Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [57]
Once he crossed the river, he slowed. Driving back into Seattle would give him time to think. He figured he would head for his mother’s house and call an attorney from there.
There were two gates, one five miles away with a guard on it, and this one. The gate barring the main county road had been dutifully closed by the girls the night before. Idling the Porsche, Scooter stepped up to it. On their way in, Chuck had jimmied the lock, then put it all back into some semblance of order, but Scooter hadn’t paid attention to how he’d done it. He remembered the lock assembly was inside a metal box attached to the gate, but that was all. He rattled it and kicked it, and then he got angry and picked up a rock and began battering it, which made the metal of the long crossbar across the road sing like a whale. If he couldn’t get the gate open, he couldn’t leave, because this gate was the only way in or out of these foothills.
Those bastards must have come down and rifled the lock so they couldn’t get their vehicles out. After throwing more rocks and kicking the gate and cursing, he finally peered under the base of the box, which had no bottom. Inside was a simple locking device fastened by a broken padlock. What a dummy he was. The lock was still broken and still open. All he had to do was remove it and swing the gate open. He started to do so and then thought better of it.
He’d been furious when he thought the cyclists had jammed the gate, and he knew if he went back and relayed that information to the others, they would be furious, too. Maybe stirring up some more anger wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He was so amped right now, he was driving erratically enough to get pulled over by a trooper, and if they pulled him over they were bound to discover that he was still full of beer. If they gave him a Breathalyzer test…Frankly, it wasn’t safe to be on the highway. The right course of action was to stay in the hills until he was stone-cold sober. Scooter put the lock back the way he found it and turned the Porsche around.
When he got back to camp, the others were still waiting for Fred and Jennifer to return. “That was fast,” said Kasey. Scooter had found them at the cramped outlook, where they were all looking down the mountain at Chuck’s body.
“We’re not getting out,” said Scooter.
“What?”
“The gate’s locked. Somebody jammed it. We’re going to have to get a cutting torch or something.”
“Who would do that?” asked Bloomquist. “Lock the gate.”
“Who do you think?”
“I saw the retarded guy riding down the hill earlier,” said Kasey. “I wondered where he was going.”
“You think they sent him to jam the lock?” asked Perry.
“Why the hell would they do that?” said Bloomquist.
“To keep us here,” said Scooter. “Don’t you get it? They planned that thing with Chuck. They don’t want any of us getting to the cops.”
“That’s nuts. We have cell phones.”
“They know those don’t work out here.”
Bloomquist was in worse shape than any of them and was breathing hard now from the tension. “I mean, what kind of sense does it make? They didn’t know Scooter and Chuck were going up there this morning. Why jam the gate?”
“Maybe to get even for that dusting we gave them yesterday,” said Kasey.
“No,” said Scooter. “It’s bigger than that. This was planned. It was all planned.”
“By Polanski?” said Kasey. “Well, he’s certainly got enough motive. You embarrassed him bad last night when Nadine was leaving. Was that true? That he said my sister was just a fling?”
“Damn rights it was true.” Scooter took the rifle from Ryan Perry’s hands, levered