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The Racer
Erick Poladov
He is worse than Grim Reaper because his speed knows no limit and he doesn’t need a scythe to take someone’s life. He’s too fast to get away from him or to catch. Summer in Heartstone is as hot as always. But the nights will be cold this time. The blood of local residents will not have time to freeze before the engine roars and the headlights are in front of the victim’s eyes.If you see the Racer on a road, push on the gas to the limit, because then you may live a couple of minutes longer.
The Racer
Erick Poladov
© Erick Poladov, 2023
ISBN 978-5-0060-9882-4
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
NOTE
The values of all quantities, including speed and distance, are reflected in the metric system, since this novel is intended for a wide range of readers, most of whom live in countries that use the metric system of measures.
PROLOGUE
In the absolute darkness of the night a roar of the engine increased, driving the speedometer needle as far as possible from zero. The Dodge Challenger was cutting through the air at a speed of two hundred thirty-five kilometers per hour. In black, its body was lost on the road. The headlights emitted an unnatural reddish glow. They didn’t light the road. The headlights were intended for something else. These were the eyes of the Racer, whose hands, hidden under black leather gloves, tightly grasped the steering wheel. He had infernal control in his power, capable of turning Dodge into a beast chasing souls. This beast flew quickly, and there was no car that could hide from it.
It was a hot summer in two thousand and one. The night gave a faint breath of coolness. But that night the Racer intended to lower the temperature to the point at which the blood stops circulating, and before that it accelerates throughout the body after the heart begins to work at its limit. Soon the whole of Heartstone will feel this temperature, and the sultry heat will no longer seem so exhausting. A provincial town two hundred kilometers northwest of Austin received a stranger driving around the streets under the dim light of street lamps.
After finishing her shift, Vivienne Ham, a twenty-nine-year-old waitress at a local restaurant, walked along the sidewalk towards the intersection. She folded her hands in front of her and cringed slightly, rubbing her shoulders. The sharply colder air added to the accumulated fatigue. She wanted to get home as soon as possible and wrap herself in a warm blanket. She had already approached the zebra crossing and began to cross to the other side, but after taking a few steps, Vivienne froze right between the stripes in the middle of the road and cast a gaze to her left. On the other side of the intersection the light was red, and under the traffic light there was a black car with scarlet headlights. Vivienne understood that there was nothing strange in the fact that at such a late time someone was still moving along the streets of Heartstone. But this car caused her internal discomfort. She could hear the faint rumble of an engine. At the traffic lights, yellow was added to red, and a second later they went out and green turned on. Immediately the rumble of the engine became louder and the Dodge started moving. Vivienne reflexively grabbed the straps of her purse hanging over her shoulder with both hands, letting out an intermittent scream. The girl’s eyelids opened wider than ever, making it seem as if her eyeballs were about to crawl out of their sockets. The Dodge turned left, quickly disappearing from sight. Vivienne’s ears heard the fading sound of a car moving away and the sounds of her own breathing, which became faster along with her heart beating against her ribs.
Unlike Vivienne Ham, twenty-four-year-old Conchita Sugarman was in no hurry to go home. The working day had long ended, but she was in no hurry to close the pharmacy. She was waiting for her boyfriend to arrive and be free. There were parents, grandmother and younger sister at home. Here no one bothered her. Conchita has already prepared the best contraceptives available, which would not spoil the thrill of sensations, but at the same time would give peace of mind in the face of the fear of receiving a surprise greater than any jackpot. She stood on the street not far from the entrance, finishing her cigarette and looking around the night street. Suddenly the roar of a running engine began to be heard from somewhere. Conchita knew this driving style, which boiled down to not giving a damn about medians, traffic lights and speed limits. Yes, it was Freddie Rogers. He was only two years older, but in terms of mental maturity he was much inferior to Conchita, and she was aware of this, although she did not expect much from this relationship. As a pharmacist, she understood one thing: there is an organism that requires the exchange of fluids and this need must be satisfied. Freddie was a more than tolerable option for a relationship without the commitment of marriage. Conchita did not count on a bright future with him. Before him, she already had two, and each time it was an affair with no plans for the future. Freddie parked in front of the pharmacy, performing a spectacular drift, which he thought added to the coolness. Conchita was not impressed by such show-offs. Her only reaction to the drift of the green ’78 Mustang was that she hurried to close the front door, since she had just washed the floor. The cloud of dust rose so strong and thick that Conchita did not even notice how Freddie smacked the air, directing his lips in her direction.
– Come on quickly, before the family starts calling – Conchita urged, putting out the cigarette under the sole of her sandal.
– I’m already running, my peach.
Peach, strawberry, baby, cherry, candy, sweetie. Freddie used these words so often that Conchita thought several times that Freddie had simply forgotten her name.
Conchita closed the door from the inside, after which they attacked each other. Freddie’s lips pressed to Conchita’s neck, and Conchita’s eyes to the window. She looked somewhere into emptiness, into the unknown, because her thoughts were occupied by Freddy’s touch. But then her eyes took in something specific. She thought that someone had come for some medicine and decided to stay on task. Conchita was sure that he would stand a little longer and turn back. But the Dodge continued to park in the parking lot right next to the Mustang. The scarlet headlights began to stress Conchita and she began to push Freddie away with her hands.
