Krewe Daddy (17 page)

"Looks like trouble, Rothem."

Drew startled at the use of his name, and because he hadn't heard the car arrive.

The Chicano man wore a white and blue do-rag that skirted his eyebrows. His ribbed, sleeveless tank tee revealed the depth of Drew's dire situation. The guy had the Retribution gang's tattoo on his bicep.

The gang member moved quickly, catching Drew off balance. Drew hit the ground and rolled to his side, but not fast enough to get away or avoid being Tasered.

When he came to, he was being hauled away by two men. His wrists and ankles were in Flex-Cuffs. The Chicano had taken off his do-rag and stuffed it in Drew's mouth. The stench of hair products and sweat made him sick to his stomach. Drew forced back the bile that rose from his gut like high tide in a hurricane and concentrated on his assailants. He didn't have long. Trussed like a proverbial Christmas goose, Drew landed in the trunk of the car without preamble.

The closed lid made Drew claustrophobic. . He shut his eyes, fighting back hysteria that crept up his spine like frost on a window.

Think, Drew. You're a trained officer.
Think about fucking what? How the Retribution
gang is going to live up to its name?

A noxious odor entered the compartment. The car was burning oil, and the fumes filled the trunk. If he didn't get a grip on his rollercoaster fears, he'd throw up.

With the rag stuffed in his mouth, Drew knew he could drown in his own vomit. The men hadn't cleaned out the trunk either, and sharp objects poked into his body. His hands fell asleep, and hurt as he was jostled around until he could have screamed. All he could do was moan.

Drew lost track of time. His brain went numb, like his hands. He had no idea how long it would take for anyone to realize he was missing, especially since Luis had pretty much told him to go fuck himself, and he wasn't due back at work until tomorrow afternoon.

The grisly possibilities of what the gang members might do to him flickered in Drew's mind like a strobe light. His anxiety increased with each passing minute.

Another wave of panic hit him. Covered in sweat, Drew had never been so scared in his life. And he wasn't even out of the car yet.

The vehicle slowed. When it started rocking, and he heard crunching sounds, Drew got the impression they were on some kind of rutted, gravel road. After a long squeak of the brakes, the car halted.

Drew's mind buzzed. He was helpless with his limbs tied, his voice silenced. He heard men talking in Spanish, and the opening and slamming of the car doors. Seconds later, the trunk opened, letting in fresh air. Drew inhaled as deeply as he could through his nostrils, hoping doing so would alleviate the fog in his brain.

Three men grabbed him by his wrists, ankles, and belt to haul him out. Drew landed on his back, on a gravel road, with a thud. Pain seared through his numb arms and hands, making him wail.

One of the men took the rag out of his mouth. "Go ahead, scream. There's no one to hear you."

The guy kicked him hard in the ribs to emphasize his point.

Drew wheezed, and coughed a few times. "What do you want from me?"

A voice came from behind him. "Mateo asked us to give you a message."

Fear turned Drew's blood cold. He twisted in the direction of the voice.

Henrique Sandalio peered at him. "I am very unhappy to have my son going back to prison. There is little I can do to stop that now. If you apologize politely for making his life so miserable, maybe, just maybe, I won't let Mateo's friends kill you."

There was no point trying to dissuade the group from their purpose. Drew's testimony had been instrumental in sending Mateo back to the pen. He had to survive whatever was coming, and put the old man and these three other jackass pricks behind bars, too.

The elder Sandalio came closer. "You have nothing to say, Agent Rothem?"

Drew glared at him.

Sandalio took a deep breath. He handed one of the men a baseball bat. "I think we should tattoo the good agent."

The man accepted the bat, and gave Drew a greasy smile. "With pleasure."

Fear renewed Drew's sense of survival. "Don't do it. Leave me here, but don't make matters worse for yourselves."

The guy took aim. "Like I give a flying fuck about tomorrow? I'm surprised every goddamn day I wake up. Kiss my ass, cocksucker. This one's for Mateo."

Drew heard the others say
Mateo
before he felt the blow. His skull seemed to shift, his mind go woozy. Surprisingly, he didn't feel much pain. He thought about Rocky Balboa in the slow motion fight scenes.

