May in December (16 page)

“Well, we could go haunt the police station and be there when they capture him.”

Bruce shook his head. “We don’t know where Milton and his crew are currently. I think we need to stay put and wait for them to contact us.”

“To hell with that, my babies are out there. I’ve got something better… A police radio scanner and money enough to bribe an officer to tell us what’s going on.”

Kerri swung her arms to get everyone’s attention. “Hello? I’m still here. You drop a bomb like this on me, and you’re all gonna go running off?” She stomped over to her bedroom door and swung it open. “You all are terrible. Bill is innocent, and when tomorrow comes, you will all be sorry you said such ugly things about him. Get out of my room. Now!”

* * * *

The cheers, the jeers, the cries, and the snarls around Jorry made it nearly impossible to relax. Gingersnap and Snickerdoodle remained in his lap, staring up at him as if he were their savior.

From what he could piece together by listening and peering through cracks in the makeshift wall, the entertainment started out with a couple of fights. Sometimes the winner of one fight would go back and do it again. The losers were another story, as their remains were dragged off and thrown on a blue tarp along with the others. Whether they were dead or just unconscious, Jorry had no idea. At any rate, the bodies were treated like garbage.

For about a half an hour, some of the women were removed from their cages and an auction commenced. The ladies were treated as livestock and told by the referee to remove their clothing for closer inspection. When they returned to their cages, a symbol had been tattooed on their left forearms. Their tears were silent yet streaming down their faces.

Jorry was thankful that the cages were in the back, where he couldn’t see much of the action. But hearing it was bad enough, as his imagination got the best of him. He cringed every time a man came back and grabbed a couple of men out of their cages. The fighting ring seemed like it was a certain death sentence—or at least a serious maiming session—and no one deserved to be torn apart by other fighters for entertainment purposes.

After all, this was the twenty-first century. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen anymore.

Jorry tried to break the lock on the cage, but it wouldn’t budge. He reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out the eyeglasses again. “If you guys can hear me, I am past Lewiston, in an off-road field where there is a natural gas meter station. There are a bunch of trucks there. I found Gingersnap and Snickerdoodle alive, but if you don’t get here soon, we will all be dead.”

Jorry went to replace the eyeglasses back in his shirt, paused, and brought them back up. “Tell Bruce Deirmann I love him.” He let the glasses drop from his cold fingers and leaned his head on the back of the cage.

I can’t give up, but I just don’t see how I’m going to get out of this disaster.

Another man came back and grabbed two more men to fight. From what Jorry had heard from the announcer, this was another fight to the death. One of the fighters locked eyes with one of the women, and she reached through her caged bars to touch him but was slapped back by the person retrieving the fighters.

“Don’t look so sad.” The man who took the men to fight kicked the cage Jorry was in. “I hear you are the main event. It’s coming up real soon.” He laughed and left. Minutes later came the sickening sound of cries, screams, and the ripping of flesh.

The crowd cheered on.

Chapter Sixteen

Outside of the snow-covered police station, Bruce watched as Lieutenant Milton held up his hands to quiet the small crowd of police officers and family members around him.

“We have some news.”

Bruce shoved his way to the front. “Is Jorry all right?”

“He’s alive.”

Oh God, yes
. A wave of relief washed over Bruce so much he staggered back a bit. Kelley caught him.

“Where is he?”

“That we are still trying to figure out.”

“You mean you don’t know?” Gail asked.

Lieutenant Milton coughed in his hand “The wire he was wearing was damaged when Johnson hit him. Apparently he still has the device on him, and he keeps talking, but it’s coming in bits and pieces.”

“Can you tell us what you’ve recovered?” asked Kelley.

“In the past two hours, we know he is somewhere past Lewiston. We are thinking out in the middle of the state forest. One of the broken messages mentioned a natural gas meter station.”

Bruce groaned, his hope sinking. “Do you realize how much state land that is? Not to mention how many have gas meter stations on them.”

“We have someone working on narrowing down the active ones, as Jorry noted the one near the pit was fracking.”

“Pit?” Gail asked. “What pit?”

Milton clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “It sounds as if Johnson took Jorry to an illegal fighting event.”

The implied meaning of the words grew within the silence.