– Wait.
– What’s the matter?
Conchita nodded towards the window.
– Some kind of pervert? – she asked with some trembling in her voice, without taking her eyes off the scarlet glow of the headlights.
– Wait here – Freddie said and headed towards the door. He turned the lock twice and went out into the street, but after a couple of steps he froze when an incredibly loud roar was heard from under the hood of the Dodge. The car started moving and drove away. Freddie stood for some time, following the dwindling taillights of the Dodge with his eyes.
Conchita was still not against continuing, but Freddie was no longer able to finish what he started, no matter how hard he tried, and he responded to Conchita’s offer about Viagra with a decisive refusal.
Forty-seven-year-old construction worker Elmo Fisher, who led a crew of five, stayed late on site to calculate the amount of paint for each room after they adjusted the layout at the owner’s request. He had eaten one hot dog and drunk one cup of coffee all day, so Elmo looked fucked. He was not interested in anything other than dinner and a soft bed so he could pass out until tomorrow morning. Even behind the wheel of his working van, worn over the years, Elmo doubted that his eyes would not close until he got home. His eyelids seemed to be tied to steel weights. After some thought, he got out and knelt down in front of the open door to do as many push-ups as he could manage, then returned to the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition.
Elmo started off with a strong feeling that he needed to press on the gas until the drowsiness subsided. Ten minutes should have been enough for him to get home, and there he could leave the car outside the garage, just to quickly have dinner and go to bed.
But before Elmo had time to drive onto the asphalt, a car rushed along the road. He immediately hurried to the stranger, who, half a kilometer later, stopped at a red traffic light. Elmo drove a little forward to make sure once again that he wasn’t imagining things. The stranger actually had his headlights off. He got out of the van, walked up to the Dodge and knocked on the heavily tinted window. The glass didn’t go down. Then Elmo stood in front of the bumper opposite the windshield, gestured to the headlights and shouted a little louder:
– Moron, turn on the headlights!
Then the headlights came on, but the light was like red spotlights. The traffic light turned green and the Dodge began to drive. Elmo stepped aside, following the unfamiliar car with his eyes. The driver’s seat window was rolled down. Elmo looked inside and was stuck in place, rooted to the spot. When he was released from his stupor, on the way home, Elmo understood that he would not go to bed soon. The drowsiness disappeared as if it had never existed.
1. Not a godfather
The local church in Heartstone was led by a full-blooded Italian Leonardo Benetti. At fifty-two years old he did not have a single gray hair on his head, which was always cut short. Absolutely black hair without bangs and a clean-shaven face made Father Benetti’s appearance unchanged for many years in a row. Frequent sports in his youth still affected the priest’s size. With a height of one hundred and eighty-two centimeters, he had broad shoulders, but his arms, which were larger in girth than many hips, were not so noticeable under clothes. A particularly recognizable feature in Father Benetti’s appearance were his eyes, which were set deeper than usual. On the one hand, this feature made his face fearsome, but after the first acquaintance with him, this effect of his physiognomy ceased to affect those around him, because everyone remembered his manner of speech, which was like a balm for the soul.
As darkness fell several residents came to the padre for confession. The first was deputy Jenna Kramer. For several months she was depressed by thoughts about her experience. She told Father Benetti about her boyfriend Pierce Branigan, who was mauled to death by a black bear in the forest. She had a hard time coping with this loss. As soon as she came to her senses, Jenna began to be torn apart by a dilemma regarding the fetus in the womb. She didn’t want to do this, but she wanted even less to raise a child without a Father, not because it would be more difficult, but because the child simply wouldn’t know who his Father was. This was also compounded by the fact that Jenna became pregnant out of wedlock, and this also affected her. This circumstance could be hidden by quickly getting married. But the stars aligned differently. Until recently Jenna pushed away thoughts of an abortion, but in the end she decided to go for it. Now for four days she was tormented by insomnia.
– I’m thinking about it – Jenna muttered through tears rolling down her cheeks with her chin shaking. – Constantly. What would this child be like if he were born? – A tremble ran through her voice. Tears continued to leak even through drooping eyelids. The grief in Jenna’s body reached such a state that her lips stretched to the limit, revealing bared teeth. – It was part of him. His blood… And mine…
Jenna’s crying could be heard even outside the confessional.