"Don't kill him. We need to have some fun."

Drew opened his eyes. Through blurry vision, he saw a man crouching in front of him.

"You still with us? You're tougher than that, ain't ya?"

Drew said nothing. He wasn't sure he could speak even if he wanted to.

"Wake him up," said another.

"My pleasure."

Drew heard a
crack
as the bat connected with his forearm. He screamed as loudly as he could. If there was a God, Drew screamed to Him for mercy and deliverance.

* * * * *

With his after-dinner coffee in hand, Rufus Battonaire sat on the front porch of his house in lower Plaquemines Parish. There wasn't another house around for miles.

The Mississippi rushed past on one edge of his property line, and gators swished into the swamps that covered most of his private, one-hundred-five acres. Not many people knew about the place. To outsiders, the land looked inhospitable. That suited Rufus just fine. His stint in Vietnam had turned him into an unpredictable, hostile person.

Isolation and his dog, Jess, were his best friends. Rufus slapped a mosquito on his forearm, then flicked it away.

A bloodcurdling scream made him crook his head to listen. Less than a minute later, another howl caused him to rise from his chair.

He looked at his black Lab, whose ears pricked up.

"Jess, somebody is in deep trouble. Come on, boy."

Rufus never went anywhere without his handgun. He made sure it was loaded, took his flashlight, leashed his dog, then started up the gravel road.

The possibility existed that somebody had wandered into the swamp, and an alligator was finishing them off. Certainly that would incite terrified screams like he'd heard, but the alligator scenario was farfetched. That had happened only twice in the thirty years Rufus had lived on the old Bohemia Wildlife Management property.
More
likely, some poor son of a gun is getting his comeuppance. Deserved or not.

He walked along the road's grassy edge with Jess to conceal the sound of their footsteps. Soft voices and laughter made him slow their pace. The last thing he needed to be was next on their list of hapless victims.

Jerking Jess' leash, the dog stopped. He signaled the dog to sit and stay. Rufus dropped the leash, drew his gun, and snuck closer to the area the voices were coming from.

One person lay on the ground. Three men circled him like hyenas. Yet another stood back, arms crossed, watching. Each man took a turn giving the man on the ground a swift kick, and then got into a beat-up car.

They had to leave the same way they came in, since this was the only road on the entire property.

Rufus hit the ground, using the tall grass for cover. Headlights shined right on him. He held his breath, hoping he'd flattened himself against the ground enough to be invisible. He hated to call Jess to help him take care of business. A handgun and a full set of canine teeth could do a lot of damage, but they were outnumbered. The idea of an attack made Rufus twitch, bringing back horrifying memories of too many hours holed up in Vietnam's trenches. He stayed in the soft grass, fighting the sounds of helicopters and gunfire from his past.

Rufus didn't know how long the flashback episode lasted. Long shadows were etched on the ground by the time he got to his feet and whistled for his dog.

Jess appeared almost instantly, leash trailing him.

Rufus patted the dog's silky head with a shaking hand, then reached for the leash. "Good boy. Let's see what's going on here."

Rufus had no idea whether the person on the ground was alive or dead. Jess sniffed the area while Rufus pulled out his flashlight, then turned it on. A lesser man probably would have vomited at the sight.

He crouched low to check for a pulse. "Dang, these animals sure beat the tar out of you."

As he felt Drew's neck, he detected a slow pulse.

He reached in his pocket and prayed there was cell phone service. "'Cuz if there ain't, you won't last 'til sunset, boy."

He looked at the phone's status bar. "One bar. Ain't good." He tried the call, but it wouldn't connect.

He walked the site and tried again. No luck. He hustled ten yards up the road and got three bars.

The call connected. "Nine-one-one, do you have an emergency?"

"Sure do, ma'am, and you better hurry 'cuz this boy done took almost his last breath."

Rufus gave directions to the dispatcher. He couldn't supply much information about Drew's condition or anything about his identity. Dusk had made the attackers'

faces impossible to make out, so he didn't know how much help he'd be to the police, either. He didn't relish the idea of being questioned by the authorities.

Afterward, he walked back to Drew and rechecked his pulse. Faint.

