LIFERS Chapter Six

Jill and Vicky heeded Robertson’s threat of pain, immense discomfort and the possibility of death and remained silent the whole of their fifteen minute journey, all of which, Jill had spent looking from her window, which brought her to one conclusion. They weren’t heading anywhere big.

They didn’t pass any buildings, any side roads; there were no streetlamps, no road signs, and no other vehicles, no anything.
As they reached the outskirts of where they were being taken, Jill noticed a sign momentarily illuminated by the car’s headlights, part of which had been defaced with red paint:

Welcome to Martinsville
Population: D 1 E 0 A 4 D

The patrol car pulled up outside a grey, wood slatted building where Jill could see a sign in faded black letters.

Martinsville Police Station and Courtroom

The building was one storey high with a flat roof and had bars over the only two windows visible, a steel gate covered the entrance door and a porch light lit the immediate area of the doorway between the windows. The other buildings, the only ones she could see from the car, showed no signs of life, but it was late, 01.28 according to the dash-clock.

Robertson grabbed his hat and climbed from the car, and, after giving an unconcerned glance through Jill’s window, he unlocked the barred gate over the door and disappeared inside. This presented her with an opportunity she couldn’t afford to let go without trying something to get them out of the mess she’d gotten them in to. She found the inner handle on the door and twisted herself round to pull it open. The short lever gave with little or no effort but the door remained locked.

‘Vicky,’ she whispered. ‘Try that catch. See if you can get the door open.’

But Vicky didn’t respond, instead she just sat there rocking forward and back like some long-term hospital case in a straight-jacket.

‘Vickeee...’ she urged, and was about to climb over and attempt it herself when she heard the trunk pop open. She peered through the back window to see Robertson drag out the dead man and haul him inside.

Less than a minute later he was back.

‘Okay, ladies,’ he said, pulling open the rear door. ‘If you wouldn’t mind steppin’ inside for me?’

Jill climbed out expecting Vicky to follow, she didn’t. ‘Come on, Vicky, you have to get out.’

Robertson pushed her aside and went to get in.

‘No, wait,’ Jill said. ‘I’ll do it.’

He showed an upturned hand. ‘You got just one shot at it, missy.’

She bent, leaned in the car. ‘Vicky, you have to get out. If you don’t, he’s coming in to get you.’

Vicky stopped rocking to look at Jill; her face pale, blank, emotionless.

Jill took her hand. ‘Come on, Vicks. Please?’ she said, and pulled until Vicky started to move.

Robertson slammed shut the door and pointed. ‘Inside,’ he said.

Jill entered first to see two adjoining cells against the back wall. Above and to her left a fluorescent tube not yet full of life flickered and buzzed in a bid to be noticed. She sniffed at the stale air to find it had a damp, musty, rotting wood odour, with the underlying scent of biological decay, just like the cop and the car.

Robertson cut their restraints and pushed them into the cell on the left before closing and locking the door, and then left to go back outside. Jill heard the patrol car start up and followed its progress around to the right side of the building. A few seconds later Robertson was back and dropped a bunch of keys and the dead man’s boot on a desk in the centre of the room, then, after pulling out a chair, he sat facing them.

The only thing in the cell they were in was a wooden bench fastened to the back wall which Vicky opted for, her feet up and eyes fixed on the floor, her knees under her chin. Jill chose to stand as she looked around. To her left, and beyond the adjoining cell, she saw a grey wooden door baring a sign that read:

Courtroom

To the right of that was a notice board with different items pinned to it, the largest being a map of the T-shaped town they were now prisoners in. Directly in front of her and under the window to the left of the entrance door, she saw a small cupboard with an empty glass vase resting upon it. Right of the door was the other window, below which sat a small writing desk with a pen sticking upright out of its holder. The wall to her right had only one thing on it, a clock, and the time was 01.33. On the back wall to her right was another door, the sign on this read:

Washroom

She switched her attention to the desk in the centre of the room where Robertson was writing something down, but all she saw was the top of his platter-sized hat. The stray boot lay on its side next to something that was black and around two feet long with two silver prongs poking out the top. She thought it looked like a cattle-prod, but with something extra duck-taped to it. On the desk next to that was an old-style, black, Bacolite telephone, and next to that was the bunch of keys he threw to the desk, one of which fitted their cell.