– He left a part of himself, and I got rid of… – Because of the crying, Jenna’s words were cut off in the middle. – I killed the last thing he left me. It could continue in this child. I could…
Compared to other Catholic priests, Father Benetti had a much more progressive view of things. He understood one simple truth: there is no need to impose on people word for word what is written in the Bible, but it is better to show flexibility and give a person the opportunity to turn to God so that he does not have to radically disrupt his daily life and give up natural benefits modern civilization. Father Benetti never judged his parishioners. He didn’t see the point in conveying to people the idea that they were very guilty, because what’s done is done, and you can’t turn back time. Therefore, he believed that instead it was better to help the person survive what happened so that mental anguish did not have a detrimental effect on the psyche. After all, if a person comes for confession, this is already a sign of his repentance. The padre believed that it was better to help a person live with a light heart than to dump a burden on him, because of which the person would then experience such torment around the clock, as if he had killed or raped someone. And people went to church to get rid of the burden from their souls. As people came to church more and more often, over time they were imbued with religion more and more deeply, even if they had previously been avowed atheists. With this, Father Benetti gained crazy authority among the residents and parishioners became more and more over the years, so the growth in the popularity of religion in Heartstone was the merit of Leonardo Benetti himself. Knowing that the padre would not condemn them for what they had done, the residents willingly went to confession. For parishioners he was a servant of God, a psychotherapist, and a friend.
Second in line was Mandy Troy, who admitted that she had broken the commandment that commands not to commit adultery. She sincerely repented of the betrayal, but another question bothered her. She wanted advice on whether to confess everything to her husband. Father Benetti said that she must decide for herself what she should do, and suggested that this burden on her soul could well grow from year to year and each time it would become more and more difficult to bear. In fact, Father Benetti knew that Castor Troy – Mandy’s husband – had frequent sexual relations with another woman, which he admitted during the same confession and was unlikely to destroy the family if he learned that his wife had followed his example.
Twenty-four-year-old Riggan Brooks, who worked as a cashier at a gas station, told how he found a wallet without the owner’s documents, lost by one of the customers, and when he showed up and asked if he had seen the wallet, Riggan answered in the negative, since his boss was present in the hall, who was an inveterate swindler and would not forgive him for giving someone back free money. Riggan did not have time to assess the consequences of this or that decision, so he responded as quickly as possible, so as not to arouse suspicion.
– Holy Father, I don’t need anything that belongs to others at all. I really don’t want to keep this to myself. Just what was I supposed to do when… when…
Father Benetti advised him to take the wallet to the sheriff, and said that there was nothing shameful in Riggan’s behavior, since he lied in order to save someone else’s property and avoid a conflict with his superiors and there was nothing wrong with that.
Next, forty-four-year-old Emma Cooper confessed to the padre. Her relationship with her fifteen-year-old adopted son has become too complicated, she has ceased to find a common language with him and every conversation leads to shouting, thereby prolonging the ongoing quarrel. Emma admitted that on this basis, recently she involuntarily began to remind herself more and more often that for her this is not her own blood and such thoughts only inflame her anger towards her son. But because such thoughts come into her head about the lack of common blood with the boy whom Emma has been raising since the day he was seven months old, she begins to despise herself.
– I believed that I would become his mother, that he would accept me as his own. How can I sleep after such thoughts? Yesterday I almost said it out loud. Do you understand? I was half a step away from shouting in his face about how good it was that it didn’t fall to me to bring him into this world. And most importantly, I can’t help it. I am unable to control my emotions. I don’t know what will happen next, but I feel like it’s beyond my strength.
Father Benetti tactfully convinced her that any teenager at this age shows resentment and dissatisfaction with many of the demands of their parents and all Emma needs is just to show a little patience and soon she will notice that her son’s outbursts of anger have disappeared just as quickly, as they appeared. He also explained to her that she shouldn’t hate herself for thoughts alone; he said that this was stupid, since she took in someone else’s child and gave him love and maternal warmth, which already speaks of her true nature, and therefore she should not take fleeting thoughts seriously.
So every day, Heartstone residents of all ages and professions came to Father Benetti to pour out their souls and take the weight off their shoulders. In a sense, they were very lucky, since Father Benetti, in addition to his duties as a priest, also performed the work of a psychoanalyst, the only difference being that he did not take a cent for it. In other cities, people shell out a lot of money for such services, which not only does not make their souls lighter, but, on the contrary, creates another wound at the thought of how much a chat with a stranger costs.
The degree of trust in Father Benetti – and considering the skeletons that parishioners pull out of their closets during confession, it was impressive – gave him a reputation as the most respected man in the town. Sometimes it seemed to those around him that he personally knew more than half of the local population by name and face. Every parishioner looked to the padre as the greatest authority in Heartstone. The sheriff, the judge, the largest merchants in the town in their influence on the residents could not be compared with a man who wears a black jacket, trousers, shoes, shirt and a white clergy collar all year round.
2. He is the law here
Jenna Kramer returned to the sheriff’s office, which was the size of a small town. In addition to the sheriff the staff included three deputies, a janitor and a medical examiner, part-time who worked as a pathologist at the local hospital. Jenna was one of three assistants. Everyone around believed that she was born to wear the uniform of a guardian of the law, but not in the sense of her vocation, but because the uniform simply suited her. She always tried to keep her dark brown hair gathered at the back of her head, but as a rule, towards the end of the working day, out of fatigue, she straightened her hair, which had a slightly wavy shape, falling well below her shoulders. However, she did not have to prove her competence in the work of a guardian of the law day after day. She has long earned her reputation. The sheriff valued in her a combination of such qualities as an amazing ability to find a common language with people and composure in extreme situations. It might be a stretch to call it composure, but Jenna maintained her sanity much better than her two colleagues. The sheriff always joked about her ability to communicate with people of all different personalities, saying that if it weren’t for her large brown eyes, which act like hypnosis, her communication skills would not be so outstanding. In fact, there was a huge amount of truth in this, because in addition to her eyes, Jenna had perfectly shaped eyebrows, a neat nose and slightly protruding lips. In addition, she did not have an ounce of excess weight, because in addition to the fact that this added feminine beauty to her, this circumstance greatly simplified the pursuit of the criminal. That’s why the sheriff appointed Jenna chief deputy after two years of service.
