His anger boiled his blood, but he sat fast, watching the two men retreat to their shitty station wagon and feeling a sort of pity for the women unlucky enough to end up with such idiots.
And one day, they will have babies and those babies will grow up to follow in their parents’ footsteps. Amen and God bless, and all that shit.
The mechanic disappeared. When he reappeared, he thumped Robert’s suitcase on the trunk and looked at his watch. The attendant sauntered out of the garage and joined him, crossing his arms over his chest. They nodded and talked and laughed. Robert thought about rushing them, but they seemed to be waiting on someone as they both kept checking their watches.
Robert thought it must be nice to still have their watches. He had no clue what time it was. Not that time was very important to him; timing was important to him, and he wanted to time his attack perfectly.
A few minutes passed and the sound of another car approached. A small Toyota truck, baby blue and beat to shit with most of the driver side eaten away by rust pulled into the gravel and drove straight up to the waiting men.
An elderly man in bib overalls stepped out of the little truck. He stood to his full height, and Robert wondered how on earth a man so tall fit in that tiny truck. The old dude stood nearly seven feet tall, towering over the two thugs. His shoulders sloped and his back was bent. His gait suggested he had a bad case of arthritis in his hips or knees, or both. The way his knees bowed out to the sides gave him an old cowboy air, as if he had spent his life in the saddle and his legs had grown to accommodate it.
The thugs greeted him with smiles and nods, friendly as could be. The old man nodded and reached for his back pocket. The mechanic shook his head and held out the suitcase, insisting the old guy take it for free.
Then, if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, Robert would never have believed it. The mechanic dug into his own pocket and brought out the wad of cash he’d taken for the watch and pulled a few bills free. He stuffed the rest back into his pocket before handing over the few to the old man.
The old man refused and seemed to get upset. Robert heard him say something about not accepting charity as he turned toward his truck with the suitcase in his hand. The mechanic followed him, pointing out that the suitcase full of clothes and the money were not charity. He leaned close and said something Robert couldn’t make out, but it angered the old fellow and he turned on the mechanic, dropping the suitcase. He grabbed him by the front of the coveralls and walked him backward.
Robert tensed as the mechanic and the old man drew within a few feet of his hiding spot. The old man’s eyes narrowed. “Boy, you ever mention that out in the open air again, and you’ll find yourself out yonder with the gators. Don’t you ever mistake old and achy for scared, y’ understand?” His tone was deep and low, just above a whisper, and that’s what made it seem genuine and deadly.
The mechanic chuckled nervously as he gripped the old man’s wrist at his chest. “What the fuck ever, ol’ man. Get your hands offa me.” He tried to break the ancient hand away from his clothes but failed.
The old man pulled him closer. “You little fucks gotta stop usin’ my land to dump bodies. This was the last. If I catch you out there after this, I’ll kill yam’self.” He shoved the mechanic backward and he crashed to the gravel, scooting several inches backward on his ass.
Robert held his breath and grinned as the mechanic, flustered and surely embarrassed, leaped from the ground and dusted his ass, walking back to the garage, cursing as he went. He had landed only a couple feet from Robert and hadn’t even noticed.
The old man got in his truck without retrieving the suitcase and left at a slow leisurely speed. He was not afraid of the thugs therefore he was in no hurry to get away. In Robert’s mind, the old man was a true badass. He could probably obliterate both gas station thugs even though he looked twice their age.
In truth, the old man had probably been an even worse thug back in the day than the two at the station. From what he had said to the mechanic, he had been taking payoffs to allow them to dump bodies on his property. Robert wondered how long that arrangement had been standing between them. How many people had perished because of them?
Robert grinned in the darkness and it no longer felt like madness sliding over his features, it felt…right. “He did say it was over after tonight.” He chuckled as he eyed the two men as they tossed the suitcase in a small dumpster by the garage. “He doesn’t know how right he is.”
