Chasing a Blond Moon(33)
“You said you’d do me first,” a female voice answered. “Me. But you did her first!”
“Dude, you were cooking,” the man said, his voice part defiance, part pleading.
“You promised,” the girl said resolutely. “You do me, then you do her. That was the deal, man!”
“You shot the bitch,” the man said.
Another gunshot sounded and the man toppled out the door and hit the ground hard on his back. The girl appeared in the opening, a revolver in both hands. The man tried to crawl away, but collapsed face down and stopped moving.
The girl raised the pistol over her head. “I shot the fucking monster, the monster is fucking dead!” she screamed.
The girl was naked, and no more than a kid. Lethal force was called for, but Service hesitated at drawing his weapon. He looked toward McCants but it was dark and he couldn’t see her. He tried to listen in the direction of the farmhouse and barn, but heard nothing. Still no posse, goddamn them.
“I’m gonna cut the fucking monster’s head off!” the girl said. Service recognized the tone: pure fear, driven by adrenaline and anger. He had heard this too many times in Vietnam to forget it.
“Oh shit!” another female voice said. Then, “Oh, just fuck!”
The girl in the door turned back to the inside.
“You supposed to be dead,” the shooter said, her tone almost one of curiosity.
“You shot my tit, man!” the other girl said loudly.
“You did my man,” the shooter said calmly.
“You watched,” the other one said in her own defense. “What’s the deal, man? We both been doing him, ya know?”
“Me first,” the shooter said. “You went out of turn. We had a deal,” she argued.
Service didn’t dare move. Too far to go with the light shining out of the trailer. He hoped Candi was closer.
Another shot cracked and there was a scream, but the shooter suddenly came windmilling and flailing out of the trailer. McCants had the girl by a leg and was wrestling with her. Service jumped on the pile.
Candi was trying to pin the girl, but she was fighting and wild.
Service felt something hard strike him in the upper left arm, but got hold of one of the girl’s hands and twisted it behind her. Candi had the other arm and cuffed the wrists. The two of them lay still for a second, breathing hard, not talking. The girl cursed, her words muffled because her face was pushed into the grass.
A flash of light burst from the open door of the trailer and one of the front windows, followed almost simultaneously by the thump of an explosion, the sound a sibilant boompf rather than a bang. The trailer erupted with white light and fire and was followed by a loud secondary explosion. Bits of glass, pieces of metal, plywood, and other debris rained down them, some of it burning and igniting fires in the nearby grass.
Service covered his head.
Someone hurtled out the door opening and hit the ground, screaming, her head on fire.
“I’ve got her,” Service said. “I’ve got her.”
He took off his coat, put it over the girl’s head, and rolled her to put out the fire.
He heard McCants on the radio, calmly calling for help.
The girl inside his jacket was whimpering and moaning.
Lights jounced across the field toward the trailer.
McCants left the first girl and went to the man, who had not moved.
Service watched her check his pulse as the approaching vehicles illuminated the area.
“Fuck,” Candi said.
Service carefully removed the coat from the second girl’s head and looked at her with his MAG-LITE. Her face was black, burned severely. She still had hair, but only in patches. He turned away without making a further assessment.
“Candi?”
“I’m okay,” she said.
When she walked over to him he saw that her head was covered in blood. “You’re bleeding,” he said.
“You too, kemo sabe.”
He looked down at his left arm, saw blood dripping down. “Verse?” he asked.
Candi McCants shook her head. “Let’s get these two away from the fire.”
The drug team came in, dressed in black, weapons at the ready.
EMTs took the burned girl. Cops began batting at fires with some sort of bags.
One of the drug team members checked Bryce Verse. A call went out to the Alger County medical examiner. He was attending a medical meeting in Wisconsin. Delta County’s M.E. was covering for him. Service listened to the call to Vince Vilardo. Poor Vince. Getting close to retirement and still catching the shit.
“Let’s take a look at that arm,” a Troop said.
Service didn’t resist as the man rolled up his sleeve, then asked an EMT for scissors. The EMT came over and cut the sleeve to expose the wound. “You’re gonna need some stitches,” the EMT said.