Pierce’s death still tormented her soul and the feeling of grief was still far from abating. Only work helped Jenna to at least a little escape from thoughts about Pierce and her aborted pregnancy.
The man on duty that evening was Harry Devon. Thin, thirty years old, one hundred and seventy-nine centimeters tall. As a child, he always dreamed of thick stubble, as he considered it a sign of brutality. But when the time came, Harry noticed that the stubble on his face was not only sparse, but also growing only on a small area of skin under his lower jaw, barely touching his cheeks. Because of this, Harry got into the habit of shaving close to zero, not allowing his stubble to grow long enough for anyone to notice. In this way, he disguised the inferiority of stubble, passing off its absence as a penchant for personal hygiene and caring for one’s appearance. Harry followed orders perfectly, was absolutely manageable, meticulously filled out all the paperwork, arrived at the office half an hour before the start of the working day – he believed that it was better to arrive half an hour early than two seconds late – and never questioned the authority of the sheriff in his eyes. From the first day in the service Harry even acquired exactly the same hat as the sheriff’s, which was always worn by movie sheriffs in provincial towns, in order to match the image of a real law enforcement officer. According to the sheriff himself Harry lacked the core, which was necessary in those cases when it was necessary to show toughness in relations with certain people. To the locals, Harry was the friendliest lawman. If he came to the call, then the offenders rejoiced and the victims were disappointed. However, such traits as punctuality, accuracy and complete obedience became sufficient grounds for the sheriff to highly value Harry as a deputy. If the sheriff was like a father or mentor to Harry, whose opinion was never in doubt, then he perceived Jenna almost as an older sister. Despite the fact that Harry began working as a deputy sheriff a year and a half earlier than Jenna, he did not even allow the thought of challenging her seniority over him, especially since he understood perfectly well that he would not be able to exercise the functions of a leader. At least not now.
Suddenly the front door opened and two people entered the office. Sheriff Desmond Poe led the handcuffed criminal inside. With a sharp movement, pressing on his shoulder, he forced the detainee to sit down on a chair in front of his desk.
– Harry, register – the sheriff said, removing the handcuffs.
Spencer Fox, sixty-four years old, sat in front of Harry. He didn’t like the way three tourists who were passing through were rowdy in the cafe. Considering that he was showing concern for the peace of the local residents, Spencer approached the tourists and, at first in a rude manner, asked them to shut up and eat in silence, and upon hearing a refusal in response, he took out his short-barreled revolver and fired a warning shot. Spencer almost got it because he was just a few millimeters short of the chandelier. The owner of the establishment and part-time cook cursed Spencer three times, but Spencer demanded that he shut up too.
All his life Spencer Fox worked as a security guard at a bank, where he had the opportunity to eliminate the threat four times. Once he even had to deal with a robber, having neutralized whom he received the Order of Courage and written gratitude from the hands of the governor himself for the prevented robbery. Every time there was some kind of affray in the bank, it was like a breath of fresh air for Spencer. After such excesses, he felt blood flowing through his veins and he began to live. Having resolved the next situation, Spencer realized his importance for the office and the next day began to search every visitor right from the doorstep, and he did it in a way that any customs officer would envy. Even if his neighbor or cousin crossed the threshold of the bank office, he demanded that his pockets be turned out, because otherwise Spencer would take out a baton and begin to lay him face down on the floor, and his below-average height and the presence of a rather large belly were not a hindrance to him. On this basis, management regularly received complaints about the security guard, and the bank director each time had to put Spencer on the ground, issuing fines and reprimands. But that didn’t stop Spencer. He could slow down for a while, but as soon as someone gave him a reason, he immediately reminded who was in charge and began to bring everyone to attention. And now it’s been more than a year since Spencer retired and life has lost its color for him.
While Harry tapped the keys, registering Spencer, the sheriff, leaning on the edge of the table, examined the revolver taken from Spencer and said:
– Say thank you, because next time I will send you to serve administrative arrest. You understood me?
Leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs wide, Spencer said:
– Are you the law here? – At this point, Spencer began to remind the sheriff how fifteen years ago the governor himself awarded him the Order of Courage and that in this town all the creatures are ungrateful, after which he loudly and confidently summed up: – So don’t talk bullshit, Desmond!
Harry handed over a printed signature sheet. The sheriff snatched it and crushed it with the fingers of one hand, after which he abruptly took Spencer by the arm and pulled him away from the chair.
– That’s it, that’s enough! You’ll be sitting here forever, half-baked Rambo! – With these words, Desmond took Spencer to the temporary holding cell.
