Helltown - Jeremy Bates Page 0,48

however, was unmistakable. Behind them, scowling, was the shylock from the reception.

“This him, dad?” Bulldog said.

“That’s him,” Shylock said.

Bulldog’s scowl mimicked his father’s. “So, you like beating up old men, do you?”

“He tried to rip me off,” Beetle said simply.

“It don’t matter what he did. You don’t go beating on old men, especially when it’s my dad.”

“Would you prefer me to beat on you?” Beetle asked.

Bulldog’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in anger. “Is that a threat, you piece of shit?”

“You come to my room, you bang on my door, you get in my face. If you don’t want a beating, what the fuck do you want?”

“I want you out of my motel!” Shylock crowed, wiping his red rose with the back of his hand. “And don’t even think about asking for no money back.”

“You’re kicking me out?” Beetle said.

“Damn right I am.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“I don’t care what you think, asshole,” Bulldog said, reaching for him.

Beetle swatted his hand aside and stepped backward, luring him into the narrow entryway.

Bulldog took the bait, lunging forward. He grabbed Beetle’s shirt with both meaty fists. Beetle—who was trained not to think in a fight, only act or react—instinctively kicked Bulldog’s right kneecap, causing him to cry out and sink to his other knee. Beetle curled his fist into a rock and drove his fore knuckle and middle knuckle into the bridge of Bulldog’s nose. There was an audible crunch. Blood gushed.

“My nose!” Bulldog cried. “Owww! My fucking nose! Owww!”

Beetle struck him again in the same spot. He shut up and fell to his side, cupping his nose and rocking in agony.

Goatee was trying to get to Beetle without stepping on his brother. Beetle backed into the room proper, giving them both space to maneuver.

Goatee came at him, swinging a haymaker. Beetle stepped into the attack, blocking the blow with his left arm while chopping Goatee across the ribs with his right hand. Goatee grunted. Beetle drove a straight right into his gaping jaw, probably dislocating it. Goatee made a noise that sounded like “Oh?” and dropped to the floor.

Beetle moved purposely toward Shylock, who stood statue-still in the hallway, as if rooted there by fear. Beetle withdrew the Beretta and shoved the barrel against the man’s forehead. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t trust himself to speak. His breathing came in quick, rough snorts. His trigger finger quivered.

Beetle waited for Shylock to give him a reason to pull the trigger, but the old cheat only made a pathetic, whimpering sound, and just like that Beetle came back to himself. He blinked away the red haze that had crept over his vision, and he heard himself growl: “You’re going to go into my room, you’re going to collect your sons, and the three of you are going to get out of my sight. You come back, you bother me again, I will kill you. You and whoever you bring. I will end all your miserable, meaningless lives right then and there. Do you understand that? Do you believe me?”

The old cheat bobbed his head.

Beetle lowered the pistol—reluctantly. “Then get to it before I change my fucking mind.”

CHAPTER 15

“Who will survive and what will be left of them?”

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

“They have guns,” Steve said. He had turned off the foyer light and was peering through the front window. The Jeep’s and utility coupe’s high beams allowed him to see in the black night clearly enough. The bookish man had retrieved a rifle from the car. The hard man had produced a machete—a goddamn machete—from where it had been tucked against the small of his back. The rain had begun to fall harder, but neither of them seemed to notice or care.

“Who are they, Steve?” Jenny said in a frightened voice. She stood a couple feet behind him.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Why are they here? If they were lying about hearing the gunshots, how’d they know to come? What the hell’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Maybe we should, I don’t know, maybe we should—

“Shit.”

“What?”

“They’ve backed into the fog. I can’t see them anymore.”

“Wait—that’s good, right?” she said hopefully. “Maybe that means, maybe they’re going?”

“Without their car?”

“Well, what then? What are they doing then—”

“I don’t know!” Steve snapped.

“Steve, don’t yell. I’m scared, okay? I’m freaking terrified. Are we going to die? Are we going to die?”

“Jenny, shut up!”

“Don’t yell, Steve! Don’t!” He could hear her hyperventilating. “I, we, God, we need to call the police—”

“There’s no phone.”

“There has to