Blanco County 03 - Flat Crazy (28 page)

“They’re coming, Duke. It’s no use.”

Red turned and saw two cops on the flat below the hill, aiming rifles up at him.
Son of a bitch, I don’t have time for this!
Red thought.
Those guys don’t understand the situation.

He looked back at the gunman. The guy’s arm was stiff now, straight out, bracing for a recoil, and Red knew he was about to shoot.

Red found the guy in the scope again.

“Freeze!”

Red ignored the men behind him.

“Shoot, Red.”

Red squeezed the trigger, all the way this time.

Marlin flinched at the sound of the shot, but it hadn’t come from the gun in Duke’s hand. He wasn’t sure where it had come from. Marlin was heartbroken to see that Charlie hadn’t run. There had been a shot, but he hadn’t run.

Even when there was a sharp report of a second shot, this one farther away, Charlie didn’t move. He was frozen in place by fear.

For a moment, Marlin and Duke stood there, staring at each other. Marlin saw a large red stain spreading across Duke’s left shoulder, growing rapidly, but the gun was still dangling in his right hand. He raised it again, but this time he pointed it at Charlie. Later, in hindsight, Marlin would wonder why Duke had done that. Maybe because, in Duke’s twisted mind, the boy was the witness against him. The one who had caused his downfall.

The gun was up, but Charlie wasn’t budging.

Marlin bent low and rushed toward Duke.

The bullet the cops fired slammed into the dirt next to Red, and he immediately dropped the gun. He and Billy Don both rolled over onto their backs and put their arms in the air.

“You did it,” Billy Don said.

“Man, I hope so.”

As Marlin hit Duke and drove him to the ground, the gun roared in his ear, and Marlin could feel the heat from the muzzle on his cheek. But he was on top of Duke now, straddling him, trying to pin his arms.

Marlin managed to grasp Duke’s right forearm, then his left, but Duke twisted the revolver upward with his right wrist and let another round fly. Marlin collapsed onto Duke, trying to stay low, out of the line of fire.

Despite his injury, Duke was astoundingly strong, and Marlin knew he couldn’t hold him down for long.

Marlin decided to relinquish his hold on Duke’s left arm and try to use both hands to wrest the gun away. As soon as he released, though, Duke slammed his left fist into the side of Marlin’s face. His right eye was now totally swollen shut.

Tatum and Anderson cringed when they heard the shots, thinking the two men on the hill were returning fire. But neither had moved. Who was doing the shooting?

The chief deputy and the Ranger pumped their legs and hustled up the incline as fast as they could move.

Marlin was lying on top of Duke now, their heads side by side, their arms out to the left and right. He could see Duke bending his wrist again, struggling to bring the barrel horizontal.

Can’t give him a target,
Marlin told himself.

The big gun roared again, and Marlin felt a sting along his left bicep and shoulder. He knew he’d been hit, but he didn’t know how badly. The next shot could be the last.

Marlin was sapped of strength, almost powerless now, and he decided to try something desperate. Once again, he released Duke’s left arm, and Duke began to rain powerful blows on the side of Marlin’s head.

But this time, Marlin quickly moved his right arm across Duke’s body and slipped it underneath Duke’s right forearm. He had Duke’s arm in a fulcrum now, and Marlin began to press downward with his left hand.

Duke let out a horrible scream as the bones in his arm snapped. He was bucking and kicking now, and then Marlin’s right ear exploded under the force of one last powerful strike from Duke’s left fist.

The sheer power of the blow launched Marlin to the left, and he was unsure where the gun was now. He was on his back, unable to lift his head, struggling to see through a left eye that was a mere slit.

He heard Duke rising to his feet, moaning like a wild beast, and Marlin could picture the gun in his hand.
Any second the shot will come.

But instead, he heard Duke shout, “Don’t do it, goddamn it!” Then the sound of heavy footfalls.

A shot rang out, loud and close. Marlin managed to roll to his side …. And he saw Charlie, who was wielding the gun with both hands as he tried to shoot his fleeing stepfather.

36

“HOW DOES THAT feel?”

“Okay.”

“Doesn’t sting?”

“Yeah, a little.”

The nurse, a woman in her fifties, said, “I thought so.”

