Eyes of Prey

and a canvas hat, and had been out of the car for no more than fifteen seconds, but the water poured off the brim of the hat in a steady stream.
    Druze popped the passenger door on the Dodge as Bekker stepped over. He was breathing hard, almost panting. He scanned the rain-blasted lot, then hurled the shovel on the floor of the backseat, on top of Druze’s spade, and clambered into the car. With the door shut, he took off the canvas hat and threw it in the back with the shovel. Druze was shocked when Bekker turned toward him. Bekker was beautiful; this man was gaunt, gray-faced. He looked, Druze thought, like a corpse in a B movie. He turned away and cranked the starter.
    “Are you all right?” Druze asked, as he put the car in gear.
    “No. I’m not,” Bekker said shortly.
    “This is fuckin’ awful, man,” Druze said. He stopped at the curb cut, waiting for a stream of traffic to pass. His burnedface was flat, emotionless, the scarred lips like cracks in a dried creek bed. “Digging up the dead.”
    “Fuck it—fuck it,” Bekker rasped. A bolt of lightning zigzagged through the sky to the east, where they were going. “We gotta.”
    “I can’t get the tarbaby out of my head,” Druze said. “We can’t shake this guy, Philip George.” In other people, anger, fear, resentment flowed like gasoline. In Druze, even the violent emotions moved like clay, slowly turning, compressing, darkening. He was angry now, in his muted way, listening to Bekker, his friend. Bekker picked it up, put his hand on Druze’s shoulder.
    “Carlo, I’m fucked up,” Bekker said. He said it quickly, the words snapping off after the last syllable. “I’m fuckin’ crazy. I can’t apologize for it. I don’t want it. But it’s there. And honest to God, I’m dying.”
    Druze took it in, not understanding, took the car onto the entrance ramp for I-94. “I mean, have you tried Valium or whatever?”
    “You stupid shit . . .” Bekker’s anger burst through like napalm, but he instantly backed off, humbling himself. “I’m sorry. I tried everything. Everything. Everything. There’s only one way.”
    “Dangerous . . .”
    “Fuck dangerous,” Bekker shouted. Then, quiet again, straining to see through the rain as they accelerated off the ramp and into traffic, his voice formal, that of a man on an emotional seesaw: “A snake. There’s a snake in my brain.”
    Druze glanced sideways at Bekker. The other man seemed to be sliding into a trance, his face rigid. “We were supposed to stay away from each other. If they see us . . .” Druze ventured.
    Bekker didn’t answer. He sat in the passenger seat, twisting his hands. Six miles later, coming back from wherever he was,he said, “I know . . . . And one of them’s no dummy. I had him in for coffee.”
    “You what?” Druze’s head snapped around: Bekker was losing it. But no: he sounded almost rational now.
    “Had him in for coffee. Found him in front of my house. Watching. Lucas Davenport. He’s not stupid. He looks mean.”
    “Tough guy? A little over six feet, looks like a boxer or something? Dark hair, with a scar coming through his eyebrow?” Druze quickly traced the path of Lucas’ scar on his own face.
    Bekker nodded, his head cocked to one side: “You know him?”
    “He was at the theater after you did Armistead,” Druze said. “Talking to one of the actresses. They looked pretty friendly.”
    “Who? Which one?”
    “Cassie Lasch. Played the maid in . . . you didn’t go to that. She’s a second-stringer. Good-looking. I could see this guy coming on to her. She lives in my building.”
    “You work with her much?”
    “No. We’re both part of the group, but we’ve never talked much or anything. Not personally.”
    “Could she pipe you into what Davenport’s thinking?”
    “I don’t know. She might pick something up. If the guy’s smart, I don’t need him checking on me.”
    “You’re right,” Bekker said, looking at Druze as the Dodge’s interior was swept by the lights of an oncoming car. “What was her name again? Cassie?”
    “Cassie Lasch,” Druze said. “A redhead.”
     
    Lightning crashed around them as they crossed the St. Croix River into Wisconsin and headed up the bluff. When they passed the Hudson turnoff, the thunderhead opened. Rain swept across the road, shaking the car, and Druze wasforced to slow as they pushed into the dark countryside. By the time they reached the exit to the lake, they were