Harry watched them with a worried look. Jenna noticed his reaction and said, without looking up from the back of the chair:
– Do not mind it. Spencer’s head has been itching for a long time.
Jenna’s hands then went to the back of her head to unwind the elastic. Her hair came loose, after which she lightly straightened it with her fingers.
Desmond closed the cell door once Spencer was inside and, without a moment’s hesitation, walked back to the office.
Desmond Poe was fifty-nine. Some gray hair appeared at the temples. Unlike Spencer, the sheriff did not have a protruding belly all his life, which appeared only after fifty-five. Desmond spent his entire life maintaining order in Heartstone. His ironclad self-belief began to take shape when he was twenty-eight and a deputy to the previous sheriff. That day, Desmond was sitting in his official car on the side of the highway, where he was conducting patrol. Day as day, if a red Mercedes had not rushed past, which was wanted, which was mentioned before on the radio. Three robbers had taken out a bank in Dallas and were now hurrying somewhere. Signs of the car were sent to all police stations in the state in the hope that somewhere the Mercedes would catch the eye of law enforcement officers. He caught the eye of Desmond Poe. Even before Desmond pressed the gas pedal, he remembered that the robbers were armed and they were unlikely to stop at his request, but at that moment he thought that something was not happening in this crazy world and demanded through the loudspeaker to park at the side of the road. Desmond’s assumptions were correct. Instead of obeying his demands, the Mercedes only increased its speed, and a face with a shotgun appeared from the rear passenger window. Stopping the red Mercedes, which was wanted throughout the state, cost Desmond the front bumper, the windshield, the right side mirror, the right front fender, the right front door, the radiator, four cartridges and one corpse out of three potential ones. After what happened, no one doubted that this guy had a great future. The chase lasted only fourteen seconds before Desmond pulled out his revolver and fired the first shot, and forty-two seconds later the chase was over. He not only believed in himself, but believed that there was no person who could make him falter. After one of the robbers emerged from the window of the Mercedes and fired the first shot, Desmond began to sink into such a state of stress that he could hardly remember much of what happened next. But when the chase ended and he pinned down two, discovering the corpse of the third, the realization came to him that there was nothing to be afraid of. Desmond was convinced that he had done something that no Hollywood action movie could show. This was the first and only time Desmond killed someone. He felt no regret or guilt for not taking all three alive. The driver leaned back, pressed against the steering wheel with a hole in the back of his head, but Desmond perceived this turn of events as the cost of fighting crime. It happens that you cannot do without murder and the only question is who will be killed: the criminal or the policeman. From that day on, every time any difficulties arose at work, Desmond reminded himself that it was he who alone took on the gang in the red Mercedes. For example, when his boss raised his voice at him, Desmond immediately remembered the gang in the red Mercedes, thereby reminding himself of the level of his professionalism, and along with these thoughts came to him the realization of what a nonentity his boss was, who have never done anything even remotely similar throughout his miserable life. Such thoughts about the past were the most effective way to combat stress. The day the gang in the red Mercedes was defeated at the hands of Desmond Poe, the future sheriff learned what he was capable of. Although his reputation preceded him, a couple of years later he still had to remind others of who he was when a call came in about a gas station robbery. At that moment, Desmond had finished lunch at a cafe, which was located three blocks from the gas station and was already approaching the car when a radio message arrived. Seven and a half minutes later, Desmond rammed a yellow Chevrolet Cheville and dragged two would-be robbers into the office. The sheriff found a reason to vent his dissatisfaction on him, they say, he bombed the entire front part of the body of his official car. But Desmond… No, he didn’t remember the gang in the red Mercedes. He asked himself why the hell this bald hog, who was trying to be his boss, was sitting out his ass instead of doing his job and catching robbers. Such thoughts made Desmond believe in his own superiority over his boss.
His natural essence boiled down to the fact that he strictly followed the law and had a cool enough head that nothing in this world could force him to break the law.
The departure of his boss from his post was an event that occupied a special place in Desmond’s biography. This was a separate, special chapter in his life. After winning the election, watching as he crossed the threshold of the office saying goodbye to the sheriff’s service, Desmond barely restrained himself from spitting on the bald back of his former boss and giving him a kick in the ass so that he would quickly get out. That day he felt that this was his finest hour. Now he’s the sheriff. Now this is his town. Desmond ordered everything that in any way reminded him of his predecessor to be thrown out of the office. He began to spend a lot of effort and time to develop courage, organization and self-control in his charges. This was not always possible, since many people could not meet such standards due to their nature. Using Harry as an example, Desmond was clearly convinced of this. But unlike his predecessor, Desmond knew how to find in his subordinates those skills for which they should be valued. In the end he understood that his town was not Vietnam, where people were being killed on every corner. Among other things, you also need to do paperwork, be able to find a common language with people and resolve everyday conflicts.