“God, no.” Bruce wiped his hand over his face in disbelief. “He’s gonna use Jorry to fight, isn’t he?”

“Not if we can help it.”

But would the police find the place in time? What if Jorry was forced to fight? Bruce had heard of the illegal fighting rings through Milton, and he knew as small as Jorry was, he didn’t stand a chance.

Gail put her hand on Bruce’s shoulder as if to ground him and addressed her question to Milton. “How are you going about finding Jorry?”

“We have officers hitting the truck trails and a couple of helicopters in the air searching for a large gathering in a clearing in the woods.”

Kelley spoke up, his words forming puffs of fog in the night air. “Did you get anything else out of Jorry’s messages?”

“Something about cookies.”

“Cookies?” asked Kelley.

“Yeah. Snickerdoodles and ummm…gingerbread?”

“Gingersnap!” Gail cried and clapped her hands. “What about them?”

Milton shrugged. “They were good.”

Gail danced a little jig and kissed a couple of police officers on their cheeks. “My babies are alive!” She stopped and crushed Bruce to her. “It’s a sign. If my doggies can survive the brute, Jorry, who is much smarter, can outwit Bill too.”

Bruce looked up at Milton. “Jim, did he say anything else?”

Milton smiled. “Yes. He said to tell Bruce Deirmann that he loved him.”

* * * *

The cold got to Jorry, and even though Gingersnap and Snickerdoodle were doing their best to share their body heat, his teeth chattered and he couldn’t feel his fingers very well.

A man came into the back and kicked the cage. “You’re in the batter’s box. Come on now.” The man unlocked the door, and Jorry slowly crawled out, then rushed the man at the knees, knocking him down. Before the man could react, Gingersnap and Snickerdoodle made a mad dash out the door and ran out through a ripped hole in the tent.

“Come back here, you little shits!” The man pulled out a pistol and shook it, as if that would intimidate the dogs into returning. He aimed it at Jorry and gave a toothy grin. “No bother. The bears will eat ’em. They don’t call this area Big Bear Lake for nothin’.” The man stood and brushed himself off, then jerked Jorry up by the arm. “As for you, no more tricks. I have no problem puttin’ a bullet in your brain.’”

“Do you mind if I put on my glasses so I can see?” Jorry asked.

The man shrugged. “I’d think you’d wanna keep ’em off, but to each his own.”

Jorry reached in his pocket, pulled out the broken glasses, and placed them back on the bridge of his nose. “So you say this is the Big Bear Lake area? I’m not familiar with it.”

The man seized Jorry by the arm and led him out of the caged area. “Yeah. South of M-32 and the Vienna area. Too bad you didn’t know about it sooner. Good fishin’ here.”

“Hmmm. You say south of M-32 around the Vienna area? Big Bear Lake?”

The man shot Jorry a look of annoyance. “You’d think since you’re going to meet your Maker, you’d have better things to say than to repeat me.” When they reached the outside of the pit, the man held Jorry back. “They’re still battling this one out. Your turn is next.”

Jorry fought against watching with no avail. His eyes were drawn in like those who pass by a bad highway accident.

The pit was covered with blood as thick as syrup from the previous fights. The current match was two men, one in blue jeans and one with multiple tattoos. They were of average height and weight. Howard, the referee, stood above and shouted down to the men.

“The rule is no rules. Go!”

The men seemed to explode from their respective corners, flying into the air toward the center of the pit. They met, leaving a trail of spittle and cuss words, and collapsed in an entangled, heaving heap onto the blood-drenched, makeshift flooring. The crowd bellowed, prepared for, and anticipating, the blood.

The men tumbled on their sides, and Blue Jeans broke free. He dived back onto Tattoo Man with a head butt. Tattoo Man was stunned but seemed to gather his wits about him. Blue Jeans drew his right fist and swung, connecting with the left brow of Tattoo Man. Tattoo Man staggered sideways, a slice of flesh bleeding from his brow. Blue Jeans attacked again, this time grabbing a handful of hair. Tattoo jiggered, arched his shoulders, and tried to loosen his opponent’s hold. Black hair was ripped from his head, his skull blushing gruesomely, blood gushing everywhere, slicking the mat. Blue Jeans kicked Tattoo Man in the stomach. Tattoo doubled up. Blue Jeans jumped and dropped his elbow on the back of Tattoo Man’s neck. Tattoo Man hit the ground hard, his legs splaying like the splatter of an artist’s canvas.

