Steve and Tom called the command post on their radios and requested a search team. Steve informed the command post of the direction of travel, and requested that some officers check on the farmhouse. How could these guys be so stupid? Thought Tom. Don’t they realize that the farmhouse is swarming with cops? They must not realize that the command post is in the back yard of the farmhouse. Tom thought about how long they had been looking for these fugitives, and now the fugitives were coming to them.
Steve and Tom started making their way through the woods in the direction of the farmhouse following the trail of the fugitive. Steve wondered which fugitive they were following. One of them had just blown up a cow, and who knows what he intended to do to the Greene family.
Steve wondered why anyone would blow up a bull, and then it dawned on him. “Of course,” he said to Tom, “That freak Diablo must have been the one who blew up the bull as an act of revenge. Can’t say that I blame him, after the ride the bull gave him.”
“Yeah,” chuckled Tom, “I guess it will save George the trouble of having to take it to the auction.”
Chapter 43
Diablo had left the cow pasture after having exacted his revenge on the bull, and was feeling quite satisfied with himself. Man oh man, he thought, that bastard would never hurt anyone again. Diablo had never seen a more satisfying explosion, but now he was stone deaf. He felt his ears, and they were both bleeding. He looked down at himself and discovered that he was covered in blood and manure. He hadn’t lost his sense of smell, because he could barely stand the smell of his clothes. Maybe I should head back to the river and wash this crap off me, he thought.
Diablo could see the farmhouse up ahead, but it was crawling with cops. Maybe, he thought, I can kill a cop and wear his uniform. Then I can just walk past them undetected.
Diablo circled the yard looking for a cop that had his approximate build. He found one near the side of the farmhouse, and he looked bored and tired. Diablo crept up behind the cop, and hit him over the head with a rock he had found in the woods. The cop dropped like a wet towel, and Diablo dragged him back into the woods.
Diablo quickly stripped the uniform off the cop, and put it on. Luckily, it fit him well. He put on the officer’s sunglasses to cover his missing left eye, and hoped that nobody would notice. He slipped out of the bushes, and walked over to the side of the farmhouse. Diablo searched around until he found a water spigot on the side of the house, and washed his face and hands.
Diablo looked at his reflection in one of the side windows, and thought that he looked enough like a cop that he could pass undetected through the yard past all of the other cops. The thought made his skin tingle with anticipation. Wow, if I can pull this off, I can do anything, he thought. To make things even better, now he had a gun and ammunition.
Diablo went back to where he had hidden the cop and checked his pulse. He felt a weak pulse, and his heart leapt. He had been afraid that he had killed the cop and hadn’t been able to collect his soul. It wouldn’t be long now, because he had lost a lot of blood. Diablo was about to speed the process when he heard footsteps coming his way.
Diablo stood up and called to the cop who had been approaching. “Hey, over here,” he said to the approaching officer, “Isn’t this one of the fugitives?” When Diablo had stolen the officer’s uniform and gun, he had put the bloody jumpsuit on the unconscious officer, and smeared blood all over his face, so now the officer looked a lot like Diablo had.
“Holy shit!” the officer shouted, “I think we got him.”
“No way,” exclaimed Diablo. “I was walking over here to take a piss in the bushes and almost pissed right on him.”
“Too bad you didn’t,” replied the officer, whose nametag read “T. Hanks.”
Diablo secretly wondered if his first name was Tom (like the famous actor), but pushed that thought aside, because that would be ridiculous.
Officer Hanks got on his radio and called somebody telling them (presumably) that he had captured the suspect in police code.
While officer Hanks was preoccupied, Diablo quietly slipped away and went to the front of the house. He didn’t want to risk someone recognizing the name on the uniform he was wearing and realizing that he wasn’t that officer.
