Chic knew that people there normally would not open up to a guy like him. He had managed to get along with Buck fairly well, which was not easy. Chick knew that Buck always seemed to be in a pissing contest with other men. “Mine is bigger than yours.” Chic could tell the people there actually feared Buck. Chic knew he had passed the test when he was invited to the chicken fight.
“Have you ever been to a chicken fight, Chic?”
“Never have, but I think you’re going to take me to one, right?”
“You bet your ass I am,” said Buck. “We’ve got one in Shreveport next weekend. You and I will be there, and we’ll see if you can handle my friends.”
“Buck, I’ve heard a lot of bad things about you chicken fighting guys, but I’ve managed to survive a lot of close calls. I’ve been shot at by several guys with evil intent in their red eyes, so I believe I can handle the chicken fight crowd. Besides, Buck, I’ll be there with you, and I’m sure you’ll help me out if things get too hairy.”
“Don’t bet your ass on that, Chic. Hell, I might just want to see what kind of shit you’ve really got. After all, you’re just a pussy singer, aren’t you?”
“Now listen, Buck, I know you can be a badass, but I don’t want to prove my manhood at a chicken fight just so you can have some fun. All I’m trying to do is run down the people who’re trying to kill Suzy. To do that, I need your help with your friends. If you can play this straight, then after that you can test my manhood anytime. Just name it.”
“Fair enough, Chic. For Suzy, we’ll act like big boys at the chicken fight. That’s all I can promise.”
Chapter
7
Chic and Suzy met Buck at the Holiday Inn West in Shreveport, Louisiana, just off Interstate 20. Buck had explained that the chicken fight location was in the woods northeast of Shreveport.
Buck, looking very authoritative, explained to Chic, “This particular chicken fight location is not your normal place. It’s in the woods but not far off the road. Normally, us chicken fighters like to be out in isolated places away from prying eyes. This one is easy to see because we are told it is the only legal chicken-fighting arena in the U.S. I can’t swear on that, but I can tell you we’ve never been raided here, so you should be safe.”
Suzy, giving her best impression of bravery, spoke up. “Now, boys, I’m a pretty game gal, but I don’t think I need to go to the chicken fight. I’ll hang around the motel, and if you need me, call. I’ll come a running.”
“We don’t normally allow women at the chicken fights, Suzy. It’s a man thing. You wouldn’t have to worry about the chickens, but there would be a bunch of dirty old men, and Chic and I wouldn’t be able to beat the hell out of them all. You stay here and enjoy yourself. This is a job for me and Chic.”
“Tell me, Buck, what do you bad boys do at a chicken fight other than watch chickens kill each other, drink whiskey, fight, and gamble?”
“Hell, Suzy, that sounds like enough good reasons to go to a chicken fight for me. Now you did leave out talking dirty about women.”
“I guess then you boys would pass the 5F Club that describes a typical redneck weekend: fighting, fishing, frigging, and fixing flats on a Friday night.”
“You’ve got us pegged pretty good there, Suzy. What you don’t really know is that a lot of the guys make their living by raising fighting cocks. In fact, that’s how I make most of my living. I’m not fighting my cocks today because I couldn’t do that and nursemaid you two.”
“Okay, Buck,” said Chic, “how do you make a living selling fighting cocks?”
“Well, if you notice when you travel, chicken fighting is big in the Caribbean, the Philippines, and a lot of places in South America. People from all over the world fly to America to buy our fighting cocks. We produce the best cocks in the world. If you can get a good reputation, you can sell your fighting cocks for around $1200 each. It’s not illegal to sell your chickens. In fact, I had a good friend who was known as the master, who normally got that much for his chickens. His son was a top quarterback at Troy and graduated with honors. He’s never had a job. All he does is raise chickens and lives high on the hog doing it.
“Time to go,” said Buck.
