Prey (20 page)

“I hate to be the one to tell you boys this,” Jim said evenly, “but a hell of a lot of people believe just that.”

One of the gay rights activists carrying a placard reading GOD LOVES HOMOSEXUALS came face-to-face with the wife of a local Baptist minister carrying a sign reading THERE IS NO PLACE IN HEAVEN FOR SODOMITES.

Alex Tarver had made himself a placard reading THANK GOD FOR AIDS, and was stomping around, scowling at the gay rights activists and making a nuisance of himself.

Some of the Aryan Brotherhood members were lurching about carrying signs, one of which read FRUITS ARE GOOD FOR ONLY ONE THING, AND THAT WILL KILL YOU.

One little girl read the sign, looked at the banana she'd been eating, and tossed what was left into a trash container.

“I'll pray for you,” the Baptist minister's wife said to the gay activist.

“And I'll pray for you,” the gay said.

“Why don't both of you kiss and makeup?” Vic Radford sneered as he strolled up.

The minister's wife ignored the neo-Nazi. “What could
you
possibly say to the Lord about
me?
” she questioned the activist.

“That He forgive your ignorance and prejudice.”

The minister's wife's mouth dropped open. “Well! I never!”

“In that case,” Vic said, “why don't you get nekked and try it?”

“You filth!” the minister's wife snarled at him.

“What the hell,” Vic said. “It was just a suggestion.”

One of Don's deputies walked up and said, “Move it, Vic. Right now.”

“I ain't doin' nothin'!”

“Move!”

Congressman Madison stepped up onto the flatbed truck that would serve as a speaker's platform. Jesus, he thought. If I get out of this alive, it'll be a miracle.

The mayor stood smiling behind the rostrum. But his smile hid his growing nervousness. Please God, he prayed, don't let this rabble get out of hand.

The mayor tapped the microphone, and the speakers squealed in feedback. Donald “The Duck” Dumas, a local DJ, adjusted the amplifier. “Try it now, Mayor,” he whispered.

“My friends,” the mayor spoke into the mike, his voice booming all around the courthouse square. “I—”

“Congressman Madison is a racist!” Abudu X hollered.

“Now, now,” the mayor urged.

“Impeach his lard-ass!” a Back to Africa follower shouted.

“Can you impeach the Speaker?” one of Chief Monroe's men asked the chief.

“I don't think so,” he replied.

“It's an honor to have the distinguished Speaker of the House with us today,” the mayor hastened on.

“Give him a bowl of grits and send him back home!” one of Abudu's crew yelled.

A local man cut his eyes. “Hey, Lumumba, or whatever your damn name is,” he told the man. “I like grits. So why don't you just shut your goddamn face?”

“Why don't you go get fucked?” the local was told.

Two Arkansas State Troopers stepped in and quickly defused that potentially violent situation.

“More money for AIDS research!” a gay rights activist yelled.

“Wealth redistribution now!” a Back to Africa member shouted.

“If we give you a mule and forty acres will you shut up and go away?” a local called.

Two very nervous national guardsmen, in civilian life both minor bureaucrats on the state level, moved toward the two men.

“Get over there!” Van Brocklen ordered one of his men. “See how they handle it. Move!”

“All right, all right,” one of the guardsmen said. “Let's take it easy here.”

“Don't tell me to take it easy,” the local told the guardsman. “I was a marine at Frozen Chosen before you were a gleam in your daddy's eyes. Go play soldier somewhere else.”

It was the mayor's voice that finally brought some degree of calm to the hundreds of people gathered around the square. “Ladies and gentlemen! Is this the impression you want people to have of our community? A bunch of ill-mannered and unruly louts? Let the outside agitators show their ignorance and disrespect. But let's show the Speaker our best side.”

Most of the local citizens exchanged glances and silently decided to ignore the outsiders. Congressman Madison began his speech, and much to his surprise, the majority of the crowd was polite and attentive, and he was heckled only a few times.