Diablo searched the gun belt he was wearing, and found a set of keys clipped to it. He unclipped the keys and pressed the key fob listening for a honk, indicating that the car was locked. A short distance to the right, a car horn honked once. A few seconds later, he was climbing behind the wheel of a police cruiser. This just gets better and better, Diablo thought, I always wanted to drive one of these.
Diablo briefly thought about going back into the house and collecting more souls, but he knew that he would get caught. He also knew that his ruse wouldn’t work for long, and that when they realized that it was an injured cop, the entire force would come gunning for him. He had better get as far away from that farmhouse as possible.
Diablo drove carefully out to the road, and turned right toward town. Once out on the main road, he floored the cruiser just to see how fast he could make it go. When he reached 130 miles per hour, he decided that he had better back down a little so he wouldn’t attract too much attention. He cruised along until he reached a town named Shelbyville.
Diablo slowed down to the posted speed limit, and decided to stop at a gas station for a map and some food. As he entered the gas station convenience store, the clerk called out to him.
“Man, I was just about to call you guys,” the clerk declared, “some drunk has passed out in the restroom out back, and made a horrible mess of the place. Would you mind taking a look at him for me?”
“Sure,” said Diablo in his best officer voice. Diablo placed a road map, a coke, a bag of chips and four candy bars on the counter and gave the clerk a twenty dollar bill he found in the officer’s wallet.
“If you can get that fool out of the restroom for me, it’s on the house,” said the clerk.
Diablo threw the snacks in the patrol car and walked to the restroom. He pounded on the door, and heard a moan coming from inside the restroom. “Open up, Police” said Diablo. He heard what sounded like someone throwing up in the toilet.
“Go away!” a voice said.
“Open the damn door!” Diablo replied.
There was some shuffling sounds, and the restroom door opened. Instantly Diablo wished that the door had stayed closed. The first thing that assaulted him, was the horrible smell emanating from the restroom. He blinked his eyes in disbelief when he saw who was standing in the doorway. Doc looked like death warmed over. He was covered in vomit and some kind of red liquid, and Diablo wasn’t sure, but he thought that Doc may have soiled himself.
Diablo whispered to Doc, “play it cool, and I’ll get us out of here, just go along.”
Doc nodded affirmatively, and Diablo marched him to the patrol car and ushered him into the back seat. Diablo closed the car door and nodded to the clerk, who thanked him.
“What about the mess this guy left?” asked the clerk.
“What do I look like, a janitor?” replied Diablo.
As Diablo drove off, he saw the clerk open the restroom door and heard a long string of epithets coming from the clerk.
Diablo drove out of town and pulled over to the side of the road. He opened the back door and doc shot him a smile. “I thought for sure I was busted back there,” said Doc. “You scared the crap out of me!”
“Sorry,” Diablo retorted, “I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I guess I really did scare the crap out of you, because the smell is making my eyes water. What the hell happened to you, anyway?”
Doc proceeded to tell Diablo about the events leading up to his “arrest” by Diablo. “By the way,” said Doc, “You make a truly terrifying cop.”
“Thanks, I guess,” said Diablo.
Doc pulled up his shirt and showed Diablo the stitches he had made in his arm stump. Although the wound was mostly stitched, the stitches w
ere irregular, and looked as if they had been done by a small child. When Diablo looked at it closely, he thought he saw a smiley face stitched in the stump.
Diablo looked at the map he had picked up at the gas station. He wanted to find a place where people would park their cars for a long period of time, like an airport. It looked like there was an airport about three miles northeast of where they were now.
Diablo got back in the car and told Doc that it would be best if Doc stayed in the back seat until they could find another car. Doc mumbled but seemed glad that he was not under arrest after all.
About fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the long-term parking lot of a small airport. There seemed to be about a hundred cars here, and Diablo found a “Police Vehicles Only” parking spot for the police cruiser. After parking the car, they exited the vehicle and started to look for an inconspicuous car with a door unlocked. After a few minutes, they found a tan Chevrolet Caprice with the passenger side back door unlocked.
