Rockabilly Hell Read online

  He found his voice. “What happened to the girl?”

  “We feed them to the hogs,” Albert said with a smile. “Hog’ll eat anything . . . almost.”

  “Did you like that tight little pussy, Gerald?” Arlene asked with an evil smirk. “I bet you never had any that good.”

  Gerald did not reply.

  “Now, Gerald,” Victoria said. “You’re going to cooperate with us. Or that film you just saw gets circulated. And as a further incentive, you have a daughter who just turned thirteen. She’s a nice little piece. Very pretty. How would you like for her to star in some of our films? Can you just imagine Nick shoving the meat to her? Who knows, she might like it.”

  “Leave Vivian out of this. I’ll do whatever you ask.”

  “That’s a boy. We don’t want you to do anything, Gerald. Except keep your fucking mouth shut. Can you do that?”

  “Yes,” Gerald whispered.

  “You can go home now, Gerald. Back to your wife and your pretty little daughter. Just go on with business as usual, Gerald. But always bear in mind that you are now an accessory to murder, crimes against nature, rape, carnal knowledge of a juvenile, and a willing participant in illegal pornography. Show the man out, Nick.”

  “Come on, sweetie-pie,” Nick said with a nasty chuckle. “Let’s go be alone for a time.”

  * * *

  Scott finally found his voice. “You’re not serious!”

  “Oh, yes, we’re serious,” Al assured him. “And we also know about the snuff film industry in this area. My chief deputy is probably up to his ass in that dirty business.”

  “Jesus!” Scott blurted. He swallowed half his drink.

  “Cole here put most of it together.”

  Scott cut his eyes to Cole. “You struck a federal officer some years back.”

  “I damn sure did,” Cole replied. “And I would have struck him several more times, had not some of my deputies pulled me off.”

  Scott Frey was by nature an easygoing and good-humored man. He could not contain a chuckle. “Believe it or not, Cole, a lot of people with the Bureau were delighted to hear about you jacking his jaw. Steerman was not a well-liked man. He got himself fired a few years after that, ah, incident.”

  “Good.”

  Scott’s grin faded. “Let’s get serious about these ghosts, people. I mean, you are putting me on, right?”

  Before either man could reply, the adjoining room door burst open and George Steckler stood there, .40 caliber autoloader held out in front of him just like he was taught at the academy. He would have appeared a lot more threatening had he not been standing there in his underwear.

  “Freeze!” he shouted. “Federal officer. FBI. Don’t move. What’s going on here?”

  Scott sighed. “George, will you put that gun away and go put on your pants. You look like a goddamned idiot!”

  Sixteen

  Cole and Al left the motel room shortly after George made his appearance. While George was in his own room, putting on his pants, Scott conferred with Cole and Al and all three decided the wisest thing to do was not to tell George yet, about the possibility that the ghosts might actually exist.

  “Not a possibility,” Al told the senior Bureau man. “They exist.”

  “I’ve got to see them to believe it.”

  “How about tomorrow tonight?” Cole asked.

  “Fine with me.”

  “And bring George,” Al said. “I want to see his reaction.”

  That brought a wide and genuine smile to Scott’s face. “It might be worth the price of admission. But I still think you two are putting me on.”

  “I wouldn’t joke about anything connected to snuff films,” Cole told him.

  That wiped the smile away. “No,” Scott said soberly. “I guess you wouldn’t, at that.”

  “We won’t say anything about your being in town,” Al told him. “And we came over in one of Jim Deaton’s cars tonight. I’ll tell the desk clerk to keep his mouth shut. He will. See you tomorrow. ”

  Al drove over to the hospital to check on Earl and Luddy. The two were being held under guard and incommunicado. Under guard because of their assault upon Cole, and kept away from other people to keep them alive, for both Cole and the sheriff believed an attempt on their lives was possible.

  But when they arrived at the hospital, both hired thugs were asleep and heavily sedated.

  A doctor was just finishing up his evening rounds, and Al stopped him. “What’s the word on Earl Wilson and Luddy Post?”

