I managed to smile at her.
I passed the motel without stopping, turned at a fast food place, and waited for a minute by the roadside. No one was following us. ‘Tomorrow we have to move again. For tonight, we sleep in shifts. The other one keeps watch from the window. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
As it turned out, I didn’t have the heart to wake her. It was all my fault she was here in the first place. What had I been doing taking her to London with me? Of course, if I hadn’t taken her with me, they’d probably have killed her when they killed Max. This thought pushed away the guilt. I sat in a chair by the window, and went out to the vending machine occasionally for ice-cold Coke and chocolate bars. I crunched a few caffeine tablets until my heart rate sounded too high. I knew every inch of the parking lot, every scrap of trash blowing across it. The sodium glare hurt my eyes. I wanted to close them, to wash them out. Then I closed them for a second too long.
I slept.
It was morning when I woke up, and not early morning either.
Through the window I saw the maid’s cleaning cart. She was looking at me, so I shook my head and she pushed the cart along to the next room, knocked, and then went into it.
My watch said 10.15. I got up from the chair and stretched, shrugging my shoulders free of their stiffness. I needed a shower.
‘Bel,’ I said. ‘Time to wake up.’
She rolled over, exhaled, and then lifted her head from the pillow. Like me she was almost fully dressed.
‘What time is it?’
‘It’s gone ten. Come on, get up. You can take first shower.’
I watched her as she slunk into the bathroom and closed the door. I knew our options now had narrowed considerably. We were no longer the hunters but the hunted. Worst of all, I still didn’t know what was going on. I could think of one man who knew: Jeremiah Provost. But Kline would have Provost covered. Kline would have everything covered.
I had enough quarters left to buy us a couple of breakfast Cokes. I had a head full of mud and my body felt like it was dragging weights. The vending machine was next to the ice-box in a little connecting alley between the back of the motel and the front. There was a concrete stairwell up to the rooms on the first floor. I’d sat there last night for a while, listening to traffic. Now, as I got the second can from the machine, I heard tyres squeal out front. I looked around the corner and saw a car sitting next to the motel office. A man was getting out of the passenger side, buttoning his jacket as he walked to the office. He wore sunglasses and looked around him. I didn’t recognise the man, but he didn’t look like a typical resident. He looked official. I ducked back into the alley and flew to our room.
‘Got to go!’ I called. Bel came out of the bathroom dressed and rubbing her hair with a towel. ‘Got to go,’ I said. When she saw me throwing stuff into a bag, she took the hint, threw down the towel, and started packing.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘Bad guys at the office. They could be asking about VW vans.’ I took hold of the Smith & Wesson. ‘Here,’ I told her, ‘take this.’
She didn’t say anything. It took her a moment to make up her mind, then she snatched the pistol from me. She checked the clip, slapped it home and made sure the safety was on. I didn’t have time for a smile.
They say discretion is the better part of valour, but we were anything but discreet leaving the room. We ran to the van, heaving bags into the back. Bel was toting the pistol, and I had the Colt Commando by its carrying handle. I’d taken off the flash-hider. When I’d used the Commando last night, the noise without the hider had been impressive. It had made people duck. So the hider stayed off.
Now we were in the van, I hesitated for a second. What were we supposed to do? Cruise past the car with a nod and a smile? Play hide and seek around the motel? Or leave the van and take to the streets? I certainly didn’t want to leave the van, not just yet. So the only thing to do was drive ... drive, and see what happened. I knew I could tell Bel to split, to run off on her own, or stay holed up in the room. It was me they wanted. But of course they’d want her too. We were a package now; she knew everything I did. Besides, she wouldn’t stay behind. It wasn’t her style. I turned to her.
‘Tell me about yourself.’
‘What?’
‘You said I should ask you some time when you weren’t expecting it.’
‘You’re crazy, Michael.’ But she was grinning. I realised she was probably readier for this than I was. I started the engine.
‘It’s just, it’d be nice to have known you before we die.’
‘We’re not going to die.’ She raised the pistol. ‘I love you, Michael.’
‘I love you, too. I always have.’