It was quiet in Blanco County Hospital, except for the incessant ringing in his ears.

“What time is it?”

She checked her watch. “Eleven-thirty. Why, you got a hot lunch date?”

Marlin gave her a small smile, all he was up to at the moment. He was certain he looked like some kind of gargoyle, eyes swollen and starting to go black, nose broken and puffy, cheek cut, ear red and inflamed. He’d broken a finger, too, something he hadn’t even felt at the time. Then there was the wound along his arm and back, where the bullet had dug a furrow half an inch deep and eight inches long. “Not too bad,” the doctor had said, “but you’re gonna have a nasty scar.”

He could live with that. What he couldn’t live with was the thought of Duke Waldrip getting away. Tatum had promised to call and give him an update, but so far, Marlin had heard nothing. He hadn’t wanted to leave the scene, but Tatum had insisted. Marlin hadn’t had the will to argue.

“How’s the boy?” Marlin asked.

“He’s over in Social Services,” the nurse said, “but from what I hear, he’s fine. Must be a tough kid.”

“Yeah,” Marlin said. “Yeah, he is.”

Tatum phoned Marlin’s hospital room thirty minutes later. He sounded grim. “Nothing yet.”

Marlin was sitting up in bed, with no intention of staying the night, despite the doctor’s recommendation. He let out a low sigh of exasperation.

“Relax,” Tatum said. “We’ve got thirty men on the ground, ten of them on horses, and Jacob Daughdril’s got his chopper in the air. We’ve got dogs coming, too. He’s weak, he’s wounded. Believe me, John, he ain’t going nowhere.”

That wasn’t much comfort. Nothing would feel right until Duke was in a cell. If only Tatum and Anderson had gotten down the hill a little sooner. Marlin still wasn’t clear on what had happened at the top of the hill, about what had stopped Tatum and Anderson from chasing Duke immediately. Everything had been too chaotic at the scene. Now Tatum filled him in.

“I’ve only got a minute, and then I need to get back to it …. But do you remember seeing Red O’Brien and Billy Don Craddock?”

Marlin did, but at the time, he had thought he was hallucinating.

“Well,” Tatum said, “it was Red who put that bullet in Waldrip.”

Marlin was too mortified to speak. Red O’Brien was one of the most incorrigible poachers in the county, and here he had very likely saved both Marlin’s life and Charlie’s. What could Marlin possibly say about that?

Tatum let that sink in, then said, “They were all camoed up, so we didn’t know who the hell they were. When we figured it out, they said they were out there about the chupacabra. Said they pulled it from a trap, were hauling it to Red’s truck, and then they saw the three of you go marching by.” Tatum paused. “Chupacabra. Is that a crock or what?”

Red was royally, supremely, and totally pissed off. He couldn’t remember ever being this angry. They hadn’t even let him look. Just one quick look, that’s all he had wanted. Just a quick scamper through the woods to see if the chupacabra was still there. But as Ernie Turpin had driven them off the ranch, all he’d said was, “Sorry, guys. Can’t do it.”

Red leaned back on his sofa and pouted. “Save a couple of lives and that’s the thanks we get? Well, that’s bullshit.”

Billy Don, sitting in the La-Z-Boy, shrugged. Red didn’t like it.

“A little support here, Billy Don, that’s all I’m asking.”

“I know it, Red, but hell, what do you want? They called you a damn hero.”

That was news to Red. Somebody had called him a hero? Really? “Who?”

“’Member near the end, when all the deputies showed up? Tatum had you off to one side, asking questions, and the Ranger was talking to me?”

“Yeah?”

“That Ranger asked me who fired the shot, and I said you did.”

“And?”

“And then he said, ‘That boy’s a damn hero.’”

Red wasn’t all that sure Billy Don was telling the truth. “If you’re telling me stories, Billy Don, I swear I’ll—”

“Honest to God,” Billy Don said, sounding sincere.

Imagine that. Weren’t many millionaires in the world, but there weren’t that many genuine heroes, either. Hell, it felt pretty good, in a way.

“What say, hero, you want a beer?” Billy Don pushed his bulk out of the recliner.

“Yeah, okay. Sure.”

A few seconds later, Red could hear Billy Don opening the refrigerator.

