2 Dog River Blues Read online

  Perhaps fifty feet beyond his trawler a large clump of bushes hung out over the water. I tied the dinghy to a large branch and considered my options.

  I hadn’t brought the gun and after what had happened at Fish’s place I wasn’t about to go sulking around by myself. I could call Roy, but I wanted to keep Jessica out of the action. I wasn’t sure I could count on him to tell her no. I decided to return to my boat and talk to Roy the next day.

  As I made my way back to the marina, the moon rolled out from behind one of the few remaining clouds. Despite the clearing sky, the air was filled with the rich, moist smell of a pending storm. Somewhere, a heron screeched, and the distant wail of an ambulance pierced the night.

  By the time I got to my boat I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. The last few nights had been filled with anything but sleep. With leaden arms I tied off the dinghy and dragged myself up and onto my boat.

  Stepping into the cabin I switched on the lights. Like a stubborn nightmare, a large shadow was delivered from the darkness, and I found myself looking down the malignant barrel of Roy’s Colt forty-five.

  “About time you got here,” Fish Conners said, smiling up at me from the starboard settee. Three empty beer bottles lay on the floor beside him and the place had been ransacked. He was holding a bottle of Miller Lite in his left hand and as he tilted it up to take a swig I noticed that his pinky was heavily bandaged.

  “Nice to see you made yourself comfortable,” I said, as I considered what to do.

  I didn’t like my options, but I was preparing to jump back into the cockpit when Fish threw the bottle to the floor and sprang to his feet.

  “Hey smart ass,” he said, as if reading my mind. “Don’t even think about it. I can’t miss at this distance, even if I close my eyes. I guarantee you that I’ll be gone before anyone can get down here to investigate, and you’ll be stone dead.”

  Ever the realist, I raised my hands. “So now what?”

  Fish made a circular motion with the gun. “Rusty wants to talk to you. My truck’s in the lot, why don’t you lead the way. And remember, I won’t think twice about shooting you.”

  “I find it hard to believe he wants to talk.” I said. “Are you sure he doesn’t want to kill me?”

  Fish shrugged. “He said he wants to talk. If he wanted you dead he would have told me to kill you. He didn’t. Now let’s go or I might shoot you just for the hell of it.”

  It was late, the marina was deserted and I had nowhere to run and no one to turn to for help. He made another waving motion with the gun, and I led the way down to the parking lot and his truck.

  “Here.” Fish held out his keys. “You drive. And remember I don’t have a problem with shooting you. Get in on my side and slide over so I can keep an eye on you.”

  Fish pushed the Colt against my ribs and followed me into the cab of the truck. He was breathing hard and had a ripe, reptilian smell about him that I found repugnant.

  My mind shifted from the gun, to the task at hand, as I fit the key in the ignition. When I reached over to turn up the heater, he poked me with the gun and said, “No tricks.”

  “I just want a little heat,” I said.

  He twisted the barrel of the gun into my ribs and when I groaned he said, “Take a right on D.I.P., and then a right at the next light. We’ll be there in two minutes.”

  His time estimate wasn’t far off. When I pulled the car to a stop behind Rusty’s Cadillac, Fish once again dug the gun into my side. “Slide out after me,” he said. “Then go over to the door. It’ll be unlocked. Walk right in and take a seat.”

  Fish followed me into the house, never moving far from my side. There was no opportunity to escape. I took a deep breath, willed my mind to stay clear, and opened the door. As I crossed the room I couldn’t help but notice the furniture marks pressed into the plush carpet. I was studying one of those marks, wondering where the table that had rested there had gone, when Rusty walked in.

  “Have a seat, Wes,” he said.

  I hesitated and he sauntered over to Fish. Holding out his hand, he waited until Fish handed it to him, then he turned to face me.

  “I said sit down.”

  The casual way Rusty handled the forty-five suggested that it wasn’t the first time he’d held a handgun. I sat and Fish left the room.

  Rusty brushed his foot over the furniture print I’d been examining. “Louis the Fourteenth,” he said. “That table was one of my most prized possessions.”