Jill knew her next statement was going to be met with some form of ignorance, possibly even abuse, but keeping quiet would get them nowhere.

‘Aren’t we supposed to get a phone call? Hey, I said─’

‘I heard what you said,’ the cop replied, head still down.

‘So, do we get one or not?’

'Not,’ he told her. ‘Phone’s bust, has been for weeks.’

That was a lie, but what could she expect from a man whose actions so far hadn’t even been close to conventional police proceedures. She sighed, resigned herself to the fact that neither Vicky nor she would be getting out of there any time before morning.

With little else to do but wait, Jill continued to survey her surroundings; she noticed three things in the adjoining cell. The first of them being four ring-like shackles symmetrically spaced out and bolted to the floor. In the centre of the shackles she saw a spread-eagled black scorch-mark. The thought crossed her mind that this guy, being as unhinged as he is, might just set fire to his prisoners, and not just the guilty ones, but she didn’t ask; she had a feeling she wouldn’t like his answer.

The second thing was a long hatch in the ceiling with two bolts holding it shut. But the third and most worrying thing in the other cell was the body of the man she hit and killed with Vicky’s car. His arms and legs were still twisted and bent at angles that just looked wrong. Then curiosity started to get the better of her as she backed up to the bench and sat next to Vicky.

‘Vicky,’ she said, still looking at the dead man. ‘Why do you think he dumped the body in there?’

Vicky shrugged without looking up. ‘Dunno.’

Jill couldn’t fathom out any logical reason why he’d do such a thing, it’s not like the guy was going to get up and run off any time soon. She looked back toRobertson to see he’d removed his hat. His hair was a very light shade of blonde, almost white, and cut so short it looked like brushed suede. His face, as she noticed out on the road, was scarred and severely pock marked. She thought Andy Lebowski looked bad after puberty had kicked his ass into manhood, but this had to be the worst aftermath of teenage acne she’d ever come across. Even if he’d stuck his head in a sack full of angry cats he couldn’t look any uglier. And under the pale fluorescent hue of the strip-lights, his uniform looked stained and worn, its underarms darkened with sweat.

And that got Jill thinking.

What type of law enforcement officer would allow his uniform to become that dishevelled? What type of law enforcement officer would drive a patrol car with an interior like the one sitting outside? And what type of law enforcement officer would treat his detainees the way he had? Even if she disregarded his earlier vicious conduct toward them, there could be only one reason for his attitude and unkempt appearance, and that had to be because he no one to answer to. No higher authority to keep him in check.

There’s no way they had been arrested for what happened out on the road. If they had, a crime scene would have been set up, areas taped-off, measurements taken, an ambulance or coroner summoned to collect the body of the dead man. He would never have been slung into the trunk of a patrol car. This was in no way just any ordinary case of arrest; something was wrong here, very wrong, and she had a feeling it wasn’t going to get any better. This maniac cop was calling the shots, and he could do whatever he wanted, and they were at his mercy.

She looked on as Robertson opened one of the drawers in the desk and took out a small, white, plastic box, about the size of a pack of cigarettes. Then, and of all things insane, he started poking his thick, still-gloved fingers into his eye sockets, each eye squelching like he was digging seeds from an orange. Eventually he finished after removing contact lenses big enough to cover the whole of each eye.

Then he looked straight at her, and that’s when Jill realised their fate was sealed. His eyes had dark-red pupils with what little white she could see, bloodshot, and closer to yellow than white.

She was thinking about bringing this to Vicky’s attention but decided against it because she might freak-out. Then buzzing started in her pocket and made her jump. She’d forgotten all about finding the dead man’s cell phone. But Robertson was still looking in her direction, so no way could she just pull it out and answer it.

Just then the stationroom door opened and Billy walked in carrying Vicky’s old shoebox.

‘S’all there was,’ he said, placing the box on the desk.

‘What about luggage, or bags? Don’t want anyone finding them now, do we?’

‘There were some cases in the trunk but I burned em.’

‘Did ya get rid of the car?’

‘At the bottom o’ one of the pits,’ he said.

‘Here,’ said Robertson, handing him some keys. ‘That investigator’s car is out back, get rid of that just like you did theirs.’

