by Jerry L
This summer Bert had chosen the ‘Lion’ cut for White Fang. One rainy morning in June he had gotten out the clippers and a Disney book about lions. He had bought a set of hair clippers from a discount store three years ago and gave the dog a different ‘Look’ each spring. First came ‘The Poodle’ followed by ‘The Schnauzer’. This one was by far the most successful, in Bert’s opinion.
By noon, White Fang, although a female, bore an uncanny resemblance to a half size, white, brown, and black male lion. If ever there should be such a thing. With her shaven face, thick mane, and tail tip White Fang made a passable lion. Wilma washed her hands of the whole thing. Most everyone else liked the look. The dog didn’t seem to mind one-way or the other. Black Tooth, being slick haired, was spared the indignity of Bert’s sense of fashion. Besides, she got to wear the Confederate flag neckerchief. Lions, after all, wore no collars or neckerchiefs everyone knows that!
Bert patted the dog’s head while picking up the shoe. He looked around, “What the hell? How did it get here?” As I said, Bert was pragmatic about the shoes, but this one had him puzzled. There were only two houses on this lane, theirs and that Danforth fool. This was a girls shoe and Danforth was six feet tall with big feet. If the rumors were to be believed he kinda leaned towards boys and drugs. Drugs mostly since his mother had died. Bert had never said a word to the guy. Hells bells! The little-big bastard never even waved when either Bert or Wilma were out in the yard. The shoe wasn’t his.
Bert studied the shoe with professional interest. Swiss… special made high-end shoe, European, it was, maybe a five or six hundred dollar piece of work. Inside was sewn a tag. It read: P.T. Calvess—Delvin Hall. Bert shrugged and placed the shoe in the seat on the passenger’s side. He helped Black Tooth up into the bed of the truck. White Fang made the jump by herself.
Bert hung the shoe on the first available post going up the drive. He had a shit load of shoes he had to admit. They came in spurts it seemed to him. Sometimes, he and the dogs found two or three good ones a week. Sometimes only those damn rubber flip-flops were all he found for his efforts. Them and those cheap jelly shoes he threw away. They were crap and didn’t weather well at all. A month in the Texas sun and they fell apart. The jury was still out on those rubber ‘Crocs’. He had a couple of them, but he didn’t really think that they would make the grade.
Wilma had lunch ready and afterwards they just kinda fooled around in the bedroom for a while. They both fell asleep afterwards. One of the benefits of retirement they figured. Later, as afternoon slid into evening, Wilma weeded the back garden while Bert changed the oil in the truck and washed the car. A light supper and some depressing T.V. ushered them to bed early. It started to drizzle.
A bolt of lightning illuminated the room. Bert sat straight up in bed. “The Son of a bitch has got her! That Son of a Bitch!” He shouted.
Wilma woke up. “Got who? What is it Bert?”
Bert was out of bed and rummaging through his underwear drawer. He stripped off his pajamas and began to dress in the dark. Wilma turned on the bedside light. “What are you doing? Where are you going? It’s raining!”
Bert was sitting on the tying his boots and shaking his head. “I didn’t know. God Dammit, how could I? Son of a Bitch!”
Wilma grabbed his shoulder, “What in the hell is going on? You aren’t going anywhere until you tell me!”
Bert looked up at her. His face was pasty white and wild eyed. “I found a shoe this morning. Swiss… special made. It was the girl on the T.V. The kidnapped girl! Her shoe. It was her shoe I found.”
“How do you know that? You find a lot of shoes Bert!”
He stood and went to the closet. He removed the shotgun from its place in the corner. He cursed again, “Shitfire! I used up the last of the shells dove hunting!” he rummaged through the drawer, “Shit! Where’s Pop’s Luger?”
“In your drawer. Down in the bottom. You aren’t leaving until you tell me what in the HELL is going on. I’m calling the Sheriff!”
