The Woods Are Dark

CHAPTER THREE

As two men held Neala from behind, the waitress took her purse and tossed it onto the counter. A teenaged girl grabbed it and started looking through its contents.

“She’s got cool shoes,” said a freckled boy beside the girl. “Let’s see ’em.”

“They won’t fit you,” the girl said.

“Might. ’Sides, she don’t need ’em.”

The waitress knelt and pulled off one of Neala’s running shoes. Neala didn’t try to stop the woman. The last time she’d protested, one of the men had bent her arm backward. Sherri, who’d given them a rough time, at first got punched in the stomach a couple of times. Neala figured she would let them have whatever they wanted, and hope for the best.

The waitress tossed the shoes to the boy. He caught them, and climbed onto the counter to try them on.

Neala’s wristwatch went next Then her school ring from Loyola Marymount. The waitress dropped them into her apron pocket, where they clinked in the loose change from her tips. Her tough hands tugged the neck of Neala’s old work-shirt. The top button popped off and skittered across the floor. Normally, she wore a gold chain necklace. She was glad she’d left it home for the backpacking trip.

The woman flicked the hair away from Neala’s ears, mumbled about finding no earrings, and slapped her.

Then she sidestepped and repeated the process with Sherri, taking her purse, her sandals, her two rings. Sherri had no watch, but her crucifix hung by a gold chain at her throat. The waitress carefully opened the clasp, then dropped the chain into her apron pocket. Sherri cried out, squirming in the arms of the two big men as the waitress ripped the gold loop earrings from her pierced lobes.

“That it?” asked one of the men holding Sherri.

“Guess so,” the waitress said.

Neala heard a metallic rattle. Her left arm was jerked down. A handcuff hit her wrist. It latched shut with a quick, ratchet sound. The second cuff locked around Sherri’s wrist.

“Okay ladies, let’s go.”

Someone pushed Sherri. She stumbled forward, snapping the chain taut, tugging Neala’s cuff. The sharp edges bit into Neala’s wrist. She lurched forward, trying to stay close to Sherri so it wouldn’t happen again.

“I’m going along,” the freckled boy said.

“Pervert,” said the girl.

He jumped down from the counter, wearing Neala’s shoes, and raced to the rear door of the diner. He held it open while the men guided Sherri through, then Neala.

“Where are you taking us?” Sherri asked. She sounded, to Neala, remarkably calm.

The men didn’t answer. From the start, they’d said very little. All four stayed quiet and solemn, as if carrying out an unpleasant necessity.

The boy ran ahead of them. At the rear of an old pickup truck he tried to open the tailgate. He was still working on it, without success, when one of the men arrived and gave him a hand. Together, they dropped the gate. It fell with a clamor that resounded in the night’s stillness.

The boy scampered onto the truck bed. The man walked to the cab. As he climbed in, the others pushed Neala and Sherri toward the pickup’s rear gate.

“This is kidnapping, you know,” Sherri warned them.

“That’s the least of your problems, sister.”

They were tugged and lifted onto the metal floor of the truck bed. A man on the ground swung up the gate. It crashed into place. He latched it, climbed aboard, and sat down at Neala’s feet.

The truck started to move, lurching over the rutted lot. Neala’s head banged the floor. She lifted it.

“Stay down,” said the man beside her.

After a turn and a final sharp bounce, the truck steadied out.

We’re on the main road, Neala realized. Heading west. Back the way we came.

“Where are you taking us?” Sherri asked.

“Not far,” said the man beside her.

“You’re going to kill us, aren’t you?”

The question made Neala’s stomach hurt. Why couldn’t Sherri keep her mouth shut!

“Not us,” the man said.

“I want to check them out,” said the boy.

“Help yourself.”

“For Christsake, Shaw,” said the man beside Neala.

“Ah, let the kid,” argued the one at her feet. “No harm done.”

“It isn’t right.”

“So what the hell is right?”