She flipped the safety off the semi-automatic. ‘Just drive,’ she said.
I drove.
We took it slow out of our parking bay and around the side of the motel, then speeded up. I saw that the car was still parked. Worse, it had reversed back to block the only ramp into and out of the car park. I brought the van to a stop. The passenger came out of the office and saw us. He pointed us out to the driver, then took a radio from his pocket. With his other hand, he was reaching into his pocket for something else. And when the driver got out of the car, I saw he was holding a machine-gun. I risked a glance over my shoulder, but all I could see were walls.
‘Come on, Michael, let’s do it.’
‘Do what?’
‘What do you think?’ She pushed open her door, readying to get out. The driver was taking aim against the roof of the car. I opened my door and steadied the Commando.
Then I saw it.
It was a flat-bed pick-up with a cattle bar on the front and searchlights on top of the cab. I don’t know where it came from, but I could see where it was going. It mounted the pavement and kept on coming. Hearing the engine roar, the car driver half-turned, saw what was happening, and pushed himself away from his vehicle, just as the cattle bar hit it from behind. The pick-up’s back wheels lifted clean off the ground from the force of the collision, but that was nothing compared to the car. It jumped forward and then spun, looking like a wild horse trying to throw off its rider. Its boot crumpled and then flew open, its rear window splintering. Both driver and passenger had hit the ground. Now a shotgun appeared from the pick-up’s passenger-side window and blasted two rounds over the heads of the men, shattering the office window. Then the pick-up reversed back down the short ramp and out on to the road, stopping traffic.
‘He’s waiting for us!’ Bel yelled. She was back in the van now, and slammed shut her door. I drove out past the wrecked car, keeping the Commando aimed out of my window in case the two men decided to get up. The pick-up was already moving, so we followed it, stalled cars complaining all around.
‘Who is it?’ Bel was shouting. ‘Who’s in the truck?’
I had a grin all over my face. ‘Who do you think it is? It’s Spike, of course.’
26
The pick-up seemed to know where it was going. We followed it east on to I-5 and then south through the city till we connected with the I-90 east out of town.
We were headed for the interior.
‘Why doesn’t he stop?’ Bel said.
‘I don’t know.’ I’d flashed my lights a couple of times, but all I’d received in return was a wave from the window. We crossed over Mercer Island, retracing the route we’d taken into Seattle when we’d arrived. Soon we were on a wide road with wilderness either side. This really was frontier country. Few tourists or holidaymakers ventured into the interior. It was hot and dry, and if you didn’t like hills and trees there wasn’t much in the way of scenery. That this was logging country was reinforced by crudely made roadside signs denouncing government policy, foreign timber imports, owls and environmentalists. Not always in that order.
We came off the Interstate at Snoqualmie. I was wrong about the tourists. A lot of cars had come to see the Snoqualmie Falls. The pick-up signalled into the car park and we followed. The only space l
eft was a dozen cars away from the pick-up. I could hardly turn the ignition off quick enough.
I sprinted back to the pick-up. There was no one in the cab. Then I saw Spike. He was crouched in front of the vehicle, examining the damage to his cattle bar. He stood up and grinned at me, showing gorgeous white teeth.
‘You look like hell,’ I said.
‘I’ve been driving all night, what’s your excuse?’
We met and hugged, and this time it was me who lifted him off the ground.
‘Damn it, Spike, I don’t know where you came from, but you’re an angel straight from heaven.’
‘Man, you know where I come from: Lubbock, Texas. And the only angel I ever was was a hell’s angel. Oo-ee!’ He touched the bruise on my face. Then Bel came running up, and there was a hug and a kiss for her.
‘Why didn’t you stop before now?’ she asked.
‘I wanted to be sure those chimpanzees weren’t on our tails.’
‘Are you kidding? Did you see what you did to their car?’
‘Oh, but they’ve got friends. And you folks, looks like you’ve got enemies.’
‘And not many friends,’ I conceded.
‘But we only needed one.’ And Bel pecked Spike’s cheek again and squeezed his arm. He blushed, but covered it up by wiping his face with a red bandana. He had dark eyes and greasy hair and three days of beard growth.
