2 Dog River Blues (13 page)

I felt worn and beaten as I held out Jessica’s keys. “Maybe we should just let Rusty keep the damn thing.”

“Right, just quit.” Jessica snapped the keys from my hand. “Why didn’t you damn Yankees do that back during the War of Northern Aggression, when it would have mattered.”

Roy and I stood there, watching as she jumped into her car and sped away. “She’s got a temper,” he said.

I stared after my cousin in amazement. “Did she really bring up the Civil War?” I asked.

Roy rested his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Down here some of us are still fighting the war. We don’t even refer to it as the Civil War. To us, there was only one war. By the way, you know what they say the difference between a Yankee and a damn Yankee is, don’t you?”

“I don’t think I want to hear this,” I said.

Roy laughed. “A Yankee comes down here in the winter, spends a lot of money, and then goes back north for the summer. A damn Yankee comes down here and stays.”

The dark veil began to lift as I realized that I liked these Southern relatives of mine after all. I wasn’t quite sure what it was that made me hesitate about meeting my grandmother.

“You can tell Jessica that I’m not going to back out,” I said.

Roy slapped me on the shoulder. “Never thought you were,” Roy said.

“I think we’re going to have to visit Rusty’s house next,” I said.

“Any idea where he lives?” he asked.

We started walking towards Roy’s truck and I debated how much to tell him. I was planning on making a reconnaissance visit that evening to look for Rusty’s house and boat. I didn’t think having him or Jessica along would help much. In fact, more than one person wandering around might prove to be a hindrance.

We stopped at Roy’s truck. “I know he lives up river,” I said. “I’ll get back to you when I have more information.”

Roy gave me a quizzical look. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

“Not a chance.” I didn’t add that I was going to actually take my dinghy out to Rusty’s place. I wanted to keep Jessica out of harm’s way again. Since Roy had admitted that he couldn’t say no to her, I wasn’t about to tell him my plans for the night.

“I think we need to go see Rusty tomorrow night,” Roy said.

I nodded. “I’ll ask around and find out exactly where he lives.”

“All right,” Roy got in his truck and started it. He raised his voice so that he could be heard above the rattle of the engine. “I’ll call you tomorrow and set up a time.”

I nodded and watched as he backed up the truck and drove away, then headed back to my boat. At least the clouds were covering the moon. It looked like a perfect night to pay Rusty a visit.

Chapter 14

It took three pulls of the cord to get the outboard started, and I gave the engine a little gas to make sure it wasn’t going to quit on me. Satisfied, I shoved the dinghy away from the boat and headed up the river toward Rabbit Creek.

I love boating at night. It’s a paradox. Sound travels farther in the still air. Every little splash has an impact on your psyche. The air smells fresher, lights seem brighter, but every time you hear a motor nearby, tension builds along your nerve endings and questions form in your mind. Could that motor belong to a boat driven by a drunk? Will someone not see you in the night darkness? Danger, be it real or imagined, reigns supreme in the pooling shadows.

I cut the engine as I turned into Rabbit Creek. Up ahead I saw Rusty’s boat tied to a dock behind a house. Shutting off the navigation lights I drifted with the current and slid the oars into the water. Above, the moon threatened to burst from its cloud cover.

 
There were no lights on the dock or the boat, although as I glided by I noticed light pouring from every window in the house up the hill from the creek.

 
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 deck 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.