“Perfect,” Diablo exclaimed. Doc opened the door and unlocked the driver’s door for Diablo, who started searching the car for keys. As luck would have it, there was a key in the glove compartment. Diablo also found a screwdriver in the glove compartment. He used the screwdriver to switch the license plate on the Caprice with the license plate on another tan Caprice parked six spaces away. That ought to buy us some time, he thought. Diablo opened the trunk of the car and found a suitcase inside full of men’s clothes. Diablo quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, tossing the police uniform in the trunk. He didn’t want to call any more attention to himself than necessary.
Diablo started the car and drove it out of the lot, paying nearly twenty dollars to the attendant in parking fees. “Wow,” exclaimed Diablo, “that’s the most I’ve ever paid for a car.”
In truth, Diablo had never bought a car, he always stole them or “borrowed” them (which is how he preferred to think of it) when needed. He hated spending their hard stolen money on a ridiculous parking fee, but he knew that the cops would be hot on their trail if they crashed the gate. Keeping a low profile was the name of the game now.
Chapter 44
Slasher considered himself an expert at blending in, but this was extremely difficult with his ruined jaw. He had washed his face in the river and saw his reflection in the water. He was starving, but couldn’t chew anything. He knew that he would have to get medical attention for his jaw if he was going to survive, but he also knew that all of the area hospitals would be looking for a man with injuries like his. Furthermore, he was painfully aware that he wouldn’t be able to fit in with duct tape holding his jaw together, and the seat of his pants missing.
Slasher figured that the farther he got away from this area, the less conspicuous he would become. He was eventually able to find a house in a town up river where the occupants were not home. He had travelled approximately thirty miles on foot by his estimation, and was tired, thirsty, and starving.
Slasher walked to the back of the house and broke a window on the back door to unlock the door and get in. Once in the house, he looked through the closets until he found some clothes that fit him. He felt quite a bit better once he had changed clothes. “They say that clothes make the man,” he said to himself. He looked in the bathroom mirror and was shocked at how different he looked. He carefully removed the duct tape and saw his purple, swollen jaw and chin in dismay. He had a hole in his face on one side at the jaw line, and on the other side, he was missing several teeth. He had been relatively lucky that his mouth had been open when he was struck with the bullet, because the exit wound on the other side of his face would have been catastrophic. Instead, the bullet had struck his jaw, dislocating it and knocking it out of his mouth. The jaw bone was miraculously intact, despite missing six teeth, and had fit back into his mouth at the time. He wasn’t going to win any beauty contests, but with dental implants, he should look fairly normal. At least the bleeding was stopped, and he felt that the hole in his face would heal, even though it would leave a scar. Hey, chicks dig scars, right? He looked around for gauze, but couldn’t find any. What kind of people don’t have first aid supplies in their house, he thought.
After searching a little more, he concluded that he would have to settle for wrapping a pair of pantyhose around his head to hold his jaw up. He wrapped it under his chin and over his head, and then tied it in place. Great, he thought, I still look somewhat like a rabbit. He wanted to knot the pantyhose under his chin, but his chin was too painful to do that just yet.
Next, Slasher searched through the kitchen for food and drinks. He found a beer in the refrigerator and quickly downed it. He knew that he had to rehydrate, so he also drank a glass of water. Next, he found a blender under the sink, and an assortment of leftovers in the refrigerator, such as chicken, ground beef, peas, and an apple pie. He wished that he could chew these foods because they looked delicious. Begrudgingly, he put them in the blender along with another beer, and blended them into something resembling baby food.
Slasher smelled the concoction, and it smelled awful. He took a sip, and nearly gagged, but forced himself to drink a full glass of the hellish concoction. He knew that it could be a long time before he was able to find anything else to eat, so he reluctantly choked down a second and third glass full as well. It had been so long since he had had a beer, that he caught a buzz, and was not feeling nearly as bad as before.
