"I understand."
"Good. Gregory, let her go and get back in your seat. You," he said to her, "sit here between us on the floor."
Gregory clambered back into his seat. Burke was tense until she was safely between the captain's chairs."Who are you?" she asked.
Her eyes were teary and wide with fear. Her face had been leached of color. To further emphasize her paleness, there was a trickle of blood in the corner of her lips. Had she bitten them? Or had he accidentally hit her during their scuffle?
Uncomfortable with the thought, Burke returned his eyes to the road, and it was a good thing he did, because in the rearview mirror he saw a pickup truck racing toward them.
"Damn it!" What else could possibly go wrong? Both Gregory and Mrs. Duvall were bleeding, and he had a pickup full of pissed-off rednecks about to climb up the van's exhaust pipe."Gregory, take the gun."
"Huh? Why?"
"Look behind us."
Gregory glanced at the side mirror on the door and shrieked when he saw the pickup barreling toward them. The man from the rest room was standing up in the bed of the pickup, leaning forward against the cab.
He was using the roof of it to support a shotgun, which was aimed at the van. He warbled a blood-curdling yell. Several cronies were riding in the back of the pickup with him, and the cab was packed full of fire-breathing fag-bashers.
"Oh, Jesus. Oh, God," Gregory wailed."I'm going to die."
"I'm going to kill you myself if you don't pull yourself together," Burke shouted."Take the gun!" He stretched his arm across Mrs. Duvall and pushed the pistol into Gregory's trembling hands.
"I've never fired a gun before."
"All you have to do is point it and pull the trigger." Burke was hoping this ridiculous chase wouldn't result in an exchange of gunfire.
He was hoping he could stay far enough ahead of the pickup to avoid that. The van was no speed machine, and at any minute the hasty patch job on the radiator hose could become a critical factor. But the pickup was heavy. With its extra load, it wouldn't be performing at maximum capacity, either.
Eventually the angry mob might grow tired of the chase and figure that their time was better spent back at the cafe drinking another round of beers. Or Burke might be able to elude them once it got dark.
Or they might chase them until they caught them and kill them all.
The pickup continued to gain until it seemed it was riding on their rear bumper. Burke swerved in front of it to keep it from pulling up alongside. Then he swerved to the other side of the road when they approached from that direction. It soon became a contest to see which driver could outmaneuver the other. Burke concentrated on staying ahead of the pickup while keeping the van on the narrow road. One mistake and they would plunge into the foreboding swamp that extended away from the road on either side.
He was concentrating so hard on his driving that he didn't notice Mrs. Duvall's outstretched hand until it was almost too late to stop her from pulling the key from the ignition. His hand shot out and covered hers.
She yelped in surprise and pain as the key ring dug into her palm.
"Let it go," Burke ordered. He was now driving with only one hand, and the van veered onto the shoulder, sending up a shower of gravel and almost making him lose control. Gregory screamed in fright.
"You're going to get us killed!" Mrs. Duvall shouted."Stop the van.
I'm sure they'll reason with us."
"Are you crazy, lady? Him and me they'll kill and feed to the alligators. You they won't kill until they've all taken a turn. Now let go of the goddamn key, and we might just stand a " A blast from the shotgun shattered the rear window. Gregory screamed again and dove to the floor, although the shot was widely scattered and the high backs on the seats served as protection from flying glass. To Mrs. Duvall's credit, she didn't scream, but she immediately released the ignition key and ducked to the floor.
Burke ground his foot against the accelerator, although it was already on the floor. The van wouldn't go any faster, so it surprised him to see the pickup receding in his mirror. It took a moment for him to realize that it was slowing down. Firing the shotgun had been their last parry.
The rednecks were calling it quits.
The truck shrank to a pencil dot in his mirrors, but Burke didn't let up on the accelerator. When he reached his turnoff, he took it on two wheels. His eyes stayed on the mirrors for another few minutes, but when it became apparent that the pursuit was over, he said, "You can get up now. They've decided we're not worth the effort."
Moaning, Gregory pulled himself back into his seat. He hardly resembled the handsome man who'd started out that day impersonating a priest. His bruised features were distorted with swelling and covered with clotted blood.