Bert rooted through the drawer and came up with the old gun. He put the full clip of bullets in it and slid the toggle. He put the safety on and faced his wife. “Me and the dogs found that shoe up the road a ways. We were on the road coming towards the house. Nowhere near the freeway. I thought it was odd, a nice shoe like that being on our road, but didn’t think no more about it at the time. Then, on the T.V., there was this man and his wife pleading for whoever took their daughter to let her go.
It came to me while I was sleeping. P.T. Calvess—Delvin Hall. Patsy Tell Calvess. “Odd name!” I remember thinking at the time. She was taken from the parking lot of Delvin Hall up at the Christian Woman’s School in Austin. Rance has her! He’s the only one that lives on this road. I’m going to get her! Me and the dogs are goin! Call the Sheriff!”
Wilma stared at him dumbfounded. “Don’t you be going off doing something stupid! Let the Sheriff handle it.”
Bert got his coat and hat. As he closed the door he said, “Call the Sheriff, I’m going up to Danforth’s place. Tell them to meet me there.” He closed the door and went out into the rain. The dogs left their dry beds on the porch and followed him to the truck. Bert waded the shallow ditch and retrieved the wet shoe from the post. He checked the tag by the interior light. P.T. Calvess—Devlin Hall. He let the dogs smell it.
The road was a slimy morass by now. Bert turned off his headlights and crept up the track. A quarter of a mile from the dim shape of Danforth’s trees, Bert and the dogs abandoned the truck. About fifty yards from the house the rain slacked up and the clouds parted. A full moon bathed the trio in its light. Thunder boomed in the distance. Rance’s two Dobermans spotted them.
Black Tooth gave a soft woof and glanced at White Fang. The Pit Bull looked up at Bert. Burt dug into his coat and removed the pistol. He slid off the safety, and nodded to the dog, “Get Em Girl!” She gave him the most evil smile that he had ever seen on either an animal or human’s face. It gave him cold chills. Both dogs took up positions about three steps in front of him on either side.
The Doberman Pincers were approaching soundlessly as fast as the muddy ground would allow. Black Tooth waited in barely restrained anticipation. Her whole body quivered. Bert shot and missed as the first dog jumped at him. Black Tooth caught the dog in midair. The second dog changed direction seemingly in mid-flight. It got past White Fang. Bert threw up his arm. The dog sunk his teeth into it.
Bert was on his back struggling in the mud. He felt, heard, and watched as White Fang approached. The huge dog closed her jaws around the back of the Doberman’s neck. There was a crunch as she crushed the dog’s spine. Bert was finally able to pry apart the dead dog’s jaws releasing his arm. Black Tooth was in the process of dragging the entrails out of the other dog through a huge hole in its stomach. It snapped futilely at the Pit Bull’s bloody head.
Bert found the pistol amid the muck and wiped it off. He started towards the darkened house, but White Fang veered off to the right towards a smaller out building. Bert could see a glimmer of light showing through a closed blind. Bert followed the dog to the window and squatted down. Black Tooth joined them. The girl was there.
She was totally nude and petrified with fear. Rance had tied her to a chair. On the trip out in the van she had gotten her feet loose from the duct tape. Rance had stopped the van and taught her a preliminary lesson in pain with his fists. For her efforts he had given her two black eyes, some loose teeth, and a split lip. In the course of the beating she had kicked one of her shoes out of the back door unnoticed by Rance.
Bert watched as the man finished carving an ‘X’ on the girl’s chest with a razor sharp butcher knife. She screamed in pain and fear. Bert rose and sloshed through the mud to the door. He quietly turned the porcelain knob. The dumb bastard hadn’t even locked it! Burt turned the knob and the bedraggled trio entered.
Rance had exchanged the butcher knife for an electric carving knife. He had just touched the girl’s left breast when th
e knife came un-plugged from the wall receptacle. He frowned and was wondering where the extension cord was, when the door opened.
The girl looked up from the knife and screamed. White Fang moved into the room to Bert’s left while the other dog moved to the right. They both crouched and growled at Rance. The man dropped the knife and gaped at the apparition filling the doorway. From somewhere over by the highway sirens sounded.