The two men went back into the garage. Robert watched with a mixture of rage and awe as the men donned leather gloves and took hammers to the windows of the car. His car. They smashed in every window. It didn’t take long, but Robert wondered why they would do it.
He moved closer to the garage to get a better view of the happenings. Before long, the men had removed the doors, the seats, and the carpet. The steering column was next. They were stripping down his car. It was just a sedan. Nothing on it would bring more than twenty bucks. He thought they would make more money by selling it for scrap metal than by parting it out.
Stiff from sitting, Robert stood and moved out of the tree line to lean against the tow truck. It put him out of the trees by only a couple yards, but he was still in the shadows. He propped the axe at the driver door and then leaned his elbows on the hood, getting the best view yet of the garage.
Several minutes passed with him standing like that before the attendant turned in his direction. His first instinct was to duck out of sight. If he moved, especially suddenly, he might be seen. Then, realizing it would be nearly impossible for the attendant, standing under the bright flood of fluorescents to see him standing with the blackness of the trees at his back.
He stood still, staring at the man. The attendant looked back to the car but almost immediately cast another look over his shoulder. His head turned as if he were scanning the whole of the lot, not looking directly at Robert.
Could he feel Robert’s stare? Could he somehow discern the hatred and danger aimed at him and his buddy? Robert hoped so. He liked the idea of them being unnerved, scared, and knowing they were out in the middle of nowhere. Robert knew anything could happen to a man out that far away from civilization. He knew it better than most. They had taught him that little life lesson.
The attendant finally exited to the store and Robert saw the pumps’ overhead lights wink out, and then the interior store lights. The mechanic was still at his little side project, though, and looked as if he might continue through the night.
The attendant returned and stood at the trunk of the car, facing Robert. Emboldened, he didn’t move. The man couldn’t see him, he thought. If he had seen him, Robert would have been fighting for his life again already.
The sweltering heat had returned to the air. The rain had cooled everything nicely for a short time, but, as Robert watched the men walk into the lot a ways, talking, he broke a sickly sort of sweat that seemed to seal in far more heat than it let out. He felt as if his insides had turned into a radiator, and he could feel heat escaping through his face.
Maybe it’s just me, he thought as he watched the mechanic suddenly stretch and yawn loudly.
The attendant cursed and yawned, too. “Dammit, Danny! Don’t start that shit. Let’s just call it a night and finish with that car tomorrow. I’m beat.”
“Right. I’m done-in for the night, too.” The mechanic looked back at the car. “You reckon it took him?”
“Shit, it takes anyone who wanders in there, don’t it?” The attendant turned his back to the garage and squinted into the darkness toward Robert.
He feels me out here; feels my gaze on him, Robert felt like the alligator, his eyes just as unblinking, his motionless stance just as calculated, and his thoughts running toward murder just as the gator’s had.
“What’s it look like, you reckon? A gator?” Danny shuffled his feet in the gravels as he trudged slowly toward the gara
ge.
“Who fuckin’ cares, dude? Ain’t nobody ever seen it.” The attendant scanned the perimeter of the lot, obviously uneasy about something.
“If it’s never been seen, how you know it’s even real? Probably just one of them, what do you call its? A…urban legend, or some shit like that.” He continued toward the garage.
Robert thought, I can assure you it is absolutely not an urban legend, motherfucker.
The attendant huffed a loud, exaggerated sigh and turned away from Robert. “Whatever, dude. I’m bushed. I’m gonna catch some shuteye in the office. You stayin’ in the back again, or did your old lady let you move back in yet?” The attendant laughed. It was that rough laugh that set Robert’s teeth on edge.
“Fuck you, Axel.” The mechanic shot the guy a bird and entered the garage.
The attendant followed and disappeared through the door that connected the garage and store. The office was in the store side, Robert noted. They would be separated by a block wall. Robert had come to hate cinderblocks, forever associating them with crushed dreams, doused hope, and a two headed, four armed monster.