  “Not good, Al. Oh, physically, they’re all right, except for some bruises and some rather strange burns on the soles of their feet. Deep burns. They won’t be doing any walking for quite some time. It’s their mental condition that’s got us all worried. I’m a medical doctor, not a psychiatrist, but in my most unprofessional opinion, they’re both basket cases—sometimes lucid, sometimes raving lunatics. Other times they’re almost comatose. When they come out of their comatose states, they always come out screaming. Shouting about being in Hell, seeing Satan. Being manhandled by men and women, who’ve been dead for years. They swear they were both in a nightclub outside of town. I’m not from this area, as you know, so I don’t know what club they’re referring to. I didn’t know we had any clubs out in the country.”

  “We don’t,” Al said. “Not in years. Did you do a blood alcohol on them?”

  “Oh, sure. They were both clean. But that’s something else.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. They both claim to have been forced to drink heavily over the past couple of nights. They have no recollection of the daylight hours during the time they were missing, just the night. Quite frankly, it’s the strangest thing I have ever seen. I’d have to say it borderlines on the paranormal.”

  “When can we see them?”

  “Oh, in the morning. But don’t expect to get much sense out of either of them.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  Cole walked with Al down the corridor to the room where Luddy and Earl were being held. He faced a deputy, his nose about an inch from the man’s face. “If anything happens to either of those men in there, Starr, I’ll have your ass on a platter. You understand that?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “You’ll be relieved at five o’clock in the morning. Don’t even think about nodding off or taking a catnap.”

  “Yes, sir! Ah, Sheriff?”

  “What?”

  “I’m on your side in this thing, Sheriff.”

  “What do you mean, Starr?”

  “I don’t like Win Bryan and never have. I lost a cousin five years ago, if you’ll remember. He was last seen out there where the old County Line club used to be.”

  “I remember, Tom,” the sheriff softened his tone. “Sorry I snapped at you. It’s been sort of a tense time for me.”

  Tom Starr nodded his head. “Sheriff? I’ve seen that Tommy Baylor fellow. Twice over the years, on patrol. I never said anything about it, because . . . well, you know why.”

  “I understand.” Al put his hand on the deputy’s arm. “Tom, I’ve got a dirty department . . .”

  “I know that better than you, Sheriff,” Tom interrupted. “You just don’t know how dirty.”

  “And you do?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s more than dirty. It’s . . . evil.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me with this knowledge?”

  “Well, sir. Ah ... well, I always figured you were a part of it. Your, ah, son is.”

  “Shit!” Sheriff Al Pickens said softly. “I knew it. I guess in my heart I knew it all along. How many can I trust, Tom?”

  “Me and Frank Bruce. That’s it, sir.”

  “Damn! The women in the office? Cynthia, Maggie?”

  “Dirty. I’d swear on the Bible to that. I can’t prove it. But I know it’s true. They both are, well, screwin’ Win and some others. I’ve seen their cars out to the Staples’ mansion more’un once. A lot more’un once.”

  Al Pickens did so
me pretty fancy cussing for a moment, then turned to Cole. “Cole, get Jim on the horn. Use that hall phone over there. Tell him to get his people in from Memphis to guard these two nut cases. Around the clock. If the county balks at paying for them, I’ll pay them out of my own pocket. But I’ve got to free Tom here to help us.”

  Cole nodded and walked to the phone. He was back in a moment. “They’ll be here in two hours. Four of them.”

  “Good. Stay until they arrive, Tom. Then get some rest. Meet me in the office at eight in the morning.”

  “Yes, sir. And . . . Sheriff?”

  Al turned to face him.

  “Thanks for trusting me. I won’t let you down. Ah, you can ask Frank. Me and him have talked about this.”

  “Glad to have you with us, Tom. Stay on your toes until those P.I.’s get here.”

  “I will, Sheriff.”

  * * *

  Al Pickens had everybody legally deputized and sworn in. Scott Frey sent George Steckler out to get a lengthy interview with Mrs. Doggett.

  “He’ll be gone all morning,” Scott told the team once they had gathered outside the motel. “George is very thorough . . . to the point of driving you crazy. He can be a pompous asshole and a pain in the neck, but he’s a good agent.”