But Blue Jeans became too cocky, and when his guard was down, Tattoo Man jumped up and kicked Blue Jeans in the kidneys. While the man was bent over, Tattoo Man’s knee rose and busted Blue Jeans in the jaw. Blue Jeans recovered, spitting some teeth off to the side. Tattoo Man went after Blue Jeans, caught him by the ears, and banged his head several times against the side of the pit.

Jorry turned his head. He just couldn’t watch anymore. “Big Bear Lake, south of M-32, south of Vienna.” He repeated it two more times.

“You are one crazy son of a bitch.” The man holding Jorry shook his head. “If I were you, I’d be praying. I know who you’re up against.”

Jorry heard the crunch of bone and the rip of flesh and knew the match was over. The referee made the call. People were applauding, and the sound of paper money being exchanged rifled through the air.

Pickworth stood above, with the crowd, on a bench. He smiled at Jorry. Jorry closed his eyes. If he had ruby slippers, he would have clicked his heels three times three in the hopes of getting home three times faster than Dorothy had.

“How is everyone enjoying the evening so far?” Jorry reopened his eyes.

Woots and shouts filled the tent.

Howard the Referee waved to the crowd. “This is a special night for one of our members. Not only is he getting married soon, but he is putting to rest a leak in his organization that could’ve proven fatal.” He swung a welcoming hand in Jorry’s direction. “And so, I take this time to introduce our main event’s battle for the evening. Yes, he’s a little scrawny, but El Diablo won’t mind for his first tournament ever.”

The comment produced a roll of laughter through the audience.

“This should be a spectacular affair, one I am certainly looking forward to. Now, without further ado, may the game begin!”

“There’s your cue, boy.”

The man shoved Jorry out into the pit, where he stumbled and bounced off the wall, twisting his left ankle. Not a great beginning for one who had the deck stacked against him. With overwhelming difficulty, Jorry pulled himself up and leaned against the wall. The roar of the crowd forced him to open his eyes to a sea of unfamiliar faces. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead. His throat became dry. His body began to tremble. Amid the chaos, Jorry clenched his hands, his knuckles tightened, and he centered himself.

The raucous crowd was quickly drowned out, replaced by the sound of his heart thudding in his chest and ears. His inner mantra was simple:
Don’t piss your pants. For the love of the gods, please don’t piss your pants.

Jorry opened his eyes and focused on his opponent. The Hispanic man was imposing, with an unflinching look of determination in his eyes. He was bare-chested and sported a long braid. He had the words
El Diablo
tattooed across his left breast.

Nice to know the name of your murderer before you’re down for the count.

Just as Jorry expected El Diablo to let loose, the crowd hollered and two dogs jumped down into the ring. They didn’t land gracefully, and one let out a yelp, but they got up, shook themselves, and stood by Jorry’s side, teeth bared and with growls galore.

“Gingersnap? Snickerdoodle? You came back?” Astonishment and pride rushed through Jorry. Such little dogs with big dedication. Sort of like him. He might have been small, but he was dedicated. And he would die trying to set things right.

Stamping, whistling, yelling—the men and women demanded their due. Winners or losers, they hungered now for a glorious, fatal finish. A magnificent kill was imminent.

The referee lifted his hand to signal the start of the fight.

Chapter Seventeen

Bruce had never been in a police SUV before, let alone in the front seat. The hum of the police radio was almost relaxing, and he probably would have fallen asleep had he not been riding high on adrenaline. He glanced over at Lieutenant Milton, who had just turned onto a county road heading for Lewiston. The glow from the dials illuminated his face, creating the illusion that Milton was some kind of superhero.

Well, in a way, Lieutenant Milton was. He was going to save Jorry from the clutches of evil.

As if reading Bruce’s mind, Milton turned and smiled. “You know, it is highly unusual that I have a civilian in the front with me.”

“Thank you for letting me come along.”

“Like I was going to stop you.” Milton snorted. “Just don’t make me regret this.”

Thisshig rrerkk. “Base to Unit One, come in.”

Milton grabbed the radio mic. “This is Unit One. Go ahead.”