C. Box - The Highway

The spring looked deceptively enticing. The opening in the ground was twelve feet by twenty feet and it was filled with clear water that appeared sapphire blue and lapped gently at the crusty edge of the opening. Steam and fumes wafted from the surface and always reminded him of hot bathwater. When the light was right, as it was now, he could see deeply into the cavern. The sides were uneven and coral-like, with shelves of built-up mineral deposits jutting out here and there. On one of the shelves, through the steam and undulating water, he could clearly see a femur bone. That bone had been there on that ledge for two years. He wished there was a way to reach down and knock it off. Luckily, he thought, it looked enough like a bone from a deer or elk that anyone else glimpsing it wouldn’t be alarmed.

It was called Poison Spring because it was. The pure water contained large amounts of natural sulfuric acid.

Pergram was no chemist. He didn’t know how long it took for the sulfuric acid in Poison Spring to dissolve a human body, or two in this situation. He didn’t know what was left after a month or two deep in the depths of the spring. All he knew was that it suited his needs and it had worked so far.

* * *

After he’d unwrapped the gimp’s body and weighted it down with heavy rocks, he rolled it toward Poison Spring until it was balanced on the crust of the edge. This next part always scared him a little, because he had no idea how thick and strong the crust was and if it might break under his own weight and burn his own skin. Once he had the body poised near the opening, he found a stout pole in the timber and used it to lever the body in.

There was no splash and it sunk out of sight so quickly he didn’t get a good last look. There was no foaming or agitation in the spring from the arrival of the new carcass. He went through the same procedure with the lot lizard.

He stood there, watching and listening, then balled the plastic he’d wrapped it in with the plastic from the trunk around another rock and tossed it in.

* * *

The entrance gate had a ranger in it as he drove out of the park, but he simply waved. The ranger, a decent-looking young woman with red hair, green eyes, and a pug nose and freckles, waved back. He felt a stir when he looked at her, and noted her for a future possibility. Seasonable rangers and temporary workers in the park often hitchhiked to and from work along the highway. He’d not yet given any of them a ride. But it was something to consider …

* * *

Pergram slowed down as he approached Emigrant en route to his house. There were two vehicles parked in front of the First National-Legerski’s cruiser and a black Ford Expedition with Lewis and Clark County plates. The realization hit him that at that moment, inside the building, Legerski was having breakfast with the cop who’d texted: I’M ON MY WAY.

He was momentarily torn. Should he stop and go inside and see what they were talking about? Sit at the bar and order some eggs and bacon and eavesdrop on the conversation as he had the night before?

He didn’t trust Legerski not to give him up. The man was a sociopath and would do anything to save himself. Sure, he’d said he’d take care of everything. But what if the lady cop was smart? What if she saw through Legerski’s lies?

If that happened, Pergram had no doubt the trooper would turn on him. Jimmy was harder to figure out, but because he was friends with Legerski-Legerski had brought him in-he guessed the bartender would sell him out as well.

Pergram cursed and drove on. It was his fault he’d let them in. He regretted it, although at the time it seemed his only choice.

* * *

As he drove on, he recalled how the scheme had taken shape, when it had changed from his own personal secret world into something he was forced to share.

Two and a half years earlier, he’d been returning to Livingston from delivering a load in the Pacific Northwest. It was dusk and less than ten miles out of town when he saw the light bar of wigwag lights in his side mirrors. He checked his speed-he was two miles under the limit-and wondered why the trooper was behind him. Why the cop wanted to pull him over in the first place. Pergram felt absolute terror for the first time in years, and thought his life would be over.

He’d eased his Freightliner to the side-it was before he bought his Peterbilt-and waited. The trooper probably wanted to check his papers, he thought. Sometimes they did that; random harassment checks of truckers to make sure they’d done the proper paperwork at the last weigh station. Later, he recalled that he should have noted that the trooper didn’t sit in his cruiser and run his plates before exiting his car. That should have been a clue. But at the time, all he could think of was that he was caught. And what he might have to do to get out of it.

The lot lizard was bound and gagged in the bunk of his sleeper, just a few feet away from him. She was still under the influence of the roofies he’d injected into her, but her breathing was ragged. He’d planned to take her to that shack by the river where he always took them. Then, when he was done, to Poison Springs.

He had no excuse if the trooper saw or heard her. And no explanation.

Pergram watched as the Montana State Highway Patrolman walked up alongside his trailer. The man moved slowly and deliberately, his right hand resting on the butt of his sidearm. Pergram reached down and opened the console between the seats and touched the butt of his.357 Magnum revolver. He knew that he might have to kill a cop, right there on the side of Interstate 90. Cars and trucks sizzled by in the eastbound lane. A couple of the drivers slowed to rubberneck before continuing.

The trooper approached the driver’s side door and knocked on it. Pergram took a deep breath, tried to act inconvenienced, and opened his door.

Legerski’s face stared up at him, probing with his hard cop eyes.

“Something wrong?” Pergram asked. “I know I wasn’t speeding. Do I have a light out or something?”

“Operator’s license, registration, and bill of lading, sir,” Legerski said with false courtesy.

Pergram wanted it over as fast as he could so he didn’t argue. He handed the documents down and sighed. “Everything’s there,” he said.

“Are you deadheading it back?” the trooper asked, checking the papers.

“This time. I always try to bring back a load but the dispatcher was an idiot and didn’t hook me up. So yeah, I’m deadheading it back.”

The trooper nodded, then handed the papers back. For a brief moment, Pergram thought he was in the clear.

Then Legerski said, “You’ve been around here for a long time but you spend most of the time on the road. So tell me, do you have a girl in there now with you?”

Pergram was too shocked to answer. His right hand twitched on his lap. Eighteen inches to the right was the butt of the Ruger.357. It was double-action, he wouldn’t even need to cock it, just aim and pull the trigger.

Pergram tried to swallow but couldn’t. “What?” he asked, and his voice cracked.

“I asked you if you had a girl in there.”

Pergram couldn’t speak.

“Are you all right?” Legerski asked. “You act like something’s wrong.”

“I’m coming down with something,” Pergram said in a croak. “Something I ate, I guess.”

“That damned trucker food,” Legerski said, shaking his head.

“What was it you asked me about a girl?” Pergram said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lame.

Legerski tipped his trooper hat back on his head. His hand was still on his pistol but he hadn’t pulled it. His voice became conversational.

“I picked your mom up a week back for missing a headlight,” Legerski said. “She cussed me out but good. She said she was a good driver, just like her son, the long-haul trucker. She said you live with her when you aren’t on a run, and since I’d just spent a week looking for a missing girl on that stretch of highway I gave it some thought. I asked around a little, because we really kind of live in the same neighborhood. I pulled your log and determined that there were more than a few missing prostitutes and runaways in this part of the state in the last couple years. And each time there was an incident report you were on the road on your way back here. I think that’s more than a coincidence.”