Rance got over the initial shock. He giggled and raised his hands. “Bert! Is that you an yer dogs…!” He had a sickly grin on his face, “I…was only kidding. I…wasn’t going to hurt her! You’ve got to believe me man!” He took a piece of cloth from the back of the chair. Black Tooth growled. Rance threw the bloody blouse over the girl’s head and walked open handed towards Bert. “I’m sick…the drugs… sick! You know! Sick…I’m kinda sick I…Hey Bert! Is that you? Arrest me Okay? I know I’m sick. I need help.”
Bert knew something also. He knew that those damn Lugers didn’t shoot worth a shit when they were dirty. He said, “I am gonna help you boy. I’m gonna help us all!” The muddy, blood covered thing that could have maybe been a man raised its arm, took aim, and pulled the trigger. The girl screamed as the thing pulled the trigger again and again. Rance hit the floor face first. Bert planned on pleading self-defense… so he placed the butcher knife in the dead man’s hand.
Bert put the gun in his pocket and gently removed the blouse from the girl’s face, then untied her arms and legs, “The Sheriff is on his way Miss. Patsy. It’s all over.” He sat on the floor and cradled her as the flashing lights came up the drive. “I have your other shoe out in the truck if you want it.” Bert told the sobbing girl
Patsy’s cuts were found to be shallow and required minor surgery. Time and Orthodontics helped her regain her former face. Her parents drove up from San Antonio to shake Bert’s hand.
The Sheriff took the Luger as evidence, cleaned it up, and gave it back a couple of weeks later. It cost Bert and Wilma $150.00 to get the dogs groomed for their newspaper pictures. White Fang made an impressive lion, even Wilma had to admit that! Black Tooth didn’t look like anything special with her chewed up ears, but at least her neckerchief was new. Wilma even took them to Dallas and Fort Worth for a couple of T.V. appearances. Bert refused to go. He claimed, “It’s all a bunch of damned foolishness!”
From that day on Bert received a lot of single shoes found on highways all over the world. The packages were addressed simply: ‘Bert: The Shoe Man’ Route Seven. Pettis Texas. USA.
9: A Simple Kidnapping
July first:
“Hallo.”
“Hello Peter, this is Mr. Dreyfuss.”
“Good Afternoon Sir… how was the trip?’
“Excellent Peter, the sleeper was very nice; I always liked train travel, quite continental.”
“And how were the accommodations Sir?”
“Again, excellent Peter; but tell me Peter, any news?”
“Yes Sir, an item from the local press, Palo Martinique and Gerda Fuchs were killed in an automobile accident along the coast road in the vicinity of Chateau de Mer. The article went on to say that Gerda was released from prison a month or so back and she picked up Palo who was just himself released this morning. Seems they were having a holiday to celebrate their reunion after 16 years. I’m sure more will follow when the National Papers get hold of this.”
Dreyfuss said, almost under his breath, “Sixteen years. Well Italy never had enough evidence to extradite them and France could only charge them with Extortion. Still they only served 16 of the 25 years the court gave them.”
“Yes Sir, I’ll make tapes of the evening broadcast and include them with the next packet.”
“Very Good Peter, and number Three?”
“He’s been out of prison for two years, no one will make an association, besides Gerda’s being in prison has perhaps saved many lives, she drove like one possessed, no wonder she died in an automobile crash.”
“Very well Peter, I’ll call in a few days. And Peter, would you be as kind as to send some flowers out to the cemetery?”
“Certainly Sir, I’ll take care of it personally.”
“Thank you Peter and Good Bye.”
“Yes Sir, Good Bye.”
July third:
“Hallo.”
“Hello Peter, this is Mr. Dreyfuss.”
“Good Afternoon Sir, and how was the trip, did the weather delay you?”
“The trip was very nice Peter, a bit of fog on this end; but the Inn had a wonderful fire in the fireplace and a glass of brandy at hand so it’s quite comfortable. But tell me Peter, any news?”