After the previous sheriff left, Desmond began to properly restore order. He proceeded from the fact that for Heartstone, given its scale, the level of chaos and violence was too great. Several times a week we received calls about something stolen or missing. Every couple of days there would be some kind of row in a public place. Rarely did an entire calendar year go by without some kind of murder. The only restaurant in downtown Heartstone, called Angel Heart, was a real sore spot; in it, every evening – especially on weekends – the atmosphere at first became relaxed, and after a few hours, when the alcohol began to take effect, it was already tense and plates, knives, forks, bottles and everything that could somehow be used to rip open someone’s body. Moreover, a showdown could start between people who had hardly known each other before and had never spoken, but who came to the Angel Heart and sat at tables in opposite corners. And so almost every evening, Angel Heart put someone in a hospital bed, and someone was sent to a temporary holding cell. From the very first day Desmond first took on the most problematic areas of the town, including the restaurant. For three weeks, he spent every evening at Angel Heart, bringing one of his assistants with him. Not to say that Angel Heart has ceased to instill courage in the drunken heads of visitors, but showdowns began to occur much less frequently, and over time the situation calmed down completely. The owner of the establishment did not particularly like this, because he noticed how much alcohol sales had fallen. People began to drink less so as not to give the new sheriff a reason to attack them. But the restaurant owner also found a bright side in this, because now he didn’t have to install new windows so often, buy new sets of dishes, repair door hinges and walk around the entire room in search of unnoticed traces of blood after the next showdown. And the chairs in the central hall began to last much longer, since now no one would grab them to hit someone on the back, after which, as a rule, the chairs would shatter into splinters.
And so, day after day, Desmond improved the crime situation in the town. He did something that his predecessor didn’t even bother with.
In less than a year as sheriff Desmond had gotten the situation to the point where no one was afraid to walk the streets of Heartstone in the dead of night without being raped or robbed. That year in the service for Desmond was not work, but a real fairy tale. Every single day he showed who was boss in this town. And then, over time, everything began to somehow calm down and there were no longer any particular reasons to take a revolver out of the holster and wave it in front of someone’s nose. But he didn’t have to be bored, because over time Desmond made another discovery in himself, noticing how much he liked leading other people. He saw in his subordinates a kind of complex mechanism that needed to be made to work harmoniously and cope with all tasks, hence Desmond’s understanding that if not all his people are cool and fearless, then this is not a reason to reject their professionalism. Then he began to work on his leadership skills.
It is interesting that, having taken the position of sheriff at the age of thirty-eight, Desmond began to strive to show others how much nerves of steel and a cool head he had. His reputation was loud, but there were still some things he didn’t like. Almost all residents of Heartstone perceived him as the most reliable protection against crime, turning the name of Desmond Poe into a brand, a sign of quality that guaranteed safety and order. They believed that they could relax their buttocks while this guy was breathing. The attitude of citizens towards him was extremely positive, since for all his toughness there was no such case that Desmond exceeded his authority. He liked to solve problems as independently as possible, as this pleased his pride, but the law and the safety of others were a sacred matter for him. Therefore, Desmond decided that it would be necessary to convey to those around him the idea that in front of them is the one who is responsible for their safety, and not some commando with post-traumatic syndrome. Since then, Desmond Poe has guarded his image, even though from time to time he was itching to remind himself of what he was capable of.
Having been married to him for a while, his wife was disappointed that her husband did not live up to her expectations and turned out to be too calm and balanced. But somewhere after the birth of her second child, Rhonda Poe realized how lucky she was that her husband did not turn out to be the frostbitten dude that she expected him to be, living under the same roof with him.
Everyone who had ever worked under Desmond needed no enlightenment about who they should be and how a guardian of the law should act in a given situation. They had a living example and standard – Sheriff Poe. Few people managed to get closer to Desmond in terms of his set of personal qualities, but everyone strived for this. And even at the end of his sixties, Desmond managed not to slow down, demonstrating absolute self-control and promptly solving any problems that surfaced in his town.
But lately Desmond has been faced with a problem. Not to say that it was an age crisis, but the years took their toll and age no longer allowed him to feel as vigorous and daring as in his best years. Despite the fact that Desmond managed to restore order in the town during the first years of his tenure as sheriff and now there was not much work in this sense, he still felt bad at heart that there was not even a reason to sweat to solve any problem more serious than domestic violence or chasing a violator who is exceeding the speed limit. Desmond needed a reason to declare himself in his sixties, because the last time he had to show who was the law was eleven years ago, when he was forty-eight and the gunpowder in his flasks was still dry.