* * *

Stormy and Ki were about a mile from Robert Roche's rented lake property when half a dozen men suddenly stepped out from behind a clump of brush and confronted them.

“Well now,” one of the men said, the words pushed past a very nasty grin. “Lookee here, boys. We don't have to go get these ladies after all. Hell, they done come to us.”

Unnoticed, Ki clicked on her camera. She couldn't be sure of focus, but she would at least get the voices. The .38 Barry had loaned her was in her purse, hanging by a strap from her shoulder. No way she could get to it in a hurry.

“Get out of our way,” Stormy said.

“My, my,” another of the men said. “Ain't she the feisty one, boys?”

“Don't give us no trouble, Miss Stormy,” another said. “You just come along nice and quiet and ever'thang will be hunky-dory.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you!”

“Oh, I think you are,” she was told. “Easy or hard. It's your choice.”

“You're kidnapping us then, right?” Ki asked.

“Now, that's a real ugly word, missy.”

“And you would damn sure be an expert on ugly,” Ki came right back.

The man's face clouded with anger. He stepped forward and backhanded Ki, knocking her to the ground. Ki maintained her grip on the camera and managed to point the lens directly at her assailant for a couple of seconds. Blood leaked from one corner of her mouth.

“You bes' watch your smart-assed mouth, bitch,” the man said, standing over her.

Ki kicked the man as hard as she could on the knee. He howled in pain and went to the ground, both hands holding his injured knee. Another man stepped forward, grabbed a handful of Ki's shirtfront, and popped her on the jaw with a balled fist. Ki dropped into darkness.

Stormy's hands were roughly tied behind her, and she was gagged with a bandanna and marched off.

Ki's camera was still running, the lens capturing it all. Will showed up about ten minutes later, just as Ki was crawling to her hands and knees, her mouth swollen and bloody.

“All hell's gonna break loose now,” Will muttered.

* * *

Barry returned to full consciousness. He lay still for a moment, attempting to get his bearings. Then he started thinking about breaking free of his bonds. He smiled as he became his Other. The bonds fell away as hands and feet became clawed paws. He yawned and stretched for a moment, then once more assumed his human form. He heard footsteps outside on the gravel drive and crouched on the floor of the panel truck, listening as someone fumbled at the back doors.

One of the rear doors opened, and a hand appeared. Barry grabbed the wrist and jerked. The startled man was hauled into the panel truck and savagely thrown against the metal wall. Barry recognized him as one of Roche's security men. Barry reached over and smashed one hard fist against the man's jaw. The security man's eyes rolled back, and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Barry removed a Smith & Wesson 9mm pistol from the man's back pocket and two full twelve-round magazines loaded with hollow-nose rounds from his other back pocket. He checked the clip in the butt of the pistol. Full.

Barry tied the man's hands and feet and cautiously opened the back door to the panel truck. He could see no one. He slipped from the hot interior of the panel truck and, staying low, made his way to the rear of the expensive lake house. Pressing against the outside wall, he listened to a low murmur of voices coming from inside. He peeked through a window and saw two men sitting at a table, playing cards. Barry made his silent way to the back door and slipped into the coolness of the air-conditioned house. He stood in the archway leading to the kitchen and pointed the pistol at the two men at the table. The cocking sound caused their heads to turn, their faces paling. They kept their hands in sight and unmoving.

Barry closed the distance and put the muzzle of the 9mm to the back of one man's head. He fanned the man for weapons and found another S & W 9mm and two full magazines. A similar pistol and two full clips were taken from the second man. Barry tucked both pistols behind his waistband, and gesturing with the muzzle of his 9mm, he motioned the two men toward the open basement door.

“If you make a sound,” he whispered the warning to the two men, “I promise I will kill you both. Do you understand?”

They nodded in reply.

Barry locked the basement door behind them and silently made his way toward the front of the house. He rather hoped the two men would start kicking up a fuss. The more confusion the better. But they remained silent.

The man Barry recognized as Robert Roche's personal secretary was sitting at a desk in a corner of the huge, exposed-beamed den. There was no one else in the room. Barry silently walked up behind the man and put the muzzle of the 9mm against his neck.