Slasher fished around in the fridge for another beer, and finding four, he grabbed a backpack from the hall closet, and stuffed them in it. He grabbed a loaf of bread from the pantry, and a can of coffee, as well as some knives, forks, spoons, a can opener, and cans of baked beans. He found a pan and a plastic cup, which he stuffed in the backpack, also. Slasher grabbed a baseball cap from the bedroom closet and put it on. He also grabbed a grey sweat jacket from the hall closet and put it on. Luckily, he found a twenty dollar bill in one of the jacket pockets. “Jackpot!” Slasher exclaimed.
Slasher found a bicycle in the garage, and decided that would be at least a little faster than going on foot, so he hopped on it and rode out of there. He hoped that the break-in would go unnoticed for at least a couple of hours, so he could put some distance between himself and the house before the cops started investigating. Before he had left, he had washed and dried the blender, realizing that this might be a clue for the police, because of the hellish concoction he had made in it. Not many people would have voluntarily blended and consumed that mess, and if the cops were smart, they would realize that the burglar couldn’t eat solid food. For a moment, he imagined a baby breaking into the house and making himself some baby food, and this made him chuckle.
Slasher got his bearings and headed west. If he could make it all the way to Mexico, he could get his teeth fixed and be out of reach of the police. He knew that Mexico was about two thousand miles southwest of his current location, so this would take weeks or even months. If he headed north to Canada, he could probably escape detection long enough to get his teeth fixed, but if he was caught, the government of Canada would return him to the United States to stand trial. Deciding that Canada was a much closer destination, he set his sights for the northern border.
Another thing that occurred to Slasher, was that he could probably get his teeth fixed in Chicago without calling too much attention to himself, if he could think up a story to explain the hole in his jaw. He could also get soup from one of the soup kitchens there.
Slasher knew that he would attract less attention riding on a stolen bicycle, than riding in a stolen car, and if he needed to duck into the bushes, he could do so easily on a bicycle. He was aware that he couldn’t travel as fast on bicycle, but he didn’t mind, since the cops tended to write off someone moving at a leisurely pace. If he was running away or driving fast in a car, he would attract attention that he didn’t need.
Slasher decided to stop at a gas station to buy a map, and when he entered the gas station, the clerk looked at him suspiciously.
“Hey man, if you’re going to rob me, don’t you think you should pull the pantyhose over your face?” the clerk asked Slasher.
“Ha, ha,” replied Slasher. “I couldn’t find a bandana so I could look like a gang member, right?”
The clerk laughed at this and went about his business without seeming to give Slasher a second thought. Slasher found a map and a three pack of disposable lighters and placed the items on the counter. The clerk told him it would be $5.59 and gave Slasher change for the twenty that Slasher gave him. Slasher thanked the clerk and hopped back on the bicycle and rode away.
A few miles up the road, Slasher pulled over into the trees that lined the road, and studied the map. If he continued on this road for five more miles, he could start heading north on Route 231 toward Lafayette. Once he reached Lafayette, he could take Highway 52 to Highway 41 north to Hammond. From there, it would be a short ride to Chicago.
Around nightfall, Slasher found a wooded area, where he set up a camp for the night. He built a fire and cooked baked beans in the can after opening the can first. He found that if he smashed the beans against the roof of his mouth with his tongue, he could swallow them without having to chew them first. He washed the beans down with a beer, and then went to sleep next to the fire.
Chapter 45
Tom and Steve had returned to the farmhouse and discovered that everyone was milling around the bushes next to the house. When Steve asked the nearest officer what had happened, he told them that one of the suspects had been caught.
“Where is he?” queried Steve.
“They took him to the hospital a minute ago under safeguards,” replied the officer, whose nametag read “T. Hanks.”
“Which one was it?” asked Tom.
“How would I know?” answered officer Hanks, “I never saw a picture of the suspects.”
“What was he wearing?” asked Steve.
“A bloody jumpsuit,” replied Hanks.