  He made a panoramic gesture with the pistol and added, “All my antiques are gone now. I’ve had to sell them one by one just to live. Let me tell you something, Wes. Nobody wants to make a drastic change in lifestyle, but it’s even harder when you’re sixty-eight years old. I see this manuscript as the means to get my lifestyle back for the few years I have left.”

  “I don’t know why you’re telling me all of this.”

  He took a seat opposite me. He was dressed in dark slacks, a white shirt, and had combed his hair over to cover his bald spot. With practiced ease he straightened his pant leg, placed his right leg over his left knee, and then nestled the pistol, still clenched in his right hand, into his lap.

  “I’m prepared to make you an offer. Ten thousand dollars if you keep your kin folk out of my hair for the next day or two.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “They’re strangers to you, boy. You didn’t know them a week ago. None of this concerns you.”

  “Hypothetically speaking, let’s say I accept your offer. You’re prepared to hand me ten thousand in cash—tonight?”

  “Look around. I think it’s pretty clear I don’t have that kind of cash lying around. Once we sell the book I’ll give you your cut.”

  “I’m not sure I can stop Jessica. She’s a strong minded woman.”

  He pointed the gun at me. “Then I guess I’ll have to reconsider my offer.”

  “No,” I said. “On second thought I’m sure I can keep her out of your way.”

  Rusty shook his head and tapped the barrel of the gun against his leg. “You don’t sound very convincing, Wes.”

  I sprang to my feet and Rusty lifted the Colt and pointed it at my chest. Despite the weight of the gun, his arm never wavered, even when he heaved himself up from the chair. I began to perspire.

  “I’d rather not shoot you right here, Wes. Blood’s a bitch to get out of carpet. Then again, it might be cheaper to replace it.”

  “You don’t need to shoot me.” My knees felt loose and I was afraid they might give out at any moment. I had no doubt that Rusty would kill me without a second thought.

  “Sit back down,” he said.

  I plopped backward into the cushions and gripped the armrests, as if that action might offer me a dollop of protection.

  “Fish, get in here,” Rusty called out. There was no answer, so he raised his voice and tried again. This time Fish shouted something indecipherable from the other room. In a minute, he entered the room carrying a thick, half eaten sandwich in one hand and a beer in the other. At the sight of the sandwich my stomach began to rumble, and I was shocked to discover that I was hungry.

  “I don’t suppose you have one of those for me?” I asked.

  “I admire a man who can think about eating while knowing he’s going to die,” Rusty said, just before he swiped the side of my head with the pistol.

  Chapter 15

  The blow stunned me and I slid off the chair. Fish rushed across the room, grabbed the collar of my shirt, and manhandled me to my feet. At the same time Rusty reached down and plucked my phone from its holster.

  “You won’t need this.” Rusty jabbed the gun into my ribs. “Fish, there’s some rope in the kitchen drawer next to the fridge. Let’s get Wes here tied up. Then I think we need to make a trip to the bayou.”

  “I know just the place,” Fish said.

  It was as if I’d traded my brain for a gyroscope and my knees began to buckle. When Fish released me I felt like I was on the dec
k of a boat in the middle of a storm. I would have fallen if Rusty hadn’t reached out and gripped my elbow.

  “I’m too old to carry you,” Rusty said. “You can walk to the bedroom or I can have Fish drag you. It’s the open doorway up ahead and to your right.”

  “What difference does it make? You’re going to kill me either way.”

  “Not true. We’re going to take you somewhere and dump you. By the time you make your way out the book will be gone and we can stop this nonsense.”

  We both knew he was lying, but I figured as long as I was alive I had a chance of escaping. I took a tentative step, then another. Rusty released my arm and I tottered toward the door he’d indicated.

  The room reeked of old cigarette smoke and mildew. The draperies looked expensive, but even to my untrained eye appeared outdated and dingy. Once again, the most noticeable feature of the room was the lack of furniture. There was a bed with a blue and pink bedspread, and an end table with a light sitting on it.

