A Maidens Grave

through a back doorway. Then they were outside, rocking against the blast of wind.
    “Whoa, bumpy ride tonight.” Handy tugged Potter toward a grove of trees. He saw the outline of a car. Engine blocks take three hours to cool. If he’d had an infrared viewer they’d have seen it.
    And Charlie Budd would still be alive . . . .
    “Twenty-five years,” Handy shouted over the wind. “You always been on the other side of the police line. The safe side. You ever think what it’d be like being a hostage yourself? Wouldn’t that be a fuckin’ experience? Come on, Art, hustle. I want you to meet Pris. She’s a ball buster, she is.
    “Yessir, that’s what you’re gonna be—a hostage. You know, people don’t experience stuff. Most people’ve never shot anybody. Most people’ve never walked into a bank and pulled a gun. Most people’ve never looked at a girl and not said a fucking word but just stared and stared while she cried like a swatted pup and then started taking off her clothes. ’Cause she figured that’s what you want her to do.
    “And most people’ve never been up close when somebody dies. I mean, touching ’em when it happens. When the last cell of somebody’s body stops swimming around. I done all that. You don’t even come close to feeling stuff like that. Like I’ve felt. That’s experience, Art.
    “You tried to stop me. You shouldn’t’ve done that. I’m going to kill you, you probably know that. But not for a while. I’m taking you with us. And there ain’t nothing youcan say to stop me. You can’t offer me a six-pack, you can’t offer me a M-the-fuck-4 priority to Canada. When we’re safe and away then the only thing I want is you dead. And if we don’t get safe and away, then I want you dead too.”
    Handy suddenly quivered with fury, grabbed Potter by the lapels. “You shouldn’ta tried to stop me!”
    There was a crinkling sound in Potter’s jacket pocket. Handy smiled. “What’ve we got here?”
    No! Potter thought, twisting away. But Handy reached inside the sports coat and lifted the photo from the pocket.
    “What’s’is?”
    The picture of Melanie Charrol. The one that had been pinned up on the bulletin board in the van.
    “Your girlfriend, huh, Art?”
    “There’s nowhere in the world,” Potter said, “you’ll be safe.”
    Handy ignored him. “We’ll be away for a while, Pris and me. But I’m gonna hold on to this snapshot here. We’ll come back and visit her. Melanie, she’s a pistol. She got me down on my back, knocked the wind clean outta me. Did this—see these scratches? And she pitched that little girl out the door ’fore I could say boo. And got that other one, the pretty little one Sonny had his eye on, got her out too. Oh, Melanie’ll get her payback.” As if revealing trade secrets Handy added, “A man can’t let anybody walk on him. Especially a woman. May be a month, may be two months. She’ll find Pris and me in her bed waiting for her. And she can’t even scream for help.”
    “You’d be nuts to come back here. Every cop in the state knows your face.”
    Handy was angry again. “I’m owed! I am fucking owed!” He shoved the photo into his pocket and dragged Potter after him.
    They were headed for the airport—“ Bumpy ride tonight.” They’d kill him as soon as they were safe. Maybe drop him from the airplane, three thousand feet over a wheat field.
    “There she is now, Pris.” Handy nodded at the Nissan, parked in a grove of trees. “She’s quite a gal, Art. I was shot one time, got hit in the side, and the same shit trooper got me’d drawn down on Pris. She had her piece in herhand but he could’ve nailed her ’fore she could lift it even. What happens but, cool as ice, she unbuttons her blouse, smiling all the time? Yessir, yessir. He wanted to shoot her, that man did! But he couldn’t bring himself to. Soon as he glanced down at her titties she lifted her Glock and took him out, pow, pow, pow. Three in the chest. Then walked over and put one in the head in case he was in armor. You think your girlfriend’d be that cool? Oh, I’ll betcha not, Art.”
    Handy stopped, pulled Potter to a halt and then looked around, head up, sniffing the air, frowning. Melanie had called him Brutus and given the other two the names of creatures but the agent knew Handy was more animal-like than either Wilcox or Bonner.
    Handy’s eyes turned toward the car.
    Potter could see the open driver’s door and the woman