“He’s pushing twelve,” said Shaw—the boy’s father? “He needs the education.”

“Every time we get a good young one, Timmy’s at her. It’s disgusting.”

“Going queer, Robbins?”

“I just don’t think it’s right. Do you? We don’t have to turn into a bunch of savages, for Christsake. Next thing you know, we’ll be the ones raping and…”

“That ain’t allowed, and you know it,” Shaw said.

“It’s the next step, damn it! We let Timmy do whatever he wants, next thing you know he’ll be screwing ’em.”

“No I won’t” Timmy pouted.

“He knows better than that.”

“You ever tell him what they did to Weiss?”

Silence.

“I don’t want to scare you, kid, but we used to have a guy named Weiss on these runs.”

“Shut up, Robbins.”

“Weiss knew better, too. He knew the rules.”

“Robbins!” Shaw snapped.

“Let him tell,” said the man at Neala’s feet. “The kid better know, for his own good.”

“We had this really beautiful gal, about four years back. Weiss couldn’t stand it. We should’ve stopped him. I don’t know why we didn’t, but I guess we were tempted, ourselves, and figured we wouldn’t mind watching him. Safe enough, just watching. Anyway, he had her right here in the truck.”

“He screwed her?” Timmy asked. Neala heard eagerness in the boy’s voice.

“A few days later, he vanished. Weiss and his whole family: his wife and three kids. They vanished in the middle of the night, right out of their home.”

“Maybe they ran away,” Timmy suggested.

“No. The Krulls got ’em.”

“How do you know?”

“We found evidence,” Shaw explained.

“So just remember Weiss, when you get an urge to start exploring our ladies here.”

“It’s okay, long as I don’t screw ’em.”

“Christ, kid, where are your brains.”

“Knock that off,” Shaw snapped.

“Dad, can I?”

“Let him,” said the man at Neala’s feet.

“Just a little?” Timmy asked.

“You want to end up like Weiss?” Robbins asked.

“Long as I don’t screw ’em…”

“Shit,” Robbins muttered.

“We’re almost there,” Shaw said. “Go ahead, but don’t dawdle.”

Timmy crawled to Sherri’s head. Kneeling, he leaned over her.

“Don’t touch me, kid,” she snarled. “I’ll kill you, I swear it.”

Timmy looked at his father.

“Just shut up, sister.”

“Yeah!” Timmy said. “You’re just a big ox anyway. Who’d want to feel you up?”

He suddenly lunged onto Neala, his belly pressing her face, his hands pulling her shirt from her waist. She felt his hands rubbing her belly, pushing under the waist of her corduroys, one reaching inside her panties and moving in deep, fingers pressing and entering her.

With her free right hand, she hammered the center of Timmy’s back. He jerked with the impact. Then a spasm of coughing shook his body. His hand went away. So did the pressure of his belly on Neala’s face.

“Damn it Robbins!” Shaw shouted. “You shouldn’t have let her do that!”

“She caught me off guard.”

Timmy knelt above her, shaking as he coughed.

“Goddamn bastard,” Shaw muttered.

The boy was crying, now. He suddenly gasped, “You!” and punched Neala’s face with a small, hard fist. She flung up her arm to stop the next blow, but Robbins had already shoved Timmy. The boy tumbled backward.

“That’s enough,” Robbins said.

“Dad!”

“Nobody touches my boy, pal.”

“Yeah? I do. The kid’s out of hand. He’s starting to act like a shit, and I’m not going to let it go on. Not while I’m on this run.”

The man at Neala’s feet said, “What’s got into you, Robbins? All the lad wanted was to cop a little feel. How come you’re so touchy, all of a sudden? Last week, you were helping him. You stepped on that gal’s hand, remember?”

“I don’t feel so great about that, either.”

“What the fuck, did you get religion or something?”

“Something.”

The pickup lurched as it turned onto a dirt road. Overhead, the woods closed in, shutting out the moonlight.