3. Gomorrah
Inside, the music had not yet died down, customers continued to dry the bar, balls rolled into pockets, and there were fewer and fewer parking spaces. Gomorrah was a one-size-fits-all establishment. There was a striptease and a bar; here they played poker for money over a glass of beer and made bets at the billiard table. This was perhaps the only place in Heartstone where the sheriff did not come due to regular violence, because Gomorrah always had two bouncers. Not a single shift was complete here without a fight, so the bouncers were never idle. Perhaps fights would not have occurred so often if the institution was not located outside the town near the federal highway, which ensured a constant influx of customers passing by, among whom were trailer drivers, students, travelers with motorhomes, rodeo participants, farmers, hunters and fishermen. But a special category of clients were bikers. One day, a whole gang of seventy-eight bikers, who were on their way from Louisiana to California, parked in front of the establishment and decided to make a short pit stop when they saw a sign glowing from green neon tubes with the inscription Gomorrah, on both sides of which spread women’s legs glowed in red. The atmosphere that night was tense. This was the only time when Sheriff Poe came to the strip club to establish order, because alcohol was running low, and the dancers from strippers almost retrained as prostitutes, and against their will. The owner of the establishment, Luther Grissom, with trembling in his heart, was already beginning to count the losses from broken glasses, broken cues, cracked chairs and tables requiring replacement. But the damage was not as great as it could have been. All the affray stopped exactly at the moment when Sheriff Poe went inside and threw one of the bikers out the window, after which he fired a warning shot into the ceiling, and thus contributed to the damage caused to the establishment. But Luther not only didn’t take a cent for the broken window and ventilation in the attic, but also treated the Sheriff to free beer because it had become so quiet here since his arrival. The bikers lay with their faces to the floor, and the sheriff’s deputy placed the especially active ones in the back seats of official cars. This was eleven years ago. Since then, there have been enough internal forces to ensure order in Gomorrah.
That night Dana Host earned almost four times more than usual thanks to the fact that she was invited to perform a dance right at the table where the birthday boy was among the guests. After the music stopped and the next track began to play, the guy admitted to her that he would remember this gift for the rest of his life. In fact, it was impossible to think of a more suitable gift for someone who turned eighteen.
Dana constantly worked in public establishments. She started out as a waitress in a cafe in the heart of Heartstone; a couple of years later she moved to a bar, where the clientele was of much lower quality, but the higher salary allowed her to turn a blind eye to this shortcoming. She hadn’t even worked at the bar for six months before Luther Grissom, over a couple of visits, noticed how quickly she handled the delivery of orders, and at the same time knew how to talk with visitors who liked to loosen their tongues when drunk. Luther invited Dana to work for him. The fourfold jump in salary made Dana forget about everything in the world. She was not yet twenty then. Working in Gomorrah, at first Dana did not pay attention to anything other than her duties, counting money that she could not even dream of either in the cafe or in the bar. Then she began to look more and more closely at the details. She made friends among the strippers, with whom she sometimes shared a glass in her free moments, and then – when she was taught – she smoked a cigarette with them several times a shift at the service entrance. As the strippers became Dana’s bosom friends, they began to take notice of her amber hair, long legs and toned skin. They offered her something that was supposed to happen someday. After the establishment closed with the departure of the last customer, her friends began to teach Dana the basics of dance, and when her skills developed to the “passed” level, Luther still agreed to give her the opportunity to perform one dance. Before her debut, Dana was nervous, as usual, but a glass of absinthe has always been an effective remedy for stress. That evening Luther had one less waitress, and when everyone at home learned about the real reason for the busy schedule and rising wages, Dana’s mother was horrified. Father had no time to be indignant. He simply kicked her out of the house. Fortunately, the money that the pole brought Dana was more than enough for an independent life, including rented housing, and six months later she was even able to buy a small house in installments. Honing her skills on the pole year after year, Dana began to enjoy considerable popularity among men. But she rarely went on dates. As a rule, all her intimate relationships were sudden, and the men were often those with whom half an hour passed from the moment she met. Dana was only worried about money and applause in the hall. As Dana’s skills developed, Luther noticed that there were noticeably more local residents among the clients, while Gomorrah was designed mainly for clients who were passing through.
Dana Host had one feature, unlike the other dancers in Gomorrah. She still couldn’t go on stage completely sober. But if she throws in a glass or two, things will go like clockwork, and she herself liked to dance, but she still didn’t dare do it without alcohol.
That evening was out of the ordinary. In the afternoon, all the dancers sat down to play cards, where the loser had to dance topless. The agreement was for one dance, but not less than five minutes. The worst player at poker that day was Dana, who never came across a winning combination, and she always had problems with bluffing, both at the table and in life. She had to perform the nude dance. But Dana couldn’t do this at first. The second exit was also not original. The third one is the same story. Realizing that it would not be easy for her to do this, Dana drank one glass before each exit. Rum, whiskey, vodka, martini. On the eighth attempt, the cocktail in her brain began to give her courage and she still did it. But closer to midnight, Dana became too bold and she was sent to the dressing room, where she lay down on a sofa, and woke up closer to two in the morning. Luther ordered her to go home and sleep it off. Alcohol affected Dana not only quickly, but, at times, very strangely. She drank more than half a liter of strong drinks, then slept for several hours, but, having recovered a little from sleep, she immediately perked up, as if she had been drinking coffee instead of alcohol. One of the dancers, whose name was Janine Malone, sat Dana on the sofa, squeezed her cheeks with her palms and said:
– Sit and don’t move anywhere. Now is my exit. Wait, I’ll come and take you, okay?
Dana nodded somehow, and as soon as Janine left the dressing room, she immediately stuck her tongue out, put on her red leather jacket, took her purse from her personal locker and hobbled towards the exit.