“Move and you die,” Barry told him in a low voice.

“Don't kill me!” the man whispered, raw fear in his words. “I don't have a gun. I hate guns.”

Barry noticed that the man had been writing checks, he supposed to pay any local bills. “Where's Roche?”

“Taking a nap upstairs. He's a sound sleeper.”

Barry smiled as a thought sprang into his brain. “Can you write me a bank draft, partner?”

“A what? Oh! Certainly, I can. How much?”

“Oh, how about a hundred and fifty thousand dollars?”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“Made out to Barry Cantrell?”

“That's right. Can this draft be canceled?”

“Any personal draft can be canceled, Mr. Cantrell. But if you give me your local account number, I can make two calls, and the money will be electronically transferred to your account. And I can assure you, I will not tell Mr. Roche about the transaction.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I hate the arrogant son of a bitch, that's why.”

“He'll fire you as soon as he finds out.”

“So what? By that time, I'll be long gone. I've already embezzled a million dollars from the ruthless bastard and own a nice villa in Mexico, where I plan to live out the rest of my life in luxury. He won't discover this transfer for years, if ever. I can assure you of that.”

Barry chuckled. “In that case, transfer a quarter of a million dollars to this account.” He gave the man the account number his lawyer in San Francisco had set up years back.

The man made two quick calls. “Done,” he said, leaning back with a smile. “Now tie me up securely and hit me in the mouth. But not too hard, please.”

Barry tied the man hand and foot, and then popped him on the mouth, just hard enough to bloody the man's lips. The man smiled and nodded in satisfaction.

“Where are the rest of the guards?” Barry asked.

“Prowling the grounds. You'd better hurry and get out of here. They come in frequently for cold drinks. Are you . . . are you going to kill Roche?”

“No. Just teach him a little bit of humility.”

“Humility? Robert Roche? This I have to see.”

“Stick around.”

“I can assure you, I'm not going anywhere. Mr. Cantrell, Roche's security guards will hurt you, cripple you if they have to. The ones he has here with him are the most ruthless. They're no more than high-priced thugs. ”

“Thanks.”

Barry moved to the back door just in time to catch one of the men he'd put in the basement attempting to slip out. He'd either had a key in his pocket, one had been hanging in the basement in case of an emergency, or he had picked the lock. No matter. Barry grabbed him by the back of the shirt and slung him down the basement steps. He bounced and tumbled down, hit the floor, and in the dim light, did not move.

“Don't worry about me,” the other man said. “I ain't movin' from here, Cantrell.”

“Wise decision on your part.” Barry closed the door.

Barry picked up a heavy iron frying pan just as footsteps sounded on the back porch. The door opened, and Barry slammed the business end of the frying pan into the man's face, breaking the nose, pulping lips, and loosening several teeth. Barry fanned the man for weapons and found another S & W 9mm and two full magazines. He was getting overloaded with pistols. He tossed the man unceremoniously down the basement steps and closed the door. He used the frying pan again as another man entered the kitchen for a drink. He joined his buddy on the basement floor.

“There's one more, Cantrell,” the only one who wasn't hurt called.

“Now, why would I believe you?”

“ 'Cause we're all fired after this anyways. Maybe not right off, but as soon as we get back. You can go to the bank with that.”

Barry smiled. He'd go to the bank, all right.

Barry saw the last man coming across the yard. It was the man who'd lied to him back in town. Barry made sure the basement door was wide open. When the back door opened, Barry grabbed a handful of shirt and literally picked the man up off his feet and slung him down the steps. He bounced all the way down and came to rest on his face.

Barry closed the door, locked it, and then wedged a chair back under the doorknob. He climbed up the steps to the second floor and began opening doors until he found Robert Roche, sound asleep. Barry grabbed one side of the bottom sheet and not too gently dumped the man onto the floor. Barry noticed he was wearing black silk pajamas. He jerked the billionaire to his bare feet and hauled him downstairs, not treating him kindly at all.