  “Let’s head for the country,” Al suggested. “We’ve got to make some plans.”

  “This is going to be the damnest field report I have ever turned in,” Scott muttered.

  “Providing any of us live to write a report,” Al said grimly.

  Book Two

  All that we see or seem

  Is but a dream within a dream.

  —Edgar Allen Poe

  One

  Cole and Katti stopped at a MacDonalds and bought a sack full of breakfast sandwiches and coffee to go, then headed out into the country, soon catching up with the others. Scott Frey was riding with Sheriff Pickens, Tom Starr with Frank Bruce, Bob Jordan with Jim Deaton, and Gary and Bev were together.

  “We won’t fool people for long,” Al said, when the group was all gathered under the shade of a huge old oak, munching on breakfast biscuits and sipping coffee. “By this evening, those people we’re looking at will be looking right back at us and be busy covering any tracks that aren’t already covered.”

  “We know this Victoria Stables is a wealthy women,” Scott said. “Richest person in the state. So why would she get involved in something as slimy as child porn and snuff films?”

  “She’s sick,” Al said. “I’ve known Victoria since childhood. We went to school together grades one through six. Then her parents sent her East to school. She was a weird kid, very cruel to everything and everybody around her. Arlene was and is the same way.”

  “Clue me in on this Nick Pullen. All we’ve got is the Memphis PD’s arrest reports. Not that that isn’t a lot of interesting reading, for it is.”

  “Nick is a punk. Just like my son, Albert. But I’m beginning to believe that my son is the more dangerous of the two . . . in his own sneaky little shitty way. Nick is bigger and tougher than Albert, but not nearly as smart. Albert is a schemer, and I think he is a coward.”

  “Who can we trust, Al?” the Bureau man asked.

  The sheriff put out a hand, palm up, indicating the group. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Are you going to call in for help?” Katti asked Scott.

  He shook his head. “Not just yet.” He looked at the sheriff. “Have you ever tried to videotape these, ah, well, the ghosts?”

  “No. I don’t think that’s possible.”

  Cole elaborated on his own experiences with the ghosts at the club.

  Scott clearly did not believe any of it. He shook his head. “You crouched behind a car that Luddy and Earl could not see? The vehicle hid you, but they walked right through it. Oh, now, come on, people! Give me a break.”

  “You’ll see. Tonight.”

  “I think I am going to wait until the last minute to tell George what we’re doing,” Scott said. “His reaction should be one for the book.”

  Deputy Tom Starr answered the phone in Al’s car. “It’s the hospital, Sheriff. Both Luddy Post and Earl Wilson are awake and lucid, if you want to talk to them.”

  “That I do. I’ll see you folks later on. You comin’ with me, Scott?”

  “Yeah. I want to hear this.”

  * * *

  “We was in Hell, Sheriff,” Luddy said. “I mean it. I know it sounds stupid. But we was in Hell.”

  “We damn shore was,” Earl spoke from the other bed in the semiprivate room. “I seen the devil. I seen him. Up close. I know he’s real. I seen him. It’s church for me from now on. I’m a changed man.”

  “Me, too,” Luddy said.

  “Who paid you to attack Mr. Younger and the others?”

  “Huh?” Earl said.

  “What?” Luddy echoed. “Who’s Mr. Younger?”

  “What others?” Earl asked.

  Al questioned the pair closely, then Scott took it. It became obvious to both lawmen that the pair had absolutely no memory of why they were out at the club that night.

  “Do you know Captain Wood of the state police?” Al asked.

  “Oh, sure,” Luddy replied. “He’s hepped me out of several jams.” He frowned. “But for the life of me, I don’t know why he did. And I can’t recall what it was I got into trouble about.”

  “Me, neither,” Luddy said. “The last thing I remember, Neely come to see us at the trailer. You see, me and Earl bunk together. But . . . I don’t know what it was he come to see us about. I’m not lyin’ to you guys. I swear to God I ain’t lyin.’ I’m just drawin’ a blank.”

  “I wish I knew how come my feet was burned so bad,” Earl said. “It’s like I been walkin’ through far.”