So tipsy, Dana left through the service door and went to the parking lot, where her Mini Cooper was parked. Her gait was generally smooth, but her speed was jerky. She walked more than fifty meters and only then realized that she was slightly off course. The car remained in the service parking lot behind the building, and Dana was already a few steps from the road. She was about to turn her body one hundred and eighty degrees, when suddenly she began to hear a roar of a running engine, which was growing with every second. Soon bright scarlet lights of the headlights appeared on the right. Then the car began to slow down, and on the approaches to the turn that led to Gomorrah, the car began to move off the road, stopping right in front of Dana. The driver’s seat window was rolled down. Dana looked at the stranger and said:
– Hi handsome. How’s your evening, you wonder?
There was silence in response. Dana asked:
– Can’t sleep? Or do you ride in search of adventure?
Having not received an answer this time either, Dana came close to the car, leaned her elbows on the door and said:
– And you are not very accommodating. How about giving the lady a ride?
The stranger nodded affirmatively. Dana smiled and then began to walk around the front of the car. She walked, holding her purse in one hand, and ran her free palm along the curves of the body, feeling the coldness of the metal. She walked in front of the headlights, the scarlet glow of which did not surprise her at all. Dana saw a lot of different cars used by truckers and various car enthusiasts with whom she had promiscuous sex when they visited Gomorrah. Therefore, the appearance of the car, whatever it was, never seemed strange to Dana.
She placed her fingers on the door handle, pulled, slid into the front passenger seat, and closed the door behind her.
– Well, shall we go for a ride? – Dana asked in a playful voice under the influence of alcohol.
This was followed by a loud roar from the engine. The car set off, rapidly picking up speed, accelerating along the federal highway at night.
This was the last trip for Dana Host, while for the Racer the journey was just beginning.
4. Sighted and fast
Norman Hughes was another deputy sheriff. At thirty-three years old, he achieved what was quite enough for him for the life that suited him. Stable work; not huge, but decent income; an occupation that, in terms of the moral side of the issue, did not raise any doubts at all, because Norman maintained order and fought against lawlessness. He didn’t grab stars from the sky. A single life seemed to him a very comfortable scenario, when there were no obligations to anyone and all his attention could be focused on work and his personal interests, without being distracted by anything else. It was unacceptable for Norman to have a reputation as a womanizer. He saw in this something that discredited the honor of the uniform. So he just started affairs that dragged on for several years, and then suddenly something went wrong and Norman breathed a sigh of relief. So he seemed to those around him to be a man who was sincerely trying to improve his personal life in search of his missus, but he was simply unlucky.
When Norman got a job with the sheriff, he had only one drawback – post-traumatic syndrome. But since Norman was taking pills to suppress his trauma, Desmond Poe had no problem hiring him. The sheriff valued his experience in the army. Norman managed to fight in Somalia and Bosnia and Herzegovina. He refused further service after five children were killed in front of his eyes. He served out the remainder of his contract and returned home from service. Peaceful life became a problem for Norman. He didn’t know how to do anything except fight. Therefore, the first thing that came to his mind was to get a job with the sheriff. A week after starting work, Norman realized that he had found his calling.
He was sitting in a patrol car near the federal highway when the clock showed half past two in the morning. There were often reckless drivers in this area, so there was no need to doze for too long. But as luck would have it, it was this time that Norman began to pass out and slept for more than an hour. Opening his eyes, he experienced a feeling of intense thirst. Before his hand could reach for the thermos, a car rushed before his eyes. Norman realized that there was no time for coffee now. He started the engine and followed, turning on the siren. Driving out onto the highway, Norman thought that he could not remember a time when he had seen a speeding driver in the middle of the night with headlights off. He caught up with the suspect and began to demand through the loudspeaker to pull over to the side of the road. The reckless driver didn’t even think about stopping, but only increased his speed. Norman managed to notice that it was not his imagination and the headlights were indeed turned off. He continued to press on the gas and demand to leave the road. Getting the most out of the car, Norman began to close the distance and soon saw the outline of the taillights, from which he assumed that a Dodge Challenger was in front of him.
He again caught up with the pursued and repeated:
– Pull to the side of the road.
The Dodge rammed and hit the patrol car in the front fender. Norman didn’t say anything into the loudspeaker, but instead reached for the walkie-talkie. There was a second blow, causing Norman to drop the radio. He forgot about the connection and took a revolver from his holster. Norman began to overtake on the left, but at the same time the Dodge began to slow down. Having caught up, he hit the patrol car again in the side, and then again, but now at the very edge of the front fender near the bumper. The final impact was much stronger, causing Norman’s car to be thrown off the track. He began to return to the road, but the Dodge pressed him to the side of the road and did not let go for several more seconds, until an obstacle appeared ahead. Norman began to hit the brakes only when the bottom of the car was already sliding along the bump stop. At a speed of one hundred and forty-five kilometers per hour, the bump stop served as a springboard and Norman’s car took off from the ground. The grinding of metal was interrupted quickly, followed by the idling roar of the engine until the patrol car flew off the road, falling off a cliff in the darkness of the night, which was diluted by the flashes of the explosion when Deputy Heartstone’s car collided with the ground.
And the Racer continued to press on the gas. Nothing could stop him anymore.
