John Lutz - Flame

He saw the dark shape of the Ford and hurried toward it.

As he settled in behind the steering wheel, he let out a loud sigh and smoothed back his damp fringe of hair again. Attack dogs, armed guards, fences with barbed wire. Like a luxury command post in a state of war. Hell of a thing to contend with. He was glad the night was over. That he was back in the cocoonlike safety of the car and could get away from here.

As he leaned forward to fit the key in the ignition, a motion in the rearview mirror caught his attention. He glanced at the mirror and his gaze froze on it. A pair of eyes was staring back at him.

Eyes he recognized.

Eyes that paralyzed him with surprise and fright.

Before he could move he felt a cold blade on the side of his neck. Vincent Butcher in the backseat, leaned close to him and smiled in an oddly amused and tender way. Carver could still see him in the mirror. Smelled his fetid breath. Their gazes were still locked. Horror became hypnotic.

Butcher said, “Where you been, sweetmeat, nosin’ around?”

Gravel crunched outside the car. Footsteps.

The passenger-side door opened and Walter Ogden slid in and sat down. He was dressed impeccably in a window-pane-checked gray suit with a blue handkerchief in the pocket. Handkerchief matched his tie. He smiled at Carver. “Well, you seem to have dropped from sight,” he said in an amiable tone, “Time you filled us in on where you been and why.”

Carver said, “You didn’t get my postcard?”

Butcher probed with the knife point. Might have drawn blood. “There’s your funny bone actin’ up again,” he said. “Cut it out, huh, Carver? Or maybe I will.”

Ogden, with less flair for melodrama, simply said, “Talk.”

Seemed to mean it.

Carver made up most of it as he talked. And it was good. Afraid as he was, he had to admire his skill. Almost believed it himself. Verbal dexterity came easy when inspired by a knife at the throat.

All the while he talked he could smell Butcher’s sour breath. Feel the knife blade vibrate with his own heartbeat. Then he realized the blade was steady, it was his carotid artery that was pulsing against unyielding steel. Life against death.

“I laid low in Miami,” Carver said, not wanting them to know he was aware of the citrus farm and the deserted house with the landing field behind it. “Kept moving and staying at cheap motels. Knew you or the DEA or both’d be looking for me.”

“Why would a smart ol’ boy like you do such a thing?” Ogden asked. Didn’t quite believe Carver; sounded puzzled.

Carver shrugged. Felt the knife burn in and sat still again. “I was in a box. Right where you put me. Didn’t know what to do, so I decided to do nothing.”

“Don’t sound like you,” Ogden said musingly. “Not judging by what we know about you.”

“Which is?”

“That you’re an asshole,” Butcher said softly.

Ogden ignored Butcher. He said, “You don’t have a history of sulling up like a possum when trouble comes your way. If you’re nothing else you’re a determined asshole”-a nod to Butcher-“who keeps scrambling no matter what. No, more than determined. Obsessed.”

Carver was tired of hearing himself described that way. “It’s hard to be obsessed with something when you have no choice. When you’ve been forced into it.”

Butcher said, “Speakin’ of forcin’ somethin’ into somethin’ else,” and pressed with the knife point hard enough to make Carver gasp and draw back his head, arching his back as if sitting at military attention. What Butcher wanted to see.

Ogden sat quietly for a while with his head bowed, thumb and forefinger toying with the crease in his pants. Headlights from passing cars now and then illuminated his thoughtful features. “Know what I think?” he said, after a truck had passed and rocked the parked Ford with a brief turmoil of wind. He kept his head lowered thoughtfully, staring at the glove compartment. “I think you didn’t short-circuit and go to Miami at all. I think you calculated we wouldn’t know what to do if you simply dropped from sight, so we’d do nothing. Wouldn’t that be just like you, to find a move we hadn’t thought of? One all the way off the table?”

“Just like,” Carver said.

“But to make sure your lady friend’d be safe, you kept an eye on us. Probably me in particular. That’s what you’ve been doing the last several days, not jerking around down in Miami, but watching us. You followed us here, didn’t you?”

“Think so?”

“How else could you show up here?”

Carver said, “You’re the one dreaming up the story. I already told you the truth.”

“No,” Ogden said, “you’re not to be trusted.”

“Well, I’m not as upright as you two guys and Courtney.”

“We spotted this car parked here,” Butcher said. “Wondered why. Thought it was too much of a coincidence. Then we seen it was a rental so we waited to find out what happened. What happened was you limped outa the dark and climbed in. I wasn’t surprised, Carver.”

“That’s because you’re so good at thinking ahead.”

“You bein’ sarcastic?”

“Don’t you know?”

Butcher said to Ogden, “He’s pretty feisty, ain’t he?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Ogden said. “Question is, did he manage to get on the property and see or hear anything?”

“With the fence and them dogs and security guys? Not hardly. Asshole here’s probably been limpin’ around tryin’ to figure a way in without gettin’ chewed and buried like a bone. Besides, ain’t there an alarm system, too?”

“There’s that,” Ogden said, sounding annoyed that Butcher had mentioned it. Dumb to show a hole card when it wasn’t necessary.

Carver knew they didn’t realize he’d gone for his nighttime swim; they attributed his remaining dampness to perspiration. It figured. Butcher was used to making people sweat.

“Well, your lady’s still okay,” Ogden said, “though Butcher here was hard to hold back at times. He was awfully angry at you for disappearing.”

“I wanted to skin some choice parts of her,” Butcher said in a low monotone. “I can do that so it takes hours afore a person dies. Works on ’em just like it does on hogs.”

Carver wondered if he could whip his elbow around fast enough to mash Butcher’s nose and still avoid the blade. Decided he couldn’t; Butcher knew his business. Knew knives. How much bluff he was, Carver couldn’t be sure. None, probably.

Carver said to Ogden, “Your friend’s a psychopath.”

Ogden said, “Sure. That’s why he’s good at what he does. Only problem is, sometimes we run into someone like you who doesn’t realize the gravity of the situation. That irritates me, but Butcher doesn’t mind.”

“That’s because Butcher has no mind.”

Butcher gave his deep phlegmy chuckle. There was no anger in it, only an amused patience with an edge of anticipation. Carver didn’t like that.

Ogden said, “I gotta admire you, sitting there with a blade at your neck, smarting off all the same. But then, maybe it’s because you know we still need you and won’t open your throat. That it?”

Carver said, “I guess that’s part of it.”

“You can be wrong,” Butcher said.

“Sure can. That’s why I’m sitting here with you.”

“Okay,” Ogden said, his tone suddenly softer and serious. “Here’s where all this leaves us. You don’t stray again, or we’ll consider your usefulness ended and your lady will meet Butcher. You stand by our original agreement and relay the content of any and all conversations you have with the DEA, in particular with Jefferson or Palma. If you don’t stand by our agreement, or you drop outa sight one more time, sooner or later Edwina Talbot dances with Butcher. Maybe you can hold things off and make it later instead of sooner, but believe me, they’ve got a date.” He took a deep breath and swiveled in the seat to face Carver. “Now, we finally got an understanding? Know each other’s hearts and minds?”