Брендан Дюбуа - Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 51, No. 7 & 8, July/August 2006

Oswald said, “I recall a fire road up ahead.”

Another half mile, and sure enough, there was the red numbering on a white sign. The geezer — ever the careful driver — checked all his mirrors before pulling in and going slow down the road, hard-packed despite the rain.

Coby kept his eyes on Oswald’s hands. “Keep going till I tell you to stop.”

“I will, Jim.”

Christ, the dude showing no fear. Just that dull voice to match those dull eyes. Then Coby thought maybe this was natural for crips, to realize they couldn’t control much in their lives, and so you could lead them around like sheep.

A good spot turned up on the right. The road widened, and there was a little path winding into the trees. Even if it was a recreation trail, nobody was going to be on it in this weather.

“Over here should do just fine, Oz.”

Checking those mirrors for the last time, the geezer did what he was told, using the brake lever to bring the Lincoln to a complete stop, then shifting into park.

“If I turn off the engine, Jim, you may have trouble starting it back up again.”

Hey, if this wasn’t the oddest dude Coby had ever met. “Well now, thanks for that, Oz. I really appreciate your concern and all.”

One hand on the wheel and the other on the console, Oswald jerked kind of sidesaddle to him. “You see, I modified this car myself.”

Coby tilted his head toward the buttons, switches, and levers on the driver’s side. “Those things?”

“Among others. For example, your seat belt, once fastened as I asked you to do, can be released only from my side of the steering wheel.”

Now that geezer was trying to creep him out. However, when Coby ran his left thumb over the buckle, he really didn’t feel any button.

Enough of this crap. Coby lunged with the knife in his right hand pointed at Oswald’s throat and—

Coby couldn’t move his right shoulder.

“I’m afraid, Jim, that the strap mechanism is also a specialty item. One abrupt movement by you, and it draws you back against the seat. Even if you now relax, the strap will hold you fast.”

Coby was trapped all right, no give whatsoever to the belt stretched diagonally across his chest. He felt liquid running down his neck, but not from his time in the rain.

No, it was a panic sweat, and Coby could smell the fear starting to rise off him.

He made a little sound deep in his throat and started to saw at the strap with his knife.

“Jim, that blade seems — and I’m sure, has been — deadly, but the material embracing you is tougher than Cordura. I doubt even your knife’s point could penetrate it, and you certainly can’t cut through it.”

The dude was right: The blade could have been made of plastic like the seat cover under him, for all the good it was doing.

Coby licked his lips, tried to think. “Uh, like, what’s going on here, Oz?”

“It’s quite simple, really.” The geezer’s eyes went up toward his driver’s side visor. “I want you to tell me where you hid my daughter’s body.”

“I didn’t, man.”

“You’ve already confessed, Jim.”

“No! No, I swear. Never met her, never even seen—”

“Then why did you offer that you had?”

“To... to get a rise out of you, you know?”

“That would be rather cruel, Jim, don’t you think?”

“Hey, sure, sure. Oz, I’m sorry, okay? But I didn’t kill your daughter.”

The dull eyes closed, then opened again. “After my Gayle disappeared, I went into a deep depression. I couldn’t work, or sleep, or even think about anything but finding my little girl, laying her to rest next to my wife, her mother. Then I began taking antidepressants in rather large doses.”

Coby thought another bingo! would go off in his mind, but somehow it just didn’t come.

“Which, Jim, is the reason that I may seem a bit like an android to you. Or at least to normal people. But I’m really quite focused. You might even say ‘obsessed.’ With finding my Gayle through the only person in the world who can tell me where she is. Her killer.” The geezer jutted his chin closer. “In other words, you, Jim.”

“Oz, I’m telling you!” No. No, you’re losing it. Calm down. “I don’t know anything about your daughter.”

The eyes closed again for that pause, like a nervous tic for some guys. When the eyes opened once more, the dude said, “You do appreciate my dilemma? Earlier, when there was no evident threat to you, I heard a confession that you raped and killed my daughter.”

“I didn’t do it!”

“You knew Gayle was a virgin, Jim.”

Coby couldn’t believe that for once in his new career he had to rely on the truth. “I made it up, Oz. I swear, I made it all up!”

“And you were right about Gayle being sweet too. The kind of person who would offer someone less fortunate than she a ride in her car.”

Coby felt tears welling in his eyes, blurring his vision like the heavy rain outside had before he got into the Lincoln. “I didn’t hurt your daughter, man. I never even met her.”

“So you say now, when your options appear rather limited. But, either way, you’ve lied to me at least once, and one version of your account is supported a great deal more persuasively than the other, thanks to that knife in your hand.”

Hand. Knife.

Though Coby was a righty, he could switch the knife to his left hand, slash the bastard crip’s throat, and then figure out how to make the seat belt work. Or maybe somehow just wriggle out of it.

But first things first.

Coby flashed the knife into his left palm so fast even he couldn’t see it happening, but when he struck out at Oswald, the geezer’s right hand snagged Coby’s at the wrist.

Not the way the dude shook hands, though. This was like being caught in a vice.

“After the polio made my legs into rubber bands, my parents used to wheel me out into the sunshine. When God takes away one of your abilities, Jim, he often helps you compensate via another.”

“Oz, please don’t—”

“Within two months, my hand-to-eye coordination had developed to the point where I could snatch a fly out of the air, cup it in my enclosed palm without even damaging a wing. And years of weight lifting built up my arms and shoulders to the point where I could probably crush your wrist right now. And I’m afraid I’ll have to do just that, unless you drop the knife.”

Coby felt the bones above his left hand caving in toward the center.

“Let it go, Jim.”

Squeezing his eyes shut from the pain, Coby started to cry out loud, but he let the handle slip from his fingers, and he heard the knife clatter onto the console of the Lincoln.

Oswald let go of his wrist. “Jim?”

When Coby finally looked over at the dude, the knife was gone.

“Jim, where did you hide my Gayle’s body?”

Coby started to speak, then realized it was a sob, not a word, and he tried to catch his breath. “Please, man, I swear to God. I’ll swear on anything you want. But,” slow now, slow and even, “I... never... touched... your... daughter.”

The geezer closed his eyes again, but instead of opening them right away like before, he hung his head, then shook it slowly, side to side. “You are not helping my depression here, Jim.”

Coby was afraid he was going to soil himself. “You’ve gotta believe—”

“Oh,” the face snapping up now. “Oh, I do believe you, Jim. You aren’t the one responsible for my Gayle’s death.”

It was Coby’s turn to hang his head, the waterfall of tears still flowing, but now in relief rather than panic. No, wait a second: He never panicked. Coby was just a little afraid, that’s all. Like anybody would’ve been, this crazy crip playing devil games on them.