P. Parrish - Dead of Winter

“You stupid shit!” Louis said.

He shoved the kid away, his grip still tight on the parka. He set the gun on the front seat and dragged Cole a few feet away from it. He had no idea where Gibralter was going with this so he set Cole against a tree, directly in the headlights’ beams. Cole squinted, bringing a hand up to his eyes.

“Here,” Gibralter said, coming up behind him and holding out Louis’s gun.

Louis slipped it back in his waistband. He watched Gibralter break off a tree branch and walk toward Cole.

“Where is he?” Gibralter said.

Cole was looking at the branch in Gibralter’s hand. “I don’t know!”

Gibralter brought the branch down across Cole’s face. Cole let out a squeal and stumbled back, covering his face. When Cole lowered his hands, Louis saw a thin line of blood across his cheek.

“Cole,” Louis said quickly. “Just tell us.”

Cole glared at him. “Fuck you, and fuck Harrison!”

Louis glanced at Gibralter. The kid knew.

Gibralter started toward Cole, who backed against the tree. Gibralter pulled him forward by the parka.

“Drop your pants,” Gibralter said.

Cole’s eyes shot to Louis.

With one swift move, Gibralter reached out and ripped Cole’s pants open, popping the plastic button. Cole tried to stop him but Gibralter smacked the branch against his arms.

“Stop! Stop!” Cole yelled.

Gibralter yanked at Cole’s pants, working them down his thin hips. Louis watched, his heart hammering. What was going on? Then, suddenly, he knew. The child abuse report in the Dollar Bay file. Cole had been sodomized as a child and Gibralter knew it. He was going to use it to break the kid.

Cole started to scream.

Jesus, Jesus! Do something. Stop this now!

But before he could move, Gibralter shoved Cole face-first into the snow. Cole’s bare skin glistened in the headlights. He was sobbing.

Louis grabbed the branch. Gibralter spun to face him.

“Enough,” Louis said through clenched teeth.

Gibralter glared at Louis then wretched the branch free. He tossed it down and took a step back. For a moment, Louis thought Gibralter was going to hit him and he braced himself to fight.

“You sorry son of a bitch!” Gibralter shouted. “How dare you stop me!”

“You’re over the edge!” Louis shouted back.

Gibralter’s fist came up but Louis was ready and deflected it. But the blow was powerful and he stumbled back, falling in the snow. Gibralter towered over him.

“Jesse’s dead and you’re defending this piece of shit! What kind of cop are you?” Gibralter yelled.

Louis grabbed a tree to pull himself up from the snow. Gibralter walked a few feet away, turning his back. He was looking off into the darkness.

Louis looked around. Cole was gone. Then, incredibly, he heard laughter. Gibralter was laughing.

Louis trudged through the snow and grabbed Gibralter’s sleeve. “He’s gone! What the hell’s the matter with you?”

Gibralter pulled his arm away. He reached into his parka pocket and pulled out matches and a cigarette. Cupping his hands around the match, he lit it. Louis watched his face in the match’s glow.

“You’re crazy,” Louis said. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“There is no genius without some touch of madness,” Gibralter said softly, tossing the match to the snow.

Gibralter headed back to the Bronco. Louis followed, furious. But before he could say anything, Gibralter produced a black box about the size of the cigarette pack. It was flashing a red light and giving out a faint ping. Gibralter held it out, moving his arm in a wide arc toward the distant trees. It was a tracking device that responded to a sensor, a sensor that Gibralter had imbedded in the police parka Cole was wearing.

“You wanted him to run,” Louis said.

“Of course. Stupid little prick.”

“But what if he hadn’t? What if I hadn’t stopped you?”

“I knew you would.”

For a moment, Louis was paralyzed with anger and a feeling of impotency. “You son of a bitch,” he said.

“No time for insults, Kincaid,” Gibralter said, placing two speed-loaders in the holder on his belt. “We’ve got a job to do.”

“Forget it. This is nuts. I’m not going along.”

“Why not? It was your idea, remember?”

Gibralter laughed and tossed a flashlight at Louis. Louis caught it against his chest, “Get ready,” Gibralter said, his smile fading.

Louis moved to the open passenger door and for a moment just stood there, watching as Gibralter pulled on his gloves. The man was crazy, stone-cold crazy. His eyes drifted to Cole’s prints. They were fading fast in the falling snow, but with the bug he was easily tracked and there was no need to hunt him by themselves.

Louis reached in the Bronco and keyed the radio. The static pierced the quiet and Gibralter’s face appeared over the roof.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“We need help. We need to call this in, admit we blew it and get some help.” He keyed the mike again. “Central, this is L-11, do you — ”

A sharp bang, an explosion of sparks. Louis jumped back, holding his hand. Smoke poured out of the dashboard, clearing to reveal the shattered radio. Louis looked up to see Gibralter holding his gun.

“Let’s go,” Gibralter said. He stuck the gun in his holster, slammed the Bronco door and started away.

Louis pulled out his gun and flipped open the cylinder. It was empty. Gibralter had removed the bullets while he had been distracted struggling with Cole.

Louis began to tremble, the wind creeping up under the parka and seeping through his wet jeans. He glanced around, at the black pines and rolling drifts. About ten yards ahead, he could see the beam of Gibralter’s flashlight.

Jesus, what was he going to do? He didn’t know where in the hell he was. He couldn’t stay here and freeze to death. And he couldn’t let Gibralter go on after Cole alone. If Cole did lead him to Lacey, Gibralter would kill them both.

Louis pulled on his gloves and picked up his flashlight. It was nearly two-feet long and heavy in his hand. He weighed its potential as a possible weapon, knowing Gibralter would not let him get close enough to use it. He stuck his empty gun back in his belt.

“Kincaid!” Gibralter’s voice echoed back to him through the trees.

Louis closed the passenger door and reached back to shut the back door. His eye picked up a spot of color on the floorboard and he froze.

It was an orange rabbit’s foot, its chain broken.

Louis picked it up, his heart beating faster. He had seen it back at his cabin just hours ago. Jesse had dropped it and he had stuffed it back in his parka. What was it doing here?

Louis’s eyes went to the metal grate that separated the front from the backseat. A cold knot formed in his gut. Jesse had dropped the rabbit’s foot in the Bronco. But he would never get in the backseat behind the cage. Not unless he was forced to.

Gibralter had Jesse. But why? And where was he now? Was he alive?

“Kincaid!” Gibralter’s flashlight ahead cut a faint path in the blackness. Louis put the rabbit’s foot in his pocket and started toward the light.

Darkness and cold. They were closing in on him, tightening their grip on his mind, on his body. He trudged on through the drifts, his eyes never leaving the beam from his flashlight. It was all he had, that light. It was his only defense against the fear that was growing inside him. The light…and his brain. They were the only weapons left to him now.

“Stop.”

Louis did not turn at the sound of Gibralter’s voice behind him. He heard the faint ping of the tracking device.