"You hang in there, son, they're sending an ambulance for you."

Movement on Drew's face caught Rufus' attention.

"Jesus Lord and Savior, they dumped you on an ant pile. I'm so sorry, but I can't move you. You're pretty busted up, with that head wound and all. These ants are gonna chew you alive." He brushed away a handful from Drew's face. Red, raised dots were smattered on his swollen cheek.

Rufus shook his head. "You musta done something terrible to get such a beating.

You hang in there. Help's a-comin'."

Rufus remembered he was supposed to check for an ID. In the pockets he could check without moving Drew, he found nothing helpful.

"Either they robbed you or wanted to make this as hard as possible." He studied Drew while gently brushing away the growing number of ants crawling on him. "You don't look like a rich guy."

The sound of a siren interrupted his ideas about Drew's identity. Rufus stood and shined his flashlight up the road to let the driver know where they were.

Jess barked at the noise.

"Stop, Jess. Sit."

The dog quieted and lay next to Drew.

With the engine chugging at idle speed, an EMT climbed out of the front of the ambulance.

Rufus pointed to Drew. "Over here."

A second EMT joined the first. "What happened here?"

"I can't tell you. Four guys were with him when I got here. But this poor boy was already on the ground. He hasn't made a sound since I got here."

The EMT put a stethoscope on Drew's chest. "If we don't get him out of here, he won't be making another one, either."

Drew reached a new level of consciousness he'd never experienced before.

Everything was cobalt blue. Tinny-sounding voices were all around him, but he couldn't understand what language they spoke. Other noises blended in, creating a calliope of sounds he couldn't process. He felt weightless, painless.

I must be dead. How did I die?

He drifted in the blue oasis.

"Drew."

The voice sounded familiar.

"Drew, honey, open your eyes. It's momma."

His eyes flew open like a window shutter. The all-encompassing, monochromatic blue cleared away. Drew kept blinking to clear his blurred vision. He really wanted to see his mother. She'd been dead for three years.

"Drew, sweetie. That's enough napping. It's time to wake up and go out to play."

Unable to move, he searched as best he could with his eyes, but didn't see his mother or figure out where he was.

Oh yeah, I'm dead.

Episodes from Drew's past expanded and contracted like an accordion being played. Snippets of conversations he'd had with his mother jumped around in a confusing mêlée of fiction and reality.

She shook his shoulder. "Open your eyes, sleepyhead. Happy birthday, teenager!

Did you enjoy your graduation? Your friend Jeanie looked so pretty at the prom last night. I've cooked your favorite dinner. You're gay?"

Her expression crumbled as she buried her face in her hands. "We'll get you some help. You look so handsome in your uniform. Why are you moving to Minnesota?

Is this about that Luis guy? Find a nice woman and settle down. You're breaking your daddy's heart. I know how much you love chocolate milk. A law enforcement officer?

You never did learn how to properly sew a button on. You're in love with a man? I love you anyway."

Drew couldn't make sense of anything. He wished he could see his mom again.

He tried lifting his hand to reach out to her. The effort was too great.

"Drew."

Who's there now?

"Mister Rothem, can you hear me?"

Drew didn't recognize the voice.
Is God speaking to me?

"Come on, Drew, open your eyes." The voice sounded soothing, encouraging, but Drew couldn't see the face behind the words.

I'm surprised every goddamn day I wake up. Kiss my ass, cocksucker.

Drew knew he should recognize that voice, but he couldn't place it. He wanted to duck, roll, or protect himself somehow from the aggressor.

A throb started at the base of his skull. His right arm felt peculiar.

What's wrong with my left leg?

Stinging sensations, overwhelming pain, dog barks, sirens. The memories and sounds zipped through his brain and stopped like the last, wheezy sounds from a bagpipe.

He slipped into a deeper, safer sleep.

* * * * *

Dr. Paquette frowned. She thought Drew was ready to come out of the drug-induced coma he'd been in for almost a week. Obviously, the trauma that sent him to St.

Augusta General Hospital still terrorized her patient. She let him rest.

Outside Drew's room, Kyle LaMontagne waited with District Attorney Sheila Parsons and Jordan Skeeps.