Chapter 13
Dismembered
An amazing thing happened as Robert watched the lights go out. The mechanic pulled the door down, leaving a two-foot gap between the bottom and the floor. He heard a thud and a loud click. Probably some kind of lock, he thought. But fortune couldn’t have smiled any broader on him. He had been prepared to break a window and enter. That was no longer necessary.
It amazed him that the two murderous thieves felt so little fear in such a hostile environment. The opening was plenty big enough to allow any of the alligators to enter easily. Personally, Robert didn’t think waking up to a face full of alligator was the way he wanted to go. But, to each his own, he thought, grinning.
Remaining outside, Robert wanted to give the men time to fall asleep before he went inside. He paced, emboldened by the fact that he was completely alone out there. No one would see him, there was no traffic, either. And neighbors? There wasn’t a house for miles in either direction.
At one point, he walked to the storefront windows and cupped his hands against the dirty glass to peer inside. The sodas in the coolers were almost tempting enough for him to kill for. But his lust for food and drink could wait a little longer. After he was finished, he could sit down and enjoy a meal without looking over his shoulder.
He got edgy. Waiting had never been his strong suit, but he was ready for the men to pay the price of their underhanded, diabolical lives and ready to be done with the business. All of it. He was sick of the swamps, sick of the heat—which was bad enough to make anyone murderous angry—and he was definitely sick of being fucked over.
Kneeling at the side of the open door, Robert peered under. There was no movement, no sounds. He laid on his side and stretched out so that his body was in line with the bumper of his car. His now destroyed and gutted car. The concrete was icy under his back.
Moving slightly under the door, he had a thought that had not occurred to him until that moment. What if it was a trap? What if the door was left open because the attendant had seen him out there in the shadows and they were hoping to lure him in and finish what they had started?
Icy fingers of fear clutched at his spine, urging him to get up and run away. And go where? Do what? He argued with himself. Am I supposed to limp, wounded, bloodied, and physically broken back to the nearest town and beg for help? If I do that, I won’t just be physically broken, I’ll be emotionally damaged for the rest of my life. I’m not living in regret and fear.
That was his final say on the matter. The fear shut up and retreated to wherever fear hid and left him to his business. He really didn’t think the backwater idiots were smart enough to form such a plan, anyway. They might be murderous mean, but they were a far cry from being smart.
He sidled carefully under the door. When he was half in and half out, the axe lying on the concrete just outside the door, a bare bulb flipped on and he froze. Shit! Fuckers laid a trap! The connecting door opened, and he heard bare feet slapping against the concrete. The attendant walked past the front of the car, his eyes straight ahead. Robert watched silently as the man walked to a drawer on the worktable and pulled it open.
He pulled a joint from the drawer, held it up, and grinned. “Sweet leaf, how I love thee, let me smoke you away.” He laughed and strode back in the other direction. The light went out and the door thudded shut.
Robert let out a breath. The guy had not even glanced toward the opening. The guy would go smoke the joint and fall asleep soon afterward. Robert didn’t indulge in smoking pot, but he, like everyone else he knew, had given the drug a fair chance to turn into an addiction when he was a teenager. It had not. He loathed the feeling of floating and not being in complete control of his faculties. Not to mention it always made him sleep like the dead for hours afterward. There was too much to do in life to be stoned and sleeping all the time, in his opinion.
The clock on the wall announced it was two-thirty in the morning. Robert took off his solo shoe and placed it on the hood of his car, pulled off the soggy sock and stuffed it inside the shoe. Taking a stool to the driver side of the car, he sat and watched the clock, giving Ole Half-Blind enough time to smoke his weed.
Thirty minutes passed, and Robert stood. The mechanic had begun snoring loudly only ten minutes after he had perched on the stool. He followed the sound past the connecting door, around a thick wall, and there at the back of a wide spot that might have been used to store cleanup items at one time, was a folding cot and a plastic lounge chair designed to be used outdoors. A table lamp burned dimly in the back corner, bathing the room in nightmarish shades of faded orange and shadow-black.
