%%%%%%%%%%
The trip to Castleton had been done in silence. Seth commented about a biker behind them once or twice, but it had disappeared when they went down the exit ramp. They checked into the hotel, went into their room, and life went on as usual.
For Seth and Ritchie, at least. Augusta felt totally numb. The second she got inside, she laid down on one of the queen-size beds, and went to sleep.
When she woke up, it was dark outside. Seth and Ritchie were talking, had probably been talking for a while now. Then, Seth came around the side of the bed and saw that she was awake.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
She nodded.
"No more fits?"
Her cheeks turned dark red. "I don't know what came over me."
Seth shrugged. "Shock. It's a weird thing. I'm glad it worked out this time, but God forbid you should do something stupid like that in public."
"I'm sorry," she said, a little tense. "I wasn't exactly in my right mind."
"I know," he said, then paused. "Come with me," motioning toward the door. "We're going to get dinner."
"What about Ritchie?" she asked, pulling herself upright.
"We'll bring him something back," Seth said, nonchalant.
"And it's safe to go out, after what happened earlier?"
"It's never safe. We'll be careful," he said. "Go somewhere small."
Small, was the tiny hotel diner. It wasn't really attached to the hotel, but it was a walk across the hotel lot, and other people staying at the hotel were eating there, so it qualified. They got a seat, flipped through the menus, and Augusta decided she wasn't all that hungry, so she planned on just a salad. Until the waitress walked by with a tray of food and her stomach told her she was much hungrier than she thought, so she went with a salad with chicken on it. Lots of chicken. And rolls. She had a taste for rolls and butter.
Seth ordered a steak, rare. He stole a glance at her, and she had the most bizarre inkling that she was supposed to be impressed by his desire to eat nearly-raw meat. And a chocolate milkshake.
"So am I supposed to be Uma Thurman?" she asked wryly when the waitress walked away.
"I'm sorry?"
"Haven't seen Pulp Fiction?"
"I don't really get to the movies that often," he said. "All that action and violence ...I get enough of that from work."
She chuckled, sipped her water. He leaned forward, folded his fingers together, stared down at them. She could hear him thinking of the next thing to say to her. But instead, when he next looked at her, he just looked at her, and nothing else.
She sighed deeply when a few minutes had passed. "Is that what this is going to be about now? You staring at me all the time?"
"I don't stare all the time."
"You looked at me enough times in the rearview mirror today, I'm surprised you even saw the road ahead of you."
"Funny."
"I'm not trying to be. Seth, look-"
He held up a hand between them. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't give me a speech. I know you think last night was a mistake."
"It was," she said, very softly.
He nodded. "Yeah, it was. But..." he sighed. Looked at her. "Oh, hell, fuck if I know," he grumbled, sitting back.
She smiled. "Sweet talker. Look, don't think you've got feelings for me just because I was a good lay, Seth. Don't put yourself under that kind of pressure. It was a chemical reaction, nothing more or less. I'm not blowing you off. You're not blowing me off. We'll just call it even and go from here."
He nodded. "Fine. If that's what you want." He was silent for a moment more, and then said, "I think it's time we made that call to your fiancée."
She nodded. "I understand." She sighed, looked to the kitchen, and said, "Seth, I've got to go to the bathroom."
He cocked an eyebrow, then stood up. The waitress was approaching with their drinks. "We're still here," he told the older woman, "but we gotta run to the back for a minute. Hold our spot?"
"No problem," the waitress replied, and Seth motioned for Augusta to walk in front of him.
"All this and you still don't trust me?" she hissed as they entered the dimmed hallway.
"I don't trust anybody," Seth said. "Sometimes not even Ritchie, but don't ever tell him I told you that." He pushed open the bathroom door to the ladies room. "You've got five minutes."
She shot him a look and walked into the bathroom. There was one stall open, and she went inside.
The second her hand pushed the door completely open, she saw someone squatting on the toilet. Before her eyes could identify the person as a man or a woman, the person had reached out, grabbed her arm and yanked her into the stall. She let out a shriek, and a hand covered her mouth, then the other arm spun her around. To her amazement, a foot extended and slammed the door shut behind her.
And then, Augusta's vision cleared, and she saw her own face staring back at her, framed by blue hair. The hand pulled away.
"Xanny," Augusta breathed.
"Augusta," Xanny replied. "Nice to meet you."