2 Dog River Blues (14 page)

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 along 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.

And so, as the car approached, I dove into a patch of long grass, stretched my body out as long and flat as I could, and hoped against all hope that they wouldn’t spot me.

Burying my face into the grass I heard the car slow and sensed the beam of their spotlight flash by me. I forced myself to lie still for the count of a hundred and then I sprang to my feet and ran as fast as I could toward the tree line. The car stopped and swung around when they reached the end of the service drive, and once again I threw myself onto the ground and waited.

The ground was moist and smelled of moss and dead grass. I was running out of energy as we played hide and seek for three more passes, and then they pulled out onto Hamilton Road and headed off toward the marina, still creeping along, still shining the damn light. It was a good thing for me they had moved on, because the sky was graying and I was afraid I couldn’t stay out of their sight for too much longer.

Mud covered and shivering, I trudged along Hamilton toward the Chevron station at the corner of D.I.P., where I hoped I could warm myself up and call Roy for a ride. Unfortunately, when I reached the station Rusty’s car was parked out front. Skirting the store I continued my trek for the last mile and a half to the marina.

I almost lost the game when I turned onto Bayou Road. Glancing over my shoulder, I had just checked to make sure that Rusty’s Caddy wasn’t headed my way when I smelled a burning cigarette. Dropping to the ground, I rolled into the sewage ditch as Fish came walking up the street. If he had looked over his right shoulder he would have seen me, but he was talking on a cell phone as he stepped past my hiding space.

I was prepared to jump up and run if he turned, but he kept walking and talking. “He hasn’t been here, Rusty.”

There was silence, and then he said, “Yeah. Well, come get me and we’ll head back to your place. I don’t think he’ll go to the police. He’s just dumb enough to come back to the house. We can be ready for him. Besides, you’re selling the book tomorrow, aren’t you?”

Then he drifted out of my hearing range. I kept my head down and lay still in the ditch until I heard the tires of a car pull off the road. There were voices, and then a door slammed and the car pulled away. That’s when I looked up and saw the taillights of Rusty’s car heading back toward Hamilton.

By the time I reached the parking lot, all I could think about was taking a hot shower and climbing into bed. I dragged my weary body down the dock, looking forward with each step to calling it a day, only to discover an empty slip. My boat was gone.

Chapter 16

I ran to the end of the dock and gazed out along the river.
Rough Draft
was half a mile upstream, sitting there, waiting for the tide to come in and break her loose.

Curling up and going to sleep right there in the middle of the dock was a tempting option at the moment. Instead, I trudged back down the dock, across the parking lot and over to Cathy’s boat. Along the way I noticed that Rusty’s trawler was back in its slip.

I fought the urge to break in and search it for the manuscript, but daylight was creeping across the sky. People would soon be wandering around, and if I didn’t recover my boat before the tide turned, I might lose it all together. I’d once seen a boat break loose from its anchor and drift ashore. The damage to the bottom had been pretty extensive.

I was surprised to find Cathy’s lights on, and when I knocked, she threw open the door. The pleasant scents of hot coffee and bacon wafted from within and my mouth began to water.

“Jesus, Wes,” she said. “What the hell have you been up too? You look like shit.”

“It’s been a rough night. Any chance I can get a cup of coffee and maybe a little bacon?”

She wrinkled her nose but stepped aside. “Come on in.”

Randy Travis played on the stereo, and bacon sizzled in the kitchen giving the place a down home flavor. Her houseboat was roomy and inviting. From the outside it appeared tiny, inside it was a bastion of efficiency. The kitchen and dining area were on the entrance level. There was a refrigerator, a stove with oven, an apartment sized, stacking, washer and dryer, and plenty of cupboard space. A small wood table with four chairs sat in the middle of the dining area.

Two steps down was the living room. A floral patterned loveseat, a matching rocker, and a desk with her computer shared the room with a thirty-two inch flat screen TV. Beyond the living room I could see her bedroom.

 
She poured us both a cup of coffee, put on a couple more strips of bacon, and scrambled half a dozen eggs. I filled her in on my nighttime excursions in between sips of hot coffee and forkfuls of bacon and eggs.