“I’m a damn hero,” he said softly to himself.

“What?” Billy Don called out.

“Nothing.”

By four o’clock, Marlin was feeling pretty good and he decided it was time to leave. He slipped the hospital gown off his shoulders, then found his clothes in a cabinet by the door. He managed to get down the hall and into a stairway without being noticed. Then he remembered he didn’t have his truck. He retraced his steps back to his room and picked up the phone.

Rudi answered on the first ring.

“It’s me again,” Marlin said. He’d already called once and told her the complete story, or least everything he could remember.

Amazingly, she hadn’t flipped out. Marlin guessed she had seen all kinds of chaos and destruction when she’d done the local news. She had, however, sounded very concerned, as she did now. During the earlier call, he’d had to insist that she stay at the house instead of coming up to the hospital. “What’s going on?” she asked now. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine, Rudi, really. Beat to hell, but fine. I’m ready to get out of here.”

There was a pause. “What did the doctor say about that?”

“Not much. I didn’t ask him.”

“But if you have a concussion—”

“I don’t. He said I didn’t.” It was the truth. “I’m ugly as hell, though, so you’d better prepare yourself.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I was wondering if you could come get me.”

“Where’s the hospital?”

Marlin told her.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting out front.”

The four German shepherds and their handlers crossed the shallow, narrow creek, but the dogs couldn’t pick up the scent on the other side. The oldest trick in the book. Waldrip had entered the creek and walked upstream or downstream to throw them off.

“Split ’em up,” Tatum called out.

He glanced at his wristwatch, even though he’d promised himself ten minutes ago he’d quit doing that. Nearly five o’clock, and the sun would set in an hour. If the dogs couldn’t come up with something, Tatum would have to call it off for the night, start fresh in the morning.

Every so often, when the wind was right, Duke could hear the far-off barking of a dog. Or maybe it was all in his head. He knew he’d lost a lot of blood, and his head swam with every forward step. He was so tired. So damn tired.

But he’d made it off the Macho Bueno Ranch, and he figured it would be hours before they’d expand their search beyond its borders. He’d gone north, intentionally stopping at Kyle’s house—going in the front door and out the back—to confuse the dogs and waste the deputies’ time as they searched it.

Now the sun was setting, and if he was lucky, he could find a place to stop and rest. Just a few minutes was all he wanted. Some time to regain his strength and come up with a plan. Maybe if he could make it to town, find a phone, he could call Gus and—no, he couldn’t do that. Gus was gone. Gone, like Duke should’ve been a long time ago.

Duke was walking into a small, steep ravine when his knees buckled. He collapsed to his butt and slid the rest of the way down. Here. Here would be a good place to stop and clear his head.

The wound was bleeding again. He knew the deputies and the dogs were at least a mile away, maybe more, but he couldn’t shake this feeling that he was being watched, that something was stalking him.

Just after seven o’clock, Marlin called Tatum’s cell phone. The reception was poor, fading in and out.

“… at Kyle’s house,” Tatum was saying. “But he wasn’t in there.”

“Have you widened the search area?” Marlin asked.

Tatum replied, but it was garbled, the deputy saying something about the dogs.

Then the connection was broken. Exactly the reason Marlin hated those damn things.

“Maybe I should go out there,” he said.

Rudi, who was bringing another ice bag for his face, said, “Yeah, and do what?”

The dogs never could pick the scent up again, and Tatum sent them home. Let them rest, and maybe they’d do better in the morning.

Ernie Turpin’s voice came over the radio: “Dark as hell out here, Bill. What you wanna do?”

There was only one thing to do: call it off until first light.

Duke faded in and out of consciousness for several hours. Later, judging by the half-moon climbing into the sky, he knew it was late, maybe three o’clock.

The night was cold and damp, but Duke was burning up. He could barely lift his good arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

He heard a noise nearby, a stick cracking under a foot. Or a paw.

He found a small rock and tried to throw it into the brush. It went ten feet.

His head fell back to the ground. His breathing was rapid and harsh.

Something was speaking to him now. An animal out there, mocking him, telling him it was only a matter of time …
laughing
at him.

His eyes never closed, but they stopped seeing.

He was long gone before the teeth sank into his flesh.