A Maidens Grave

Handy said, “That’s ’cause I’m a ghost.”
    “A ghost?” Potter echoed.
    “I slip up quiet as a cat behind you and slit your throat and I’m gone before your blood hits the ground. You think I’m in that building there, that slaughterhouse you’re looking at right now. But I’m not.”
    “Where’d you be?”
    “Maybe I’m coming up behind you, that van of yours. See, I know you’re in that there truck. Looking out your window. Maybe I’m right outsida that window. Maybe I’m in that stand of buffalo grass your man’s walking by right now and I’m going to knife him in the balls when he passes.”
    “And maybe I’m in the slaughterhouse with you, Lou.”
    A pause. Potter thought, He’ll laugh.
    Handy did, a hearty belly laugh. “You get me lotsa Fritos?”
    “Lots. Regular and barbecue.”
    Stevie Oates was at the building.
    “Hey, shave and a haircut . . . Somebody’s come acalling.”
    “Got a visual,” Tobe whispered. He dimmed the van lights. They turned to the screen broadcasting the picture from the camera above Stevie Oates’s right ear. The image wasn’t good. The door of the slaughterhouse opened only several feet and the images inside—pipes, machinery, a table—were distorted by light flares. The only person in sight was Jocylyn, in silhouette, hands to her face.
    “Here’s your boy now. Stevie? I don’t think I’ve evershot anyone named Stevie. He looks pretty dayamm uncomfortable.”
    What was probably a shotgun barrel protruded slowly and rested against Jocylyn’s head. Her hands dropped to her sides, making fists. The sound of her whimpering floated from the speaker. Potter prayed that Stillwell’s sniper would exercise restraint.
    The video image quivered for a moment.
    The shotgun turned toward Oates as a man’s silhouette filled the doorway. Through the mike mounted above the trooper’s ear came the words: “You got a gun on you?” A voice different from Handy’s. Shepard Wilcox’s, Potter guessed; Bonner would cast a far bigger shadow.
    Potter looked down to make sure he was hitting the right buttons as he cut over to Oates’s earphone. “Lie. Be insistent but respectful.”
    “No, I don’t. Here’s what you wanted. The food. Now, sir, if you’d let that girl go . . .” The trooper spoke without a quaver in his voice.
    “Good, Stevie, you’re doing fine. Nod if Jocylyn seems okay.”
    The picture dipped slightly.
    “Keep smiling at her.”
    Another dip.
    Handy asked Oates, “You got a microphone or camera?” Another silhouette had appeared. Handy’s. “You recording me?”
    “Your call,” Potter whispered. “But there’ll be no exchange if you say yes.”
    “No,” the trooper said.
    “I’ll kill you if I find out you’re lying to me.”
    “I don’t,” Oates said insistently, without hesitation. Good, good.
    “You alone? Anybody sneak up on either side of the door?”
    “Can’t you see? I’m alone. How’s the girl?”
    “Can’t you see?” Handy mocked, stepping behind Wilcox, in plain view. “Here she is. Look for yourself.”
    There was no move to release her.
    “Let her go,” Oates said.
    “Maybe you oughta come in and get her.”
    “No. Let her go.”
    “You wearing body armor?”
    “Under my shirt, yeah.”
    “Maybe you oughta give me that. We could use it more’n you.”
    “How do you figure?” Oates said. His voice was no longer so steady.
    “ ’Cause it won’t do you any good. See, we could shoot you in the face and take it offa you and you’d be just as dead as if we shot you in the back when you were walking away. So how ’bout you give it to us now?”
    They’d find the video camera and radio transmitter if he gave up the armor. And probably kill him on the spot.
    Potter whispers, “Tell him we had a bargain.”
    “We had a bargain,” Oates said firmly. “Here’s the food. I want that girl. And I want her now.”
    A pause that lasted eons.
    “Put it on the ground,” Handy finally said.
    The image on the screen dipped as Oates set the bag down. Still, the trooper kept his head up and pointed directly into the crack of the open door. Unfortunately there was too much contrast in the image; the agents in the van could see virtually nothing inside.
    “Here,” Handy’s voice crackled, “take Miss Piggy. Go wee, wee, wee all the way home.” Laughter from several voices. Handy stepped away from the door. They lost sight of him and Wilcox. Was one of them raising the gun to