Al was feeling better already, banging his head in time to Insane Clown Posse's "Cemetery Girl" as he cruised the dark streets.
He looked up. Clouds hid the moon. He wished it was out and full. Amazing how dark a residential street could be when there was no traffic, no street lights. At least he had his headlights and—
Whoa. He hit the brakes. He'd just passed someone on the sidewalk. Someone female looking. And not too old.
He quick took off his earring and flipped the Caddy into reverse. He kept the earring palmed, ready to flash it if the lady turned out to be one of the bloodsuckers, but otherwise keeping it out of sight just in case this was somebody looking for a new cowboy to kill.
He did a slow backup while he searched the shadows and moonlit patches. Nothing. Shit. Either he was seeing things or he'd spooked her.
He was just about to slam back into DRIVE when he heard a voice. A woman's voice.
"Hey, mister."
Al grabbed his flashlight from the passenger seat and beamed it toward the voice.
A woman half hiding behind a tree in the bushes. Not undead. Maybe thirty, skinny but not bad looking. He played the light up and down her. Short dark hair, lots of eye makeup, a red sweater tight over decent-size boobs, a short black skirt very tight over black stockings.
Despite the alarm bells going off in his brain, Al ignored them as he felt his groin start to swell. He left the car in the middle of the street—like he had to worry about getting a ticket, right?—and walked over to her.
"Who're you?"
She smiled. No, not bad looking at all.
"My name's Carole," she said. "You got any food?"
"Some." Yeah, she looked like she could use a few good meals. "But not a whole helluva lot."
Actually, he had a lot of food, but saw no reason to let her know that.
"Can you spare any?"
"I might be able to help you out some. Depends on how many mouths we're talking about."
"Just me and my kid."
The words jumped out of his mouth before he could stop them: "You got a kid?"
She waved her hands in quick, nervous moves. "Don't worry. She's only four. She don't eat much."
A four-year-old. Two kids in one day. Almost too good to be true.
His brain kicked into overdrive. How to play this? For a while now he'd had this little scheme of keeping a piece on the side, with neither the bloodsuckers or the posse knowing nothing about her. He'd get her a house, keep her fed, keep her protected. But it sounded like this Carole already had herself a house. Even better. She could stay where she was and he'd visit her whenever he could get away. She treated him right, they could play house for a while. She gave him any trouble, like holding out on him, she and her brat became gifts to Gregor. That was where they were going to wind up anyway, but no reason Al couldn't get some use out of her before she became some bloodsucker's meal or wound up on a cattle farm.
And maybe he'd get real lucky. Maybe she'd get pregnant before he turned her in.
"Well... all right," he said, trying to sound reluctant. "Bring her out where I can see her."
"She's home asleep."
"Alone?" Al was like immediately pissed. He already considered that kid his property. He didn't want no bloodsucker sneaking in and robbing him of what was rightfully his. "What if—?"
"Don't worry. I've got her surrounded by crosses."
"Still, you never know." He paused, thinking. "Here's the deal. I got food but I got this tiny little rundown place that ain't fit for the cockroaches that live there. Maybe I could like spend some time at your place. That way I could guard you and your kid from those cowboys. They'd love nothing better'n hauling a little kid into the bloodsuckers."
Did that sound concerned enough?
A hand flew to her mouth. "Oh dear!" Her voice softened. "You must be a good man."
"Oh, I'm the best," he said.
And I've got this friend behind my fly who's just dying to meet you.
"I'll show you my place," she said. "It's not much but there's room for you."
Yeah, babe. Right on top of you.
She got in the car and directed him to the corner and around to the middle of the next block to an old two-story colonial set back among some tall oaks on an overgrown lot. He nodded with growing excitement when he saw a child's red wagon parked against the front steps.
"You live here? Hell, I musta passed this place a couple of times already today."
"Really?" she said. "We usually stay hidden in the basement."
"Good thinkin."
He followed her up the steps and through the front door. Inside there was a couple of candles burning but the heavy drapes hid them from outside.
"Lynn's sleeping upstairs," she said. "I'll just run up and check on her."
Al watched her black-stockinged legs hungrily as she bounded up the bare wooden stairway, taking the steps two at a time. He adjusted his jeans for a little more comfort. Man, he was hard as a rock. Couldn't wait to get her out of that miniskirt and himself into—
And then it hit him: Why wait till she came back down? What was he doing standing around down here when he could be upstairs getting himself a preview of what was to come?
"Yoo-hoo," he said softly as he put his foot on the first step. "Here comes Daddy."
But the first step wasn't wood. Wasn't even a step. His foot went right through it, like it was made of cardboard or something. As Al looked down in shock he saw that it was made of cardboard—painted cardboard. His brain was just forming the question Why? when a sudden blast of pain like he'd never known in his whole life shot up his leg from just above the ankle.
He screamed, lunged back, away from the false step, but the movement tripled his agony. He clung to the newel post like a drunk, weeping and moaning for God knew how long, until the pain eased for a second. Then slowly, gingerly, accompanied by the metallic clanking of uncoiling chain links, he lifted his leg out of the false tread.
Al let loose a stream of curses through his pain-clenched teeth when he saw the bear trap attached to his leg. Its sharp, massive steel teeth had sunk themselves deep into the flesh of his lower leg.
But fear began to worm through the all-enveloping haze of his agony.
The bitch set me up!
Kenny had wanted to find the guys who were killing the cowboys. But now Al had done just that, and it scared him shitless. What a dumbass he was. Baited by a broad—the oldest trick in the book.
Gotta get outta here!
He lunged for the door but the chain caught and brought him up short with a blinding blaze of agony so intense his scream damn near shredded his vocal cords. He toppled to the floor and lay there whimpering like a kicked dog until the pain became bearable again.
Where were they? Where were the rest of the cowboy killers? Upstairs, laughing as they listened to him howl? Waiting until he wore himself out so he'd be easy pickings?
He'd show them.
Al pulled himself to a sitting position and reached for the trap. He tried to spread its jaws but they were locked tight on his leg. He wrapped his hand around the chain and tried to yank it free from where it was fastened below but it wouldn't budge.
Panic began to grip him now. Its icy fingers were tightening on his throat when he heard a sound on the stairs. He looked up and saw her.
A nun.
He blinked and looked again.
Still a nun. He squinted and saw that it was the broad who'd led him in here. She was wearing a bulky sweater and loose slacks, and all the makeup had been scrubbed off her face, but he knew she was a nun by the thing she wore on her head: a white band up front with a black veil trailing behind.
And suddenly, amid the pain and panic, Al was back in grammar school, back in St. Mary's before he got expelled, and Sister Margaret was coming at him with her ruler, only this nun was a lot younger than Sister Margaret, and that was no ruler she was carrying, that was a baseball bat—an aluminum baseball bat.