Without another word said between them, Billy took the keys and left.

Jill saw Vicky lift her head on hearing the voices, and no doubt recognised the shoebox that Robertson had now removed the lid from to lift things from it.

Vicky rose. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, timid, polite. ‘But where’s my car?’

Jill couldn’t get Robertson’s eyes off her mind and she really didn’t want Vicky to see them. ‘Leave it, Vicky,’ she said.

Robertson, however, didn’t answer, didn’t look up, just carried on, head down.

‘…and why has all my stuff been taken out?’

Again, Robertson never answered.

‘Vicky, I’m begging you, for Gods-sake, please don’t do this right now.’

The first item he pulled from the box was a small, pink, flip-open cell phone, which he opened until it snapped in two before tossing it into a waste bin under the desk.

Vicky rushed to the cell door and shouted, ‘You fuck. You ugly fuck.’

In one fluid motion, Robertson shot to his feet, pulled out his gun, cocked the hammer, and aimed directly at Vicky’s head.

Jill shouted, ‘Sit down, Vicky.’

Robertson glared at her as she backed-up and sat next to Jill, then he sat and placed his gun on the desk before he carried on emptying the box.

‘Please don’t give him a reason to come in here, Vicky. As long as these bars are between us, we’re safe.’

‘Did you see his eyes?’

‘What?’

‘His eyes, did you see them?’

Jill paused, feeling the buzz of the cell phone again. ‘Yes, I saw them.’

‘What the fuck is he?’

‘He’s just an ill-tempered cop with a bad eye condition who’s had a lousy day and wants to take it out on us, that’s all.’

‘But his─’

Robertson’s chair scraped the floor; he stood, made his way to the cell and reached through the bars looking at Jill, fingers wagging.

Jill looked away.

‘Do you really want me t’come in there and go through your pockets to get it, missy?’ he said, pushing his face between the bars.

Jill walked over and was unable to remove her gaze from his as she reached into her jeans pocket and handed him the dead man’s cell phone, which buzzed again.

Robertson looked at the small illuminated window, then turned it round for Jill to see as he pressed the “Accept Call” button. ‘You wanna say goodbye?’

The bright-green display read, Larry K.

Jill smiled at his error. ‘No,’ she said, indicating with her head. ‘It’s his, not mine. Help, help us, hel−’

Robertson dropped the cell phone to the floor and crushed it with one stomp of his foot, then snarled at Jill. ‘You’ll pay dearly for that little outburst, missy,’ he promised, then returned to his desk and the shoebox.

‘Where’d you get that?’ Vicky said.

Jill sat back on the bench. ‘I found it next to his body out on the road. I just hope that whoever rang him heard me shout and knows where he’s supposed to be and comes looking for him.’

Vicky slid a little closer. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling we’re not coming out of this alive,’ she said. ‘You feel it too, don’t you?’

Jill turned to look at her, the blood on her face had dried and her forehead looked swollen. And yes, after seeing those eyes, hearing about the burned luggage and the dumped cars, and watching him destroy any means of communication they had with the outside world, Jill did have the same feelings but didn’t want Vicky to know.

‘Don’t talk like that, Vicky,’ she said. ‘You’re scaring me,’

Vicky’s eyes widened. ‘I’m scaring you? What about Herman-fucking-Munster out there?’

At that, Jill had to smile, and Vicky smiled back.

‘See, as long as we can smile we’ll be okay,’ Jill said, not believing a word.

Just then, a click came from the cell next to theirs causing Jill to look round. She noticed something different about the position of the dead man’s legs, something had changed. She looked back to see if Vicky noticed, but she’d already resumed her last posture, sitting with her arms wrapped around her legs and her feet up on the bench with her forehead resting on her knees.

The rattle of keys caused Jill to look back at Robertson. The key fob attached to them was a photograph of Vicky and Jill on one side, and Vicky's mum, dad, and brother Nathan on the other. She continued to watch as he used a penknife to prise the photo holder open, and then, after flicking out the photographs, he pulled a lighter from his pocket and set fire to them. He dropped the still burning pictures to the floor and sat watching as they reduced to ash.

Jill looked again at Vicky who still had her head down, she was happy she hadn’t seen him do that.

Then another click came from the adjoining cell.