‘Man,’ he said, ‘I been living in these clothes.’
‘Yeah, we can tell.’
He punched me in the chest. It was a playful punch, but it hit a raw spot. I winced and doubled over.
‘Jesus, Wild West, I’m sorry.’
Bel helped me upright and explained, ‘Michael got into a fight with one of the bad guys.’
‘I see you’ve got a story to tell me.’
‘We have,’ I said, now recovered. ‘And we’ve a few questions for you.’
Spike shrugged. ‘Let’s find a bar in town, somewhere to take the weight off.’ He thought of something. ‘You didn’t swap my Trans-Am for that Nazi shit, did you? The thing’s full of bullet holes!’
I thought of an answer. ‘Let’s get a beer first.’
‘Follow me.’
It turned out that Spike knew the Snoqualmie and North Bend area pretty well.
He’d hunted out here, he had old friends here, and he’d once crashed a car here, which put him on crutches for a month.
‘Good people,’ he said in the bar, ‘but some of them can be a bit strange. I don’t know, inbreeding or something. You know they filmed Twin Peaks here?’
My face remained blank, but Bel looked interested.
‘So what made you follow us?’ I asked.
Spike took a mouthful of Rainier. ‘Figure it out. I knew you were in trouble, Wild West. Jazz told me some of what Bel had told her. I got the kid to tap back into her computer and print me the same stuff she printed for you. I knew then why you were headed for Seattle, and I knew it could get serious. These cults are bad news. I had a friend got mixed up in one. He’s still in therapy. And don’t forget, I have a Trans-Am riding on this. So I thought maybe I’d tail along.
‘I got to tell you, though, it was coincidence I was there this morning, not inspiration or anything. I hit town first thing this morning, and I was cruising up and down Aurora looking for a motel I liked the look of. I have to tell you, I passed yours twice and never even considered it. What’s wrong, man, your credit no good in this town or what?’ He sniffed and leaned back in his seat. He’d crossed a foot over one leg, showing off scuffed silver-toed shitkicker boots. Very clearly, he was enjoying telling the story. ‘Anyway, as I was going up and down I was seeing these cars with suits in them. They didn’t look like Aurora types at all. They looked like the worst kind of normal. They were checking all the motels, not looking for rooms, that was obvious. They were asking for someone. I followed one of them into an office and got to hear the description he gave to the clerk: man and woman, English, in a Vee-Dub. Well, apart from the car, that seemed to fit. So I stopped looking for a room and started following. When I saw your Volkswagen, man, I knew I’d done something right.’
‘You can say that again,’ said Bel.
‘The Trans-Am got shot up,’ I said. ‘That’s why we’re in the camper.’
‘What happened to it?’
‘A man called Kline had his men spray it with bullets. A journalist who’d been helping us was driving at the time.’
‘Is he ... ?’
‘He’s okay, we think. He’s in hospital.’
‘So those sonsabitches shot up my car, huh?’ Spike had a determined look on his face. It was the sort of look he got every time he picked up an assault rifle. ‘We’ve got to total them, man.’
‘Not so fast,’ I said. ‘You haven’t heard our story yet. Maybe when you have, you won’t be so enthusiastic.’
‘Then let’s get some more beers in and tell me all about it.’
We got in more beers.
‘This guy called Kline,’ said Spike, ‘I’ve got to waste him, man. I’ve never met him, he doesn’t know me from shit, and yet I just know I’ve got to waste him. I won’t rest easy till I do.’ It wasn’t just the beer talking; it was all the drugs he’d been taking on the road, drugs to keep him awake, drugs to push the accelerator harder, and drugs to hold it all together. I could see that in anywhere between five minutes and a couple of hours he was going to come crashing down.
‘I need some sleep,’ I said. ‘My brain’s stopped working. I was awake all night. Why don’t we head out into the country, find a quiet spot, and recharge a little?’
‘Hey,’ said Spike, ‘I know just the place.’
