Robert Walker - Scalpers

"It's an occupational hazard,” replied Sid. “It's why I try my best to leave the talking to others."

They pulled out of the lot, driving down 436 to Denny's for two takeout meals and coffee, and soon they were racing back downtown.

TEN

Van almost burst with squeals of delighted laughter, squeals of pleasure more happy that Ian had thought possible, and to add to the merriment, Ian snapped on a pounding Bob Seeger tape, the ear-shattering music causing Van to bounce in the back seat like a little kid until he bumped his head hard against the top, giving Ian cause to laugh. They were giddy with accomplishment. So much had been done to protect them from the creeping steps of Park, who'd followed them from Michigan. This feeling, together with the enormous feeling of a sense of unfolding fate, combined to fill them with excitement and anticipation. Their fate tied to beings more powerful than anything on earth or in the mythical heavens, beings that directed their every step.

They were now parked outside the outpatient clinic of Mercy Hospital, where Ian knew the string of helpless women with tots in tow to be never-ending.

"More than we can use. Just watch, I promise you, Van,” Ian vowed. “There, there comes one now.” Ian had seen her in and out of the clinic before. Diaz—no, Jimenez—and one of her kids on her arm. Ian pointed as he spoke. Van pressed his eyes to the glass, seeing them half a block away, mother and child. The streetlamps silhouetted their forms.

Van had reconsidered Ian's idea, his new, assertive nature. And the thought of getting a child back to the house in the woods to take all night with, as Ian had put it, pleased Van's sense of play, as well as his undeniable urge to have the child at his complete mercy. He told Ian he wanted a girl child.

Ian had obliged. There they were, just ahead, mother and child.

Ian said if they took no scalps, if they just kidnapped the child, then all the work of setting up Park would mean something. He actually ordered Van to not scalp the mother, forbidding it. Ian was indeed getting carried away with himself.

Still, Van promised. At the moment, he was so excited, he thought he was going to bounce through the roof of the Mercedes. He squealed in delight.

"Crouch down back there. If she sees you, it's all over,” Ian told him.

Van mumbled an obscenity as he complied, but from time to time he peeked out over the edge, unable to control his urges as the car slowly crept toward the prey. The hunt was on again.

"What's the plan ... what's the plan?” He whispered from behind.

"Shh!"

"What's the plan!"

"Follow her up the street. She's going for the bus stop."

"How'd you know that?"

"Going that way, trust me."

"Then what? What then?"

"I'll talk to her, say something..."

"What?"

"Something..."

"How close are we?"

"Close! Get down. There, at the alleyway. You just get ready when I pull her into the alley.” Ian told Van.

"Why're you bullying me?"

"Don't be silly."

"Nagging ... you're nagging."

"I am not, now will you get down!"

For now, Van would just say what he was expected to say, “Good ... good..."

Ian pulled the car alongside the woman and girl, tooting his horn in a quick salutation. Van, deep in the back, listened to Ian charm them, and Van felt proud he understood the nonstop change in plans as his brother spoke. Ian often did that, changed in mid-stream. He was trying to talk them into the car for a ride.

The woman had come to the window when Ian lowered it from his side automatically and called her by name. She said hello, recalling having seen him around the clinic. “Want a ride? I'm going that way."

"No, no...” she answered.

"No problem, really..."

"Naw, naw, sir, it is too far. Bus is place for me, bus to home..."

She stepped away from the car, snatching the child, perhaps thirteen.

"Do something,” Van whispered.

Ian got quickly from the car and went after the woman, saying, “I'll just walk you to the stop, then."

"Is not necessary,” she complained.

"But I want to, Mrs. Jimenez. You and your girl shouldn't be out alone so late.” He said it in his best, most polite manner, just the way his mother had taught him to speak to a lady. He continued talking to the confused woman amiably, about the weather and such, and asking her questions. “How many children do you have? Two? Three?"

"Four, it will be.” She patted her stomach, indicating she was pregnant. “Four ... four now ... a girl, I wish, but my husband, he don't want me to take the test to find out for sure."

From the back of the Mercedes, Van crept out and looked once more up and down the street, paying particular attention to doorways and windows, and the hospital's emergency room, where beneath the sign some nurses and orderlies took a smoke. He slipped quietly from the car to the sidewalk, his dark cloak masking the sheen of the two large knives he held beneath it. They were brand new knives, brought to him by Ian to replace the ones they had discarded at Park's. It was to keep the police from matching that knife to new wounds, or so Ian said. Ian knew a lot of things about the police. He knew how to be cautious. He had managed to keep them safe all these years.

He worked his way through the shadows to within a few feet of Ian and the woman, just passing where she stood and hiding deep in the dark of the alleyway. Ian, moments later, stopped her at the entranceway with more of his questions.

"Why ... why isn't your husband here? Is it too much to ask? If you're carrying his child? that he—"

"He is working, you know...."

Only a block away, the traffic bustled by. Just a block away, the woman might catch the bus and they'd lose their chance at her child. It'd been a spontaneous idea to strike again tonight, spontaneity brought about by exuberance. Van couldn't recall a time when they'd been so full of power, so proud at having done away with Park; Ian kept talking about making a fool of this man Grant, who Van heard of only through Ian. Ian was smarter than the entire police force, leaving the policewoman at Park's room with the body.

Ian had suggested they come to the clinic to get what they and their gods called for next, the ingredient that must work! Now, it appeared, Ian had been right to bring them here ... the payoff was close at hand.

The woman was raising her voice at Ian, now, and trying to pull away from him. But Ian, calm and resolute, said in a shocked voice, “My God, what is that?” He was pointing into the depths of the alley, giving Van his cue to show himself, but Van wasn't sure it was exactly the right moment. She was too far away from him. Ian needed to guide them into the mouth of the alley, closer ... closer.

But he was somehow managing it.

"Do as you're told and your daughter will not be harmed."

"Oh, please! Please, sir."

"Just do as you're told.” He had a knife held against the child's throat.

"Ahh,” moaned Van, making them turn to find him in the dark.

Mrs. Jimenez shouted for her daughter to run, and the child twisted free of Ian. Her legs worked like pistons down the alleyway, and suddenly she disappeared ahead of Ian, who gave chase.

Mrs. Jimenez, meanwhile, had gone down as a result of a blow from Ian and, angry as hell with her, Van repeatedly kicked her in the temple and leaped atop her with his long knife. She had fainted and lay helpless now. He'd do what came naturally, straddling her neck, grinning, the large carving knife in his hands. He ran it across her forehead, drawing an outline of the scalp he intended taking, drawing it in blood. Carving, he thought her unconscious when she made a final plea: "My baby ... !"

"Precisely," said Van, carving deeper. The scalp came almost willingly. When he looked up, holding the long, black tresses of the Spanish woman, he studied the dark in an attempt to make out where Ian had got off to. Then he saw him coming back, shaking his head, empty-handed. Van cursed his brother's stupidity at having let the child escape. At the very least, he thought, they had a fresh scalp. But when Ian had seen what Van had done, he crumpled to his knees beside him, telling him he was a damned fool. He reiterated it several times before saying, “We've got to take the body with us. Hide it, bury it—maybe in the swamp."