“Kid got hurt.”
A pause. “Hurt? How bad? Do you need an ambulance?”
“No, nothing like that. Busted rib or two, some bruises. Got a bit of a knock on the head, though. I think he should go to the emergency room. At least have a doctor look at the rib and his head.”
“Where are you now?”
“On A-32, on the service pull-off near Shandy’s Curve. I can’t lug the kid all the way to the hayride with me, though, and if I take him over to the hospital, I won’t get to the hayride until well after eleven.”
“That’s too late.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Can’t you call his folks? Have them pick him up at the hayride?”
“Mm. I guess so….”
“Try it.”
“Maybe. Guess who is stepdad is? Vic Wingate.”
There was a thick silence on the line. “Oh. Great.”
“Uh-huh.” Everyone in town knew Vic Wingate. Those who weren’t downright afraid of him merely loathed him. “Because of the accident, the kid’s really late. Vic has this thing about being home on time….”
“Vic’ll probably give the kid a hiding for having the temerity to have his ribs broken.”
“That would be my call,” Crow agreed.
“So, what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to call him, actually. Tell him that Mike was run down by a reckless driver and is going to be needed as a material witness.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can.”
“We’ll never find whoever tried to run him down. The kid’ll never be called as a witness, you know that.”
“Sure. I know it, and you know it, but Vic Wingate doesn’t know it. But if he thinks that the cops are going to want to talk to Mike occasionally, he might be a little less likely to slap the kid around. At least for a little while.”
“I just don’t know….”
“Oh, come on, Terry. You’re a politician, lie to the man. It’s no skin off your nose, and it might keep the kid from having some of his skin belted off.”
“Oh…okay, okay. Whatever. Darn it, Crow, one of these days all that spillage from your bleeding heart is going to drown you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’ll make the call or not?”
“Yeah, I’ll make the call, but listen, Crow, you get your behind out to that hayride. We’ve got to get those kids out of there. The smelly stuff is really flying around here tonight.”
“They still haven’t caught the psychos yet?”
“No, and I’m hip-deep in Philly cops. It seems,” Terry said, dropping his voice, “that these psychos are the real deal. Not just some clowns running from a stickup at a Wawa. These are some serious bad boys, m’man.”
“What do you mean?”
Terry’s voice dropped even lower. “One of the guys is some madman named Karl Ruger.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Yes, you have.”
“No, I—”
“Ever heard of the Cape May Killer?”
“Yeah. Who hasn’t?”
Terry said nothing, letting Crow work it out. It didn’t take long. “Oh my God!”
“Uh-huh.”
“I mean…oh my God!”
“Yep.”
“Christ, Terry, are you sure?”
“He was ID’d by the Philly cops.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Yeah. So,” said Terry, “did you remember to bring your gun?”
“Huh? Oh…yeah, I got it.”
“Is it loaded?”
“Of course it’s loaded.”
“Then keep it close, my brother, ’cause Halloween’s come to town early this year.”
“What d’you mean?”
“There are monsters out there tonight,” Terry said, but despite his flippant words, there was little humor in his voice.
Crow switched off the phone and frowned into the shadows for a few moments; then he hit speed-dial for Val’s cell phone, but it rang through to her voice mail. He left a message for a callback, ended the call, walked back to the car, got in, and sat behind the wheel staring out at the night for a long time. Beside him, Mike sat patiently, waiting in silence. Finally, Crow turned to him and said, “I just spoke with the mayor. He’s going to call your mom and, uh, Vic, and have them pick you up out at the Haunted Hayride.”
“At the hayride? How come?”
“Well, it’s complicated,” Crow began, “and I’m trusting you to keep your mouth shut about this. Okay?” Mike nodded and Crow gave him an abridged version of the facts. By the time he was done, Mike’s eyes were very large and for the moment he looked more like a kid than ever. He licked his lips nervously.
“Jeez-us!”
“My feelings exactly.”
“In Pine Deep?” Mike said wonderingly. “Did the mayor really make you a cop again?”
“Seems so.”
“Wow.”
“Mm.”
“Well,” said Mike.
“Well,” agreed Crow.
They looked at each other for a dark minute, and then Mike said, “Crow…there’s something else I have to tell you. But…I don’t want you to think I’m whacked or something.”
“Too late,” Crow said with a grin; then he caught the look on Mike’s face. The kid was serious. “Um, sure, Mike…fire away.”
So, Mike told him about his encounter with the white stag. He described the animal and how it moved, what it looked like — and how it had growled at him. The only part he forgot to mention were the skid marks, which was unfortunate.
Crow leaned against the car door and looked at him. A variety of thoughts ran through his head, chief among them a concern on whether Mike had hit his head hard enough to have caused some kind of hallucinations. The kid seemed pretty lucid, though, and even with his youth coloring the description it had been a pretty straightforward and orderly account.
Mike asked, “Have you ever seen anything like that? I mean…isn’t that pretty weird?”
This whole flipping night is pretty weird, thought Crow. He said, “Yeah, Mike, that’s off the hook.”
Mike winced and touched Crow’s arm. “Crow — the whole slang thing? Grown-ups never get that kind of thing right.”
Crow gave him a look. “Do you know what ‘precocious’ means?”
“No.”
“It’s Gaelic for ‘pain in the ass.’”
Mike grinned. “So, what do you think?”
“I think I haven’t a clue about that whole deer thing. I mean, if we were in the Middle Ages I’d say, okay, white stag or white hart — sign of impending doom. But we’re not in the Middle Ages and this is Pine Deep and I think you just saw an albino deer who was acting pretty funky.”
“Are deer supposed to act like that?”
“What am I, Animal Planet? I don’t know from deer. I sell rubber rats and fright masks. What I’ll do, though, is tomorrow I’ll call Nate Holland, he’s a park ranger, and I’ll ask him. Who knows? Maybe the deer is sick or something and that’s why it was acting so funny.”
“Maybe,” Mike said, but it was clear he didn’t agree.
Crow looked at his watch. “I really have to get out to the hayride, kiddo. You game to go with me, Iron Mike?” he said with a grin.
“Fire up the converters, R2, we’re about to make the jump to light speed.”
Crow chuckled. “Okay, but you’re R2D2, I’m Luke.”
“No way.”
“Hey, who’s driving?”
“Hunh. Well, if you’re Luke Skywalker, where’s your light saber?”
Crow’s smile dwindled slightly and his eyes took on a strange, distant quality. Then he leaned across the seat, thumbed open the glove compartment, and took out the Beretta. He eyed it to make sure the safety was on and then tucked it in his waistband, where it once again felt like a block of sinister ice against his skin.