  Rusty nudged me toward the bed with the gun.

  “Face down on the bed,” he said. “Hands behind your back.”

  As I climbed onto the bed Fish entered the room. He held a length of rope in one hand and a knife in the other. With a nod from Rusty he moved over to the bed and began tying my hands behind my back. He then tied my legs and the two of them left the room, closing the door behind them.

  The bedspread was so stiff that it felt like a Brillo pad rubbing against the side of my face. I counted to ten to make sure no one was going to walk back into the room, and then I went to work on my bindings.

  My struggles bore no fruit. All I got for my efforts were rope-burned wrists, and a vicious pounding in my head. A wave of nausea washed over me that was so severe I thought I’d pass out. I was on the verge of losing the battle to stay alert, when the door opened and Rusty walked in.

  “Wes. I’m sorry about all this. I like you, and I wish we could have come to some sort of an agreement.”

  “We could reopen negotiations.” My words echoed in my head and I was having trouble understanding what he was saying.

  Rusty studied my face, and then he pursed his lips and shook his head. “It’s not going to happen. All I can promise is that if you don’t act up, don’t make things hard for Fish and myself, I’ll make sure he goes easy on you.”

  “Come on Rusty.” I fought to deliver the right words, to clear my mind. “Why don’t you at least say it like it is? You’re going to murder me.”

  He nodded. “I did try to avoid that option.”

  “Not very hard,” I said.

  “Quite the contrary.” He sat on the edge of the bed, reached out, and for a moment it appeared as if he were going to pat me on the head, like an errant child. Then he seemed to think better of the idea.

  He stood and walked over to the door. “I think ten thousand dollars for a day’s work is a real effort. Fish’s gone to look for a boat. Like I said, behave and I’ll make sure Fish does the same. I don’t know what you did to piss him off, but he’s looking for an excuse to beat the shit out of you.”

  The pain took a back seat to the growing realization of what he had in mind for me. I closed my eyes for a moment, and then forced them open when consciousness began to slip away. “What’s the boat for?” I asked.

  “That was Fish’s idea. After all, we need to get you out into the bayou. I don’t want anyone seeing my boat going out into the bay.” He gave a dismissive shrug of his shoulders, stepped out of the room, and pulled the door closed behind him.

  They say that when a person looks death in the eye his life flashes before him. I didn’t experience that. Instead, I struggled with my bonds until the ache in my skull became the major focus in my life, and then I passed out.

  When I came to, Rusty was back in the room, searching through the closet. He must have heard me stirring because he looked my way.

  “I thought maybe you were already dead.” He dragged a jacket from the closet and threw it over his shoulders before continuing. “I don’t know why I have Fish do anything. He steals a boat, and then gets the damn thing stuck in the river. Now I’ve got to go out and get him before it gets light and he gets caught.”

  My headache had eased, and I was glad to find that my mind was working again. I decided to play on Rusty’s sympathies, if he had any. “It’s not too late to let me go,” I said.

  “You’re wrong there, Wes,” he said, as he strode across the room and out the door.

  A few moments later I heard the outer door slam shut. Swinging my feet over the side of the bed I stood, fighting to keep my balance.

  The trip to the bedroom door seemed to take forever. I’d hop two steps, totter, and then fight to keep my legs beneath my body. Then I’d do it all over again. When I reached the door it was locked, but it seems Fish wasn’t the only one who could screw things up. Like all bedroom doors, the latch was on the inside.

  My hands, tied behind my back, were numb, so I fumbled for a good five minutes before I heard the latch click and I was able to get the door open. It gave with an outward lurch, and I hopped half a dozen stumbling steps before doing an ungracious dive to the floor where I smacked my head.

  Fortunately, both the carpet and my head were thick, and within a short time I managed to get back to my feet and struggle into the kitchen. It took only a moment to find a knife and cut myself free.

  It felt as if a thousand tiny teeth were gnawing at my hands and feet as the circulation returned to them. With the pain came feeling, and as soon as I could bear it I moved to the front door. Opening it a crack, I peered out into the night.