Chic and Buck got into Buck’s Ford 150 pickup truck and headed to the chicken fight. Chic was puzzled at the information that there was a profit behind chicken fighting. He knew they gambled but didn’t realize there was a profit to be made simply raising and selling chickens. Maybe he was selling these guys a little short. He should have known that Buck was not the kind of guy who went to cockfights for pure joy. Other than fighting, he didn’t read Buck as the kind of guy who did anything for pure pleasure. Buck needed an ulterior motive.
When they arrived at the arena, Chic was identified as a new guy who had never been to a cockfight. The crowd knew Buck well enough that they were confident he would not bring a policeman or an undercover agent to one of his cockfights.
As the fight began, Chic was immediately sucked into the excitement along with the other spectators. Chic promised himself he was going to remain aloof to the frenzy that engulfs sporting events of this nature, but before he knew it, he was indistinguishable from the rest of the wide-eyed, excited, noisy gamblers.
Chic couldn’t help but remember his first Mardi Gras in New Orleans. There he was in his tux at a black-tie event for clinical psychologists, calmly watching the parade go by. Dispassionately, he observed the young kids pushing and shoving to get to the doubloons, beads, and other trinkets. How silly, he thought. In the next moment, Chic found himself on his knees in the street, elbowing the kids, fighting for doubloons. It took a few seconds before reality set in. From that day to this, he couldn’t recall how he actually made the transition from calmly watching little kids fighting for doubloons to becoming like a street urchin.
Maybe the ambient craziness of the Cajun mentality just engulfed me when I went to Louisiana. Well, any excuse is better than none at all.
Chic decided to quit fighting his dark angels and simply go with the flow. It didn’t take long to realize that cock fighters were evangelists at heart. Everybody there had a tale to tell the newcomer, which seemed to be directed toward their special gripe about the do-gooders who confiscated their cocks and promptly killed them.
He heard the story about President Lincoln at least a half-dozen times. The paranoia was virtually palpable. The world definitely was not treating these individuals with any respect, at least in their own little world.
As the chicken fight developed, the spectators reached a peak crescendo in harmony with the dominant cock, which spiked and ripped the life out of his opponent. Chic had the distinct feeling that the crowd as one soul engulfed itself in a sexual climax.
After the dominant cock strutted his stuff over the body of the lesser chicken, the crowd settled down long enough to get themselves recharged for the next fight.
Chic observed that this was a group of verbal extroverts passionately involved in a blood sport, the blood of the foul, armed to the teeth and possessed with a monumental nasty attitude. He realized that at the climax, he was in the midst of a throng of what he could only describe as demons.
Chic kept a close eye on Buck and made certain they were in position to see each other at all times. It was obvious that Buck was well known among this group. He knew the ins and outs of the cockfighting scene. Chic made a mental note that while there was a lot of loud talking, shoving, and nose-to-nose confrontation, he didn’t see anyone challenge Buck.
As the last fight was beginning, Chic decided it was time to see whether or not Buck was going to introduce him to his friend. At about the same time, Buck motioned to Chic to come over. Chic complied. Buck led Chic to a small table in an out-of-the-way corner, which was used mainly for sharing a few drinks with a buddy. Seated at the table was a square-looking guy who weighed about one half of Buck’s weight. He had thick glasse
s and was generally dressed like a farmer. His black hair looked like some of his chickens had roosted there for several days.
Buck walked over to the table, sat down, and motioned for Chic to sit down.
“Jack, I’d like you to meet my friend here, Chic Sparks. This is the guy who saved Suzy from those guys who tried to kill her over in Pensacola.
“Chic, this here is Jack Quintard, a friend of mine. He lives in Sand Mountain and is one of our best cock fighters.”
Chic took his hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you, Jack.”
Jack grunted, “Likewise.”
“Jack, I told Chic that you knew a guy with a big sailboat over in Pensacola, or at least knew some of the guys who crewed on the boat. Chic is trying to find a guy named Ken who owned the sailboat like you described to me. Chic saved Suzy, and Ken’s family has asked Chic to find him. They haven’t heard from Ken or seen his sailboat since he disappeared.”