Robert stood a few feet away, watching the man sleep soundly, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He certainly had no shred of guilt to bother his restful, deep slumber.
He held the axe in both hands, bouncing it up and down lightly, a sour taste rising in his throat. Fury and rage rarely left a good taste, he supposed. He walked to the side of the bed and looked down at the man’s greasy hair, his dirty arm resting above his head on a pillow so grimy Robert would not have allowed his dog to use for a bed. The smell drifting up from the man was body odor, stale cigarette smoke, and ass crack.
Your days of soiling the air are over, buddy, he thought smiling indulgently at the mechanic. Danny, he corrected himself. He has a name and an old lady, and possibly parents. He’s a person, Robert, remember that. He almost snorted laughter. He didn’t give a damn if the puke was the pope after what he had done.
Killing him in his sleep seemed wrong. Robert wanted him to open his eyes, to see what was coming. He wanted Danny to see his face and know it was the last thing in this shitty world he would see.
His pulse quickened as he took his stance and raised the axe above his head. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Open your eyes fuckwad; got something you need to see!” He threaded a nuance of urgency into the words and his senses heightened.
Danny’s eyes opened. He blinked, focused on Robert and gasped as his gaze traveled up to the axe. Robert grinned, his lips peeling back from his teeth dryly. He nodded at Danny and swung the axe down. Danny rolled at the last moment and the blade missed, but the metal plate connected with his shoulder blade, opening a ragged hole.
Robert brought the axe up and part of the mattress ripped open and the fabric dangled from the blade. He didn’t waste time bringing the axe down again. The sank into Danny’s arm as he moved again. His scream was satisfying and frenzy-inducing. Robert loved and loathed the sound. Danny grabbed the wound and tried to sit up. Robert leaped in front of him and shoved the flat end against Danny’s chest, close to the hollow of his throat and pushed him down again.
“No, you don’t, asshole. Fuck me over, eh?” Robert put all his weight on the handle, driving the metal plate against Danny’s chest.
>
The man thrashed and kicked to no avail. His eyes seemed about to pop out of his head. He grated, “You’re dead! You’re dead!” He thrashed his hands at the axe.
Robert shook his head. “No, but you are.”
He shoved the axe forward, lodging the corner of the plate under Danny’s chin. His eyes flew wide and he was still for a fraction of a second. Time was suspended then, everything that followed unfolded like a slow-motion dream.
Blood dribbled out of Danny’s chin to puddle at the hollow at the bottom of his throat. He made a choking sound, and then all hell broke loose. Danny’s efforts to save his own life redoubled and his strength came as a surprise to Robert. He bucked his hips upward and twisted them to the side, delivering a rib cracking kick to Robert.
Robert doubled to the side, losing his grip on the axe. The loop kept him from losing the axe. Danny used both hands to shove the metal out of the soft tissue under his chin and blood spurted from the hole, coating his chest and stomach. He sprung to his feet, eyes wild, and took his first step to run.
Robert drew the axe back to his hands and swung it the most natural way he could, as if he were at bat and aiming for a homerun. The blade caught Danny in the stomach. There was a whoof as it connected and lifted his feet momentarily from the concrete floor.
Bent double over the business end of the axe, Danny looked up at Robert, his mouth open and spilling dark blood to the floor.
Robert stepped close, cinching his grip on the handle. “You beat me,” he jerked sideways on the handle and felt the blade slice through tissue before coming loose. “You robbed me,” He kicked Danny’s knee and it snapped backward, spilling him to the floor, where he tried to hug his wounded gut and scream. “Then you dumped me out there with that fucking thing!” he stomped the mechanic’s face with his bare heel, relishing the feel of his nose exploding into broken shards.
S79 The Horror in the Swamp Page 17