Helltown - Jeremy Bates Page 0,39

fuck, and broken or not, Betty Wilfried had been a great fuck.

Noah knew Steve was wrong, he couldn’t fess up, they had to get rid of the body. Otherwise he was facing prison time—and what was the prison sentence for manslaughter? Five years? Ten? Hell, even one year would be too long. He’d be locked up with murderers and rapists, people who’d been in the slammer before, knew the system, knew how to work the guards. He’d know nothing. He’d be alone, surrounded by sheetrock and iron bars and gang members aligned from the housing projects they came from. They’d each want a piece of a young, straight kid like himself. Some big black or Latino dude trapping him in the shower and telling him how much he was going to love their good time up his sugah ass. And when he wasn’t getting raped he would likely be getting the piss beat out of him in the exercise yard, or the cafeteria, maybe even in his own goddamn cell. Because he’d be a kid killer, pretty low on the totem pole. It wouldn’t matter that the boy’s death had been an accident. The lowlifes he was locked up with would believe what they wanted to believe, rumors would swirl, accounts would become embellished. He’d be finished. Hell, he likely wouldn’t make it to the end of his sentence alive.

And in the off chance he did…what then?

He could kiss his career in sculpting goodbye. No respectable gallery owner would display his work. He’d be a kid killer in their eyes too, only they wouldn’t need to turn him into some depraved pedophile to feel superior. Smashing in the skull in of a little boy while drunk and high would be bad enough on its own in their civilized circles.

So what would he do? Get a nine-to-five job? Then again, who would hire him? He’d have to check that little box on all his future employment applications that asked if you had a criminal record.

Why couldn’t Steve just cut him a break? All he had to do was turn a blind eye to what had happened, let him hide the body in the forest. Was that so much to ask? The kid was gone. Why ruin a second life?

“What the fuck were you doing?” he said quietly to the dead boy. “Why the fuck were you attacking us, you stupid shit?”

Suddenly, before his eyes, the boy’s jeans darkened around his crotch. Noah stared, incredulous, terrified. He bent close and detected the acrid odor of urine.

He was peeing?

Feeling suddenly sick, Noah hurried to the front door, threw it open, and stepped onto the veranda. Cool air caressed his face, but this did little to calm him. He stumbled blindly to the banister and leaned over the railing. His stomach slammed his esophagus, acid burned a trail up his throat, and he vomited a jet of watery gunk. This went on for five or ten seconds, one abdomen contraction after the next, a biological pump, until there was nothing left to spew.

Groaning, Noah wiped the heel of his hand across his lips—and made out two headlights approaching along the highway. Instead of continuing past, however, the vehicle slowed, then turned onto the driveway.

“Steve?” Noah shouted in a rubbery voice. “Steve! Get down here!”

Steve took the steps downstairs two at a time and saw Noah standing outside on the veranda. He stopped next to him and stared in surprise at the car coming toward them through the fog. He recalled the kid’s words: Pa’s coming back right now, and you’re gonna be in deep shit.

“What should we do?” Noah said. He had gone white as a ghost.

“I’ll tell them,” Steve said.

“I killed their kid,” Noah said.

“I’ll tell them,” Steve repeated.

The car shuddered to a stop next to Noah’s Jeep. The door flung open and a smallish man appeared. He had warthog hair sprouting from a balding crown, a turned-up nose, and a sallow complexion. He wore sagging jean and a hounds-tooth jacket over a faded red T-shirt.

He scowled at them. “Who the hell you?” he said, slurring his words.

Steve said, “We’ve had an accident—”

“It’s just the two of you? No one else? No girlfriends?”

Steve and Noah exchanged confused glances.

“Well?” the man demanded.

“We’ve had an accident,” Steve continued. “Two of our friends are injured. We saw this house, a light was on, we thought we could use the phone and call the police.”

The man’s eyes glinted suspiciously. “Well, did ya?”

“Do you live here?”

“What’s that to