  “Maybe we did walk through the fars of hale,” Luddy said. “I want to see me a preacher. I want to re-pent. Can you arrange for a preacher to come see us, Sheriff?”

  “Yes. I can do that. You boys rest for a while. We’ll talk more later.”

  Standing outside the room, a few feet away from a rather tough-looking P.I. from Deaton’s Little Rock office, Scott said, “I believe them. I think they’re telling the truth.”

  “So do I. Certain memories have been wiped from their minds.”

  “Well . . . I prefer to think they are suffering from some sort of temporary amnesia.”

  Al grinned. “Tonight is going to be a real eye-opener for you, Scott.”

  “I’m going to have to see it to believe it.”

  * * *

  “They’re FBI,” Captain Wood told Victoria. “Not local. Out of Washington. This complicates matters. Listen to me, ladies: You don’t want to kill a fed. That is bad news spelled with capital letters.”

  Arlene stirred nervously and stared at him from her position on the couch. “Can you call off your people?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Do it,” Victoria commanded in a harsh voice. “Right now.” She pointed to a phone. “Use the scrambler phone.”

  Wood opened a drawer and took out a portable phone, and then consulted a list of numbers that had been previously used. With over sixty thousand combinations, the phone was virtually tap-proof. Wood looked at a card in his pocket with Costa’s schedule on it, and punched in first the code combination and then the number. Costa did not pick up on the other end. The briefcase containing another scrambler phone had been stolen out of his car the night before.

  “No answer,” Wood said, clicking off the scrambler phone and unplugging it from the standard home handset. “No problem. I know where they’re staying. I’ll use the phone in my car.” He walked outside and dialed the motel number on his cellular phone.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the motel operator said. “Your party has checked out.”

  Wood hung up and said, “Shit!” He went back into the house and told the women the news.

  “I don’t like this,” Arlene said.

  “Me, neither,” Vic
toria echoed.

  “No problem,” the highway cop said. “I have their schedule. I’ll get in touch with Costa this evening and call everything off.”

  “Just make damn sure you do,” Victoria told him, real menace in her voice. “Now then. What about Luddy and Earl?”

  “They can’t remember anything, and couldn’t tell it if they did. My contact at the hospital told me not an hour ago those two are babbling idiots. Both of them are certifiably crazy as loons. Pickens and one of the feds went to see them this morning. They got nothing.”

  “Where is the other FBI man?” Arlene asked.

  “He interviewed that old bag Doggett woman. Spent all morning with her. But she can’t give him any hard proof. She doesn’t have any to give. All we’ve got to do is keep our heads down, until this blows over.”

  “You just make damn sure you call off your dogs,” Victoria said. “And don’t follow these people anymore. Call everybody off. They can’t find anything, for there is nothing out there to find. Just let them blunder around. Understood?”

  Wood nodded his head and left.

  * * *

  Gerald Wilson took a few days off from work. Told his wife he wasn’t feeling well and just wanted to rest. That really wasn’t a lie. Physically, he was in good health. Mentally, he was very, very shaky—bordering on insanity. The events of the night before had just about pushed him over the line. Before he was driven back to his motel, Nick had forced him into oral sex with him and Albert Pickens. It was disgusting. All during that ordeal, Nick had talked about screwing Gerald’s daughter, Vivian; had gone into great detail about what he’d like to do to her. It was perverted, disgusting, and evil. The more he thought about what had happened, the further into mental illness he sank. By nightfall, Gerald Wilson had slipped all the way over the line. He dressed in jeans, lace-up hunting boots, and a long sleeve shirt. He walked through the house. It was quiet and empty. His wife and Vivian had gone out to eat. His oldest son was going to summer school at the university. Gerald opened his gun cabinet and took out a Remington 7600 slide action rifle in .308 caliber. He loaded it up and stuffed his pockets full of cartridges. He opened another drawer in the expensive gun cabinet and picked up a pistol. A Colt govemment model autoloader, .45 caliber. He filled three extra clips and took a full box of .45’s, putting those in his back pocket. He was just about ready. Gerald had some shooting to do. But first . . .