He led us out of Snoqualmie on the North Bend road, but then turned off and up a forest track. He was kicking up so much dust I thought our engine would die on us, but the VW just kept on going. The track got narrower, then narrower still. At first it had been a logging track, wide enough for a transporter, but now the trees were scraping both sides of the van, and there was grass growing through the gravel. I counted eight miles of this before we emerged into a clearing. So far since coming off the main road we hadn’t seen a single signpost, and no signs of habitation: no electricity pylons or phone lines or mailbox or anything.
But here was a big log house, fairly new and with a lawn surrounding it, beyond which lay impenetrable forest. Spike sounded his horn a few times, but no one came out of the house. We went up to the front door together. There was a note taped there, which Spike read out.
“‘Dear Friend, If you’ve travelled this far, then you probably know us, so you also probably won’t be surprised that we’re not here. We’re in Portland for a few days and will be back Thursday or Friday. You’re welcome to camp. There’s a stream if you know where to find it. Love and peace, Marnie and Paul.”’
‘Friends of mine,’ Spike said. There were potted plants all around the outside of the house, and he tapped a few playfully with his toe. ‘We go back a long way.’
‘This is fine,’ I said. ‘We’ve got tents in the van, and the van itself is good for sleeping in.’ He was bending down, lifting the plants and looking at them, sniffing them. ‘We even have a stove ...’ My voice died away as he turned a small plant pot upside down and eased the earth and shrub out on to the palm of his hand. There, embedded in the soil and the thin white roots of the plant, was a house-key. Spike winked at me.
‘Friends know where to find the key.’
Inside, the house was fantastic, almost too bright for my liking. Sun streamed through huge louvred windows in the roof. There was unpainted pine everywhere. The walls and furniture were made of it, and the ceiling was panelled with pine tongue-and-groove. There was one large living room, complete with a central stove. Then there were doors off to bedrooms, bathrooms and a kitchen.
‘The bathroom has a whirlpool spa,’ Spike informed us. He flopped on a white sofa. ‘Man, this is the life.’
I didn’t want to sit down. I didn’t want to t
ouch anything for fear of contaminating it. I was amazed to see that when Spike got up again he hadn’t left black smudges on the white material.
Bel had examined the place like a sceptical would-be buyer. She picked up a wastepaper basket and showed it to me.
‘They’ve cleaned the inside of it,’ she said. And so they had.
‘Hey,’ said Spike, ‘you want trash, you come back to my place. This is perfect for our purpose.’
‘And what is our purpose?’ I asked.
‘Follow me and find out.’
He led us back down to the pick-up. I noticed it had a rifle rack behind the bench-seat, but the rack was empty. Spike had opened the door of the cab so we could see in. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The ashtray was brim-full, with cigarette ends lying on the floor where they’d been stubbed out. There was enough lettuce and tomato to make a family a salad. I guessed Spike had been fuelled by service-station subs. There were empty cans and dirty socks and a begrimed T-shirt and maps and cassettes lying everywhere.
‘Nice,’ I said, ‘we’ll take it.’
Spike just smiled and swept everything off the bench-seat on to the floor.
‘Put some carpet down there and it’ll all look spick and span.’
He was still smiling as he unhooked a couple of catches underneath the seat. Then he pulled at the bench-seat, sliding out the actual part you sat on. He pulled the whole thing out and stood it against the pick-up.
‘Well, well,’ I said.
There was a lot of storage space underneath the seat. Spike had filled the space with a lethal array of arms.
‘I think I thought of everything,’ he said.
Bel stuck in a hand and pulled out a cartridge belt. It was full of very long brass cartridges. She held it up like it was a python which had wrapped itself around her wrist.
‘Heavy artillery,’ I said.
‘The time for tiptoeing through the tulips is long past,’ Spike said, pulling out what looked like an Ingram, maybe a Cobray. Beneath it I could see some M16s. My mind boggled at what else he might have in there. ‘No dynamite,’ he said ruefully. ‘Otherwise I couldn’t have taken a chance on ramming that asshole. But I’ve some plastique if you’re in the mood.’ He put his face close to mine. It was a good-looking face, typically American in being well-fed but still hungry. He was wearing one of his sleeveless black T-shirts with black denims. ‘Gun heaven, Wild West, pure gun heaven.’