“Yes sir but a local item only. His body was found in an alley, seems that he was probably the victim of an argument with other drinkers in a waterfront Tavern. Of course he had no documents so he couldn’t be identified; but that will change when they run his prints. He had the most extensive record of the group and I’d guess Interpol will look for a connection. At that point, I doubt they will accept coincidence.”
“Perhaps; but in the meantime, It’s on to Number Four. Has anything changed?
“No Sir, nothing.”
“Excellent! I’ll speak with you a day or two Peter.”
“Yes Sir, Good Bye Sir.”
July fourth:
“Hallo.”
“Hello Peter, this is Mr. Dreyfuss.”
“Good Morning, Sir, and how was the trip?”
“Oh the trip was nice, as is the room, quite bright and Airy. But Peter you did not warn me about Madam.”
“Madam? What about Madam, Sir?”
“The food Peter! It’s wonderful! I’ll weigh twenty pounds more when I leave.”
“Ah yes! She is an excellent cook, is she not Sir?”
“Yes indeed Peter, but tell me, any news?”
“Quite so, Sir. His boat was found adrift and he was entangled in the nets. They speculate that he fell overboard in a bit of weather and drowned; however, he was immediately identified as a Parolee, and the leader of the group. The National news services will be all over it when they add the others.”
“You are absolutely correct Peter, but we’ve one left. Has anything changed?”
“No Sir, number five showed up just this evening.”
“Thank You Peter, I’ll speak you in a day or so.”
“Yes Sir, good bye Sir.”
July fifth:
“Hello, Hotel Brighton, this is Alice speaking, how may I help you?”
“Room three-ten please.”
“One moment please. Ah, it’s connecting now.”
“Hello!”
“Good Morning, Maria, this is General Dumas.”
“I…I knew one day…I. I… General, I am so sorry about your wife. I….I….”
“Maria please just listen! “
“You must believe me Sir, no one was to be hurt, it was to be just a simple kidnapping. You know, for the money, and to make a political statement. Sir, I am so sorry.”
“It’s a little late for all that Maria, besides, I heard it all at the trial. You spent ten years in prison in Spain didn’t you?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean that I think it makes everything right, The Senora and all.”
“Since you were released, you’ve come here every year on this month, haven’t you Maria… to bring the flowers? Just like you brought her the blanket, and the food, and the aspirin?
“Si, the aspirin……..it was all I could get. The others you know?”
“Maria, you unlocked the door when the Policia stormed the place, the door that allowed us to flee before Palo and Gerda could kill us? It was you who unlocked the door wasn’t it?”
“Si, General, it was I.”
“Maria, the others are all dead.”
“I have had no contact with the others, I didn’t know. I am the last?”
“Yes Maria, you are the last. Well, you and I actually, the others are gone.”
“That cannot be Senor, I spoke
with my brother only three days ago.”
“The day before yesterday your brother was struck and killed by a motorist. Maria, you are indeed the last.”
“Oh Dios! But wait, how do you know this? For that matter how did you know who I was or why I was here? I left all that behind in prison. Even my husband doesn’t know that about me.”
“Maria, I wrote a book and it was made into a screenplay. Additionally, I travel a bit on the lecture circuit. In short, I’m moderately wealthy. Ten years ago I decided to square things up a bit with all of you, you people who kidnapped my wife and me at gunpoint. We did nothing to you, we were just purchasing flowers from a street vendor in Naples.”
“A simple kidnapping that in your words was motivated by a desire for political notoriety and some money! A kidnapping, Maria? A kidnapping that lead to my wife’s death!”
“Maria, none of you were tried for murder, so I decided to try you myself, and Maria, I found all of you guilty. The others led lives of crime, they were robbers, assassins, kidnappers, and arsonists-they deserved to die!
You, on the other hand Maria, were sixteen. Your brother brought you into this; your first crime; and you, Maria, were the only person who showed any sympathy for either my wife or myself. I am perhaps alive today because of your compassion. I found you guilty Maria, but I also decided that you might live.”