The Pines by Robert Dunbar

his pants. He sank farther into his seat, banging his knee against the dashboard.
    “…and then she sort of reaches behind to…”
    Stop. He breathed heavily, sweat trickling down his neck. Make him stop. He glanced at his watch. Incredibly, only minutes had passed, but the pressure grew unbearable. “Did you check in?” he blurted.
    Barry’s big face split in a victorious grin, and he eased off. “Say, I was running a little late this morning.” He grinned again, and for a moment, Steve thought he might wink at him. “Did you get a chance to…?”
    Another ritual—keeping Barry informed about reports and directives he never bothered reading. It was a small thing. Steve shrugged. Back in Trenton, he’d always been so conscientious, so eager—a real pushover for this sort of maneuver. “Mister Nice Cop,” Anna used to call him. Always doing favors. He’d been an honest cop too, and remained one still, save for occasionally covering up for his partner’s philandering. He lied to Barry’s wife about night duty, lied to the boss, sometimes even patrolling by himself while Barry screwed around. And there were other things. Small things. “They found that little girl’s clothes—the one disappeared from Marston’s Corner. All bloody and shredded. No body yet, though.” He mopped his neck and face with a crumpled handkerchief.
    “Sex maniac, got to be,” Barry pronounced.
    “They’re talking about putting dogs on it. You remember that bulletin a couple weeks ago? About that guy escaping?”
    Barry looked surprised. “From the penitentiary?”
    “From the asylum at Harrisville. Anyway, turns out he’s a killer—took his whole family out in Camden. Hospital tried to keep it quiet.”
    “Well, then there’s your sex maniac. I bet somebody’s gonna lose a cushy job over that.”
    “I doubt it.” The throbbing in Steve’s brain receded. Talking shop like this, they almost sounded professional, and he sat up straighter, his vision even clearing a little. This was as close as he ever got to the way he used to feel, back in the days before his most important duty all week might involve a broken garage window. “We should make our rounds.” He took out his pipe, then felt his other pocket and muttered, “Stop at Brower’s, I want to get some tobacco.”
    Barry emitted another loud yawn.
    “You want me to drive?”
    The expression on Barry’s face spoke volumes about his opinion of his partner’s driving. He put on his sunglasses and checked himself in the rearview mirror.
    “Those shades make you look like some kind of giant bug.”
    Barry switched on the ignition, and they lurched forward, slamming Steve against the seat. As the car swung onto hot dirt, Barry kept his foot on the gas. Scrub pines flashed past as the car accelerated, and the sand road emptied onto asphalt.
    “Wait a minute! Slow down!” Steve twisted around in his seat. “Did you see that?”
    “See what?”
    “Back there.”
    “Not that kid with the bandages on his head again?” he asked, not slowing.
    Steve peered out the back window. “You know him?”
    “Billy Mills picked him up a couple times last week. He’s a retard. Just goes wandering the woods. Father died in a car crash. Athena was telling me. Lives with an old aunt or something. She don’t want him. If he gets picked up again, probably going to wind up in Harrisville.”
    Already, they’d left the boy far behind them.
    Steve mulled it over. In one flashing glance, he’d observed the dirty bandages, the outstanding ears, the lost look. Yes, probably a defective. Certainly, there was no shortage of them around here. “You’re driving too fast,” he said with considerable force. “Have you ever seen inside of Harrisville? Poor harmless half-wits they lock up, but murdering lunatics walk.” With the wind in his face, he just stared out the window: the pines, a house, another, a half-plowed field. The homes looked like converted farms now. Up ahead, a