“Now, look here,” said Jack, “I’m not interested in helping the police. You know how we feel about that, Buck. If I help the police, they won’t let me back in Sand Mountain.”
“Jack, I understand what you mean,” injected Chic. “My purpose here is to help Ken’s family and Suzy. Ken was a close friend of mine, and I’d like to make sure he’s safe myself. I’m not a police officer. I’m not here to represent the police. I’m a clinical psychologist, and my office is in Pensacola. You can look it up in the phone book. The family asked me to do this for them. Because of my involvement with Ken, they know I’m the only person with enough personal knowledge to maybe find Ken. Then Suzy needs this information for her own safety.”
Jack stared for a while at his bourbon and Coke sitting on the table. He took a sip and finally issued a grunt signifying he had reached a decision. He looked up at Chic and issued his decision. “Buck, I actually don’t know enough to bother anybody, certainly not enough to help the police. You know if I can help Suzy and not get myself in trouble, I will. Chic, I guess you know this bunch Ken’s dealing with will kill you in a second.”
“Yes, and I appreciate any help you can give me. Actually, at this point, I don’t know enough about what Ken is involved in to know what they’re capable of. I’m hoping that all I’ve got to do here is get enough information on Ken to make his family happy.”
“It’s like this, Chic. My friend Doug was a cook on the boat named the Amedee. I’m not real sure, but I think the guy he worked for was named Ken. That’s really all I know about this.”
“Jack, how do you know Doug?” asked Chic.
“Doug Barnett is his name. We went to school together in Anniston. His daddy left this area, and I don’t know where he is. His mother is dead. If he had any kin folks, I don’t know who they are. You know, Buck, old Doug likes to bet on the chickens, so he’s been to a few fights with me, but I don’t think you know him.
“Doug told me he was the cook on the Amedee. He called me from Miami about six months ago about getting him to a cockfight, but he wasn’t in Miami long enough for me to set it up.”
“Jack, what’s the latest you’ve heard from Doug? Where is he and what’s he up to?”
“Well, Chic, he did tell me he’s working in Belize now and was a cook on Angel, a yacht kept in Belize on some lake south of Belize. I got the impression he was working for the same company as before. He told me he really liked his job on this yacht. Plus he really didn’t have much to do. He didn’t tell me who he worked for. Old Doug never has been a talker. He did say that Captain Hayes, who was also the captain of the Amedee, is the captain of this yacht, Angel, which he is now on.”
“Tell me, Jack, do you have any way to find Doug?”
“No,” said Jack. “Doug made it clear to me it was in my best interest not to try to find him. Mr. Chic, if I were you, I’d take that warning seriously. If you get too close, they may cut your nose off, if you know what I mean.”
Chic held Jack in conversation as long as he could but was unable to drag any more information out of him. He realized he would have to find Doug on his own.
Chic looked around at the crowd and concluded that the cast of characters seemed to have been provided by central casting. Chic became acutely aware that he didn’t fit the mold. He simply looked like a corporate person or a cop. He could see in the eyes of the crowd that without Buck, he would have to fight his way to his car. He could pick out two or three guys he knew were geared up for combat. All they needed was an excuse.
Chic finally realized that the number-one guy in the house to start a fight was at the table with him—Buck. No one was going to challenge Buck.
It was after midnight when Chic and Buck left the cockfighting arena and headed back to the motel. Both men were happy with the night and managed to do a little singing on the way back. Buck was surprised that Chic knew some of the old mountain tunes.
Chic was totally amazed that he had discovered evidence that would lead him to a specific place where he could interview people who actually knew what happened to Ken. Not only that, he had a shot of discovering the home of the octopus. Chic had no doubt that whoever those people were, they were capable of killing him and everyone he knew without hesitation. He knew he was now a dog with a scent. The call to the hunt wouldn’t be drowned out by fear of battle.