By contrast, the blood on the back of Mrs. Duvall's jacket was bright red.
Pinkie opened the passenger door of Wayne Bardo's car before it came to a complete stop. A sheriff's unit had already arrived, he noticed, and that was unfortunate but he would deal with it. He spotted Errol standing against an exterior wall with his shoulders hunched, hands deep in his trouser pockets, looking like he might burst into tears at any moment.
He didn't see Remy anywhere about and hoped that meant she had been given refuge in a private office inside the building. That his wife had been even remotely involved in a barroom brawl was unthinkable.
The newspapers would have a field day.
As he made his way toward Errol, he ordered Bardo to locate Remy and get her to the car."The sooner we're out of here, the better."
Bardo angled off in the direction of the filling-station office, where the sheriff was questioning witnesses. Pinkie confronted Errol.
"What happened?"
"The ... the ... the van broke down. I told him to stop here "
"Told who?"
"Father Kevin. He was the one driving."
Pinkie nodded and urged him to continue. Errol stammered out his story, emphasizing that he never let Mrs. Duvall out of his sight, not even when he used the pay phone to call Roman to come get them.
"You should have called me."
"I suggested it, but Mrs. Duvall said not to bother you. I didn't like it, but she "
"How'd the fight start?"
Pinkie listened with increasing disbelief."This is the priest my wife has received in our home?"
"I told you I thought he was a faggot," Errol said in his own defense.
"You didn't tell me he was likely to make a move on a guy in a public toilet. Jesus!"
"I told you like I saw it, boss."
"Okay, what happened next?"
"These guys start knocking Father Gregory around. I hustled Mrs. Duvall toward the door as soon as the fighting broke out. I brought her over here to the filling station. That's where I called your office from. I was explaining to your secretary when "
"Okay. I can hear the rest later. Let's collect Remy and get the hell out of here."
"Uh, Mr. Duvall ..."
"Pinkie! " Duvall turned toward Bardo's shout. He was running toward him, obviously agitated.
"Your wife's not here. They took her."
"What? Who took her? The sheriff? Where?"
"That's what I ... I didn't have a chance to explain before, sir."
Pinkie came back around to Errol, who looked like a man facing a firing squad."By the time I called back to your office, you were already on your way here. And Bardo doesn't have a cellular, so I couldn't call his car. Your secretary said you didn't take your pager. There was no way " Pinkie grabbed him by the lapels and shook him hard."You've got two seconds to produce my wife."
"I can't, Mr. Duvall," he said, starting to cry."F-F-Father Kevin pulled his gun "
"His gun?"
"Yes, sir. He ... he hit me over the head and carried Mrs. Duvall off in the van."
Pinkie's world turned red, as though an artery had burst directly behind his eyes and bathed them with blood. He pulled out the.38 he always carried in a holster at the small of his back, and crammed the short, stubby barrel of it into the soft pallet of skin beneath Errol's wobbly chin.
The jostling of being lifted from the van roused her. Her back and shoulder felt as though they'd been attacked by a thousand vicious bees.
She was aware of being carried. She opened her eyes.
It was dark, there were stars overhead. Millions of them. More than she had ever seen. Their brilliance amazed her. Wherever she was, it wasn't near the city. The sky wasn't muddied by manmade lights. The air was cold, but moisture laden.
"Dredd! Dredd!"
She recognized the voice as Father Kevin's. She also heard rapid footfalls on hollow-sounding boards and realized that he was carrying her across what she supposed was a bridge or a pier.
At the end of it was a strange-looking structure, which was actually several buildings that had been seemingly tacked together with no previous planning as to their final form.
Standing behind a screened door was an even stranger-looking man.
He was holding a shotgun at waist level, aimed at them.
"Who's that?"
"I need your help, Dredd."
"Jeer Louise." By this time they were within a circle of pale yellow light coming from a fixture mounted high on a pole and illuminating the galerie. Apparently the man called Dredd recognized Father Kevin because he set aside the shotgun and pushed open the screened door.
"What in tarnation are you doing way out here? What happened to her?"
"Gunshot."
"Dead?"
"No."