  The breeze had freshened. Clouds hid the moon, and in the distance a bolt of lightning reached downward. The night air felt uninviting, and was heavy with the smell of brimstone.

  My eyes opened wide and my heart raced when I saw Rusty’s car still under the carport. I closed the door, ran to the rear of the house and peeked out a window. I was overcome with feelings of relief when I realized that Rusty’s boat was gone.

  I knew I should get as far away from Rusty’s place as possible. Instead, I turned and began a sweep of the house in search of the manuscript.

  I had no idea how long it would take Rusty to get Fish, or whether they would return by boat or Fish’s truck. I did know I couldn’t pass up this chance to look for the book.

  My technique was as primitive as they come. Starting in the kitchen I began throwing open cupboards and pulling out pots and pans and dishes, letting them fall to the floor in a tumultuous drum roll.

  Finding nothing, I worked my way through the living room and then the bedrooms. Again, I failed to find the manuscript, but while going through the closet of the bedroom where I’d been tied up, I came across a heavy, navy blue sweater that looked like it might fit me.

  I tugged it over my sweatshirt, barely managing to stretch and pull the sweater on. It clung to me like a hungry boa constrictor and made me feel claustrophobic. I was tempted to pull it off, but it was a long walk home and cold outside. As an afterthought, I grabbed an unadorned baseball cap from the shelf and snapped it into place.

  The one thing that stood out as I tore through the house was its state of disrepair. Windows were filthy. The kitchen was a total disaster. The faucet dripped. The floor was yellow and dingy. In the far corner a bucket, three quarters full of water, sat beneath a crack in the ceiling. All this indicated to me that Rusty had told the truth about being broke. Either that or he was a total slob. I suspected the truth was somewhere in between the two.

  I spent another minute considering whether I had missed any possible hiding spots. A quick glance at my watch told me that too much time had passed and I needed to get the hell out of Rusty’s house.

  Halfway down the drive I tripped on a loose rock and fell to my knees. Mentally and physically exhausted, it dawned on me that a two minute drive amounted to a four or five mile hike. I hoped I was up to that kind of a trek in my present condition.

  Making my way alo
ng Rabbit Creek Drive to Range Line Road, I cast an occasional look back over my shoulder. I was prepared to jump into the ditch or hide behind a tree at the first sign of either Fish or Rusty.

  Once they discovered I was gone they would be out looking for me, and this made me leery of any approaching car. If they took Fish’s truck back from the marina they could be in front of me, if they came back on Rusty’s boat they could be coming up on my rear.

  The service drive running from Rabbit Creek to Hamilton Boulevard was lined with small industrial businesses and, as a result, well lit. I knew it was the weakest link of my journey and so I was at my most alert. Every approaching set of car lights sent me scurrying for cover. I hid behind a truck trailer here, a small building there, until I reached the open field that separated the industrial park from Hamilton Boulevard. Here I hoped the dark would work to my advantage.

  I had just moved into the field when a car turned off Hamilton onto the service drive. I looked around, and then bolted for a large tree just ahead of where I was walking.

  Melding with the tree, I waited. A quick peek confirmed my worst fears as Fish’s pickup sped past where I was hiding and turned onto Rabbit Creek Drive. It would be only a matter of minutes before they realized I had escaped.

  Darkness was my refuge, but the first hint of gray was creeping into the eastern sky, so I started to jog across the field and by the time I saw a headlight moving my way, I was in the middle of the field with no place to hide.

  The vehicle stopped and a beam of light spread out from the window as the car started back up and crept along the roadside. I ran a little farther, bent over, keeping as close to the ground as possible. Still, I realized I was moments away from being recaptured. That’s when childhood games of hide and seek came to mind.

  I had learned as a young boy that the best way to remain hidden was to stay out in plain view. If a person wore blue jeans and a dark sweater, like I was wearing tonight, it was possible to blend with the night by lying in the shadows. The other players would often walk right on by; their eyes sweeping past where they didn’t expect to see anyone.