Chic couldn’t help but recall that time as a seven-year-old that a thirteen-year-old told him he was going to hit him in the nose. Chic took the challenge, stuck his nose toward this big boy, and said, “You and what army?” The big boy struck Chic in the nose as promised, sending him flying down the stairs and into the front yard. Chic, lying on the ground, decided the next time he challenged the big guy, he would put distance between himself and the attacker. Chic realized what he had learned from this event, that he would always accept a challenge, but he also learned that being careful was the better part of valor.
Chic decided that with the problems at hand, stealth was required. A brave frontal attack wouldn’t work. Flying down to Belize and trying to find Doug or the boat Angel could become a fool’s errand. If he directly approached Doug, his life would immediately be in danger. He had to find a less direct way.
Chapter
8
On the way back to Pensacola, Chic gave Suzy a full report on his experience at the cockfight. Chic let Suzy know that he was fascinated with her cousin, Buck. They both agreed that Buck was your worst enemy if he didn’t like you and that he didn’t like many people. On the other hand, if he decided he liked you, it was an unconditional kind of commitment.
“You know, Suzy, one day I hope to be able to return the favor to Buck. With his help, we obtained information that can lead us forward in this case. It goes to show that you never really can predict where you may get a break in a case.”
“Chic, I’m not sure how you plan on using this information. You know that the captain of the Amedee is now on a yacht in Belize and that he has a cook named Doug. You know that these two guys knew Ken and worked for him for a number of years. They know his whereabouts. You know these are dangerous men, so you can’t just walk up and start asking questions. So, now what?”
“You know how to hurt a guy, don’t you? I have absolutely no idea how to get information out of these guys. My basic idea is I will have to go down to Lake Izabal, case the place for maybe a week, and then scope out Belize for a week or so. I should be able to find and identify the yacht Angel and maybe identify the captain and Doug. Then I will apply a very scientific method that is left out of all the 101 detective courses. This is called ‘allowing the scene to speak to you.’”
“Chic, I probably would say you’re full of crap, but I actually believe you. You do seem to have a talent for counterintuitive thinking. More importantly, you actually believe your hunches enough to follow them. So, you’re working on a vacation in Belize. What about me?”
“Suzy, I would really like to take you, but this is going to
be dangerous. Fronteras is a scenic place but not safe for a beautiful redheaded knockout like you. You would not make a good undercover agent. Before I go, I will work out a plan with Heath to make sure we don’t stir up a hornets’ nest. If they find out I’m still on their tail, we could be in serious trouble.”
Suzy didn’t reply for a while. Her eyes were staring out into the distance as the horror of her near-death experience floated into her conscious mind. She felt the presence of evil engulf her. The vision of white-hot breath of an evil spirit left her empty. Her reservoir of strength that had pulled her through her close encounters with death was empty. She began to whimper, and it reached a crescendo as a heart-wrenching wail. She couldn’t bear an uncertain future where she would again face evil men who might try to kill her at any moment.
Chic found a place to pull over, where he could devote his full attention to Suzy. In this moment of truth, Chic realized that he was in fact a warrior at heart. The risk, the negative consequences inherent in confronting evil eye-to-eye, the possibility of death to loved ones—none of those life-ending choices worked their power to diminish Chic’s commitment to combat.
Suzy discovered the hard way that she was a fighter, but the reality of the consequences of the battle fell upon her like a lead balloon. She knew this was not the time for Chic to practice his psychological bull crap on her. Only his gentle hand and silence would calm her soul. Suzy had to decide whether to join the fight against evil or retire to her corner.
She closed her eyes, practiced deep breathing, and drifted into a state of limbo. As her mind drifted, seeking a safe harbor to hide from reality, a man came from under her bed with knife drawn. Her head hit his as he came up, causing him to pause just long enough for her to reach under her pillow and grab her pistol. She was able to fire the pistol before he could bring his knife to bear. She rolled off the bed and advanced around it, firing once again. The assassin lay dead on the floor. No horror movie could possibly portray the full impact of this event on her psyche. These feedbacks were as real as the true event. She awoke with a scream.
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