Brill stood there, his hands clenched into fists, his face practically glowing blood red. “Damn. Beth and I moved down here to get away from this kind of thing. Damn.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brill. I really am. But I can’t see how anything other than a knife or a saw did this to your dog.” Ron blinked, thinking of something else. “This is your dog’s paw, isn’t it?”
Brill looked up, distracted from his rage. “Yes,” he said. “It’s her, all right. That’s her color. We paid extra. She was the only black and gray in the litter.”
“Well.” Ron was silent. Mary fidgeted. Ron headed toward the door. “We’ll be leaving now. I think this clears up a lot for us. Not an animal, I don’t think.”
This time, it was Brill who followed the other two. They went through the yard, under the breezeway, down the drive to Ron’s truck. Riggs stored the towel/bundle in a toolbox in the bed of the pickup. They shook Mr. Brill’s hand and climbed into the cab, feeling the blast of heat as they opened their doors.
As the two looked back down the block, they saw that the Buick was still there, its motor running, parked at the verge of an unsold lot, cabbage palms shading the car.
“Goodbye,” Brill said to them. “Thank you for stopping by. I assume I’ll be hearing from Tatum?”
“I’m sure you will, Mr. Brill. Goodbye.” Ron started the truck as Brill retreated and pulled out of the drive as the gentleman vanished into the house.
Ron backed out, pausing in the street when he confirmed that no car was coming from either direction. Just a quiet suburban street in a well-to-do Florida neighborhood. “What’s our next move?”
“You just pull up next to that Buick and let me out. I’ll knock on the door and see who comes out.”
“Just like that?”
Mary shrugged. “What’s he gonna do? Plug us in broad daylight with a hundred potential witnesses waiting to come out of their houses? Just drop me off,” she reiterated.
“You da wo-man,” Ron said, driving toward the car.
Chapter Seventeen
The Buick was parked at the front of one of the few vacant lots remaining in Salutations. Like most of the others in Phase Three, it was roughly half an acre in size, new growths of wildflowers and young saplings trying to reclaim the cleared patch of land for Mother Nature. They wouldn’t survive long before someone bought the plot and commenced to ’dozing it and plowing the green under. But, for now, the empty lot was a waist-high mass of shrubs and sedges. Insects buzzed and fluttered at the tops of the grasses, while in the thick mat against the ground, who knew what existed.
Ron drove right up to the Buick and parked in front of it, leaving his truck at an angle, so that the car would have to back away to return to the street. He put the truck in park and stopped the engine. Mary was out before he could even get his key from the ignition. And by the time he was climbing out of the cab, Niccols was already rapping a hard knuckle against the driver’s side window. “Balls,” Ron said.
The Buick’s door opened, the motor still running. Ron flinched, but he noticed that Mary hadn’t moved at all. He saw a pale hand reach up and grasp the top of the front door. A man rose into view.
“Dodd,” Ron said. He couldn’t conceal the surprise in his voice.
Dodd nodded a greeting at him. “Who were you expecting?”
“We weren’t expecting anyone,” Mary told him. “But when someone’s following me, I like to know who it is.”
Dodd smiled. “I can understand that. Me being a newspaper man and all, I understand perfectly.” Dodd stuck out his hand, offering it to Mary. “I’m Tim Dodd. I’m a reporter. You’ve read my stuff. We spoke.”
Mary stepped back and pointed one of her sun-browned fingers at the reporter. “I know who you are.” Mary glanced at Ron. “This is that guy who took that picture of me with the gators I trapped out of here. He called me and talked to me for an article. I read it. Good article. Gator Woman!”
Ron came around to the driver’s side of the Buick. “You would like that article,” he said. “It made you look like some kind of Florida version of an Amazon. Rasslin’ gators instead of Hercules.”
“Hey,” Mary said. “Good publicity never hurts a lady in my position. I picked up some work after that article came out.” Mary was smiling, which was good, considering she’d been ready to start punching just seconds before.
Now that he was closer to Dodd, Riggs saw the ragged scratches and cuts all over his face, arms, and hands. “What the hell happened to you, Dodd?” The man did look to have been dragged through glass. “Somebody throw your ass in the briar patch?”
Dodd smiled, stretching some of the healing cuts on his face. “Actually, you’re not far off the mark. I hate to admit it, but I got lost in the forest around here.”
“Lost?” Mary squinted her dark eyes, taking a good look at Dodd. “How lost did you get? How long were you lost?”
Dodd produced a fake chuckle. “Pretty darned lost. I was lost for most of a day. Tried to hike through some thick brush and got cut up pretty bad. Even my legs. Pants are shredded. Had to toss them.”
“Where the hell were you? And what in God’s name were you doing out there? I know you’re aware that there’s about half a million acres of wilderness north of Salutations. If you got really lost, no one would ever find you. Ever.” The word dumbass was poised on the tip of Ron’s tongue, but there it waited.
“I was just out scouting around. Looking for a snake.” He cleared his throat. “You guys looking for a snake?”
Mary and Ron exchanged a quick glance.
Ron spoke up. “I don’t think we’re ready to say what we’re looking for. But, yes, it could be a snake. Might be. We don’t know right now.”
The three stood in silence for several uncomfortable seconds.
“You never called me,” Dodd finally said to Ron.
“Eh?”
“I told you where I was staying when you were talking with Tatum. I thought you’d call, clarify some things for me. But you never did. Which is why I’ve been following you guys today. I thought we could talk, or set up a meeting. Think we could?”
Ron thought about it for a second. He wasn’t particularly fond of Salutations or its corporate owners, or even of Bill Tatum who wanted to keep all negative publicity silent. But that didn’t mean that it was his place to spill his guts and talk about the possibility of a disturbed person killing the local dogs. Who knew what a guy like Dodd would do with that kind of information? No. He’d talk to Tatum about it and let things go from there. It wasn’t his job to worry about it, nor to fuel the speculations of a reporter who was ready, willing, and able to capitalize off the slightest bit of gossip or hearsay. “Well, to tell you the truth, Dodd…”
“Tim. Call me Tim.”
“Okay. Tim. But to tell you the truth, Mary and I are kind of busy. I’ll have to take a rain check, for now.”
“S’right, Ron. In fact, I think we’d better be heading out.” Mary was already moving toward the truck. She saluted to Dodd and walked away. “See you ’round,” she said. A few steps took her to the truck, and she climbed in.
Ron, halfway back himself, turned as Dodd called out. “Mr. Riggs. Ron. Could I have a word with you? Just for a second?”
Riggs shrugged, gave a quizzical smirk to Mary, and went back to where Dodd was standing. “What is it?” he asked.
“Look.” Dodd was whispering, trying to keep his voice down, and he even turned his body sideways to prevent Mary from even reading his lips. “I really, really need to talk to you. I’ve got something I want to show you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I was going to keep this to myself for at least a few days. But when I was out of my suite today, someone entered and…Well, they tampered with my things.” Dodd indeed had a concerned expression on his scabby face.
“What do you mean? I’m sure even Salutations has a few larcenous maids.”
“No. Not that. Not th
at, at all. Someone was into my laptop’s files. They tried to download some stuff, but I’m pretty good at computer security. Anyway, whoever it was hacked through about three-fourths of my safeguards before I came back to the room. And they must have known I was coming, too.”
“What are you saying? Someone’s spying on you? Why wouldn’t they just steal the computer?”
Dodd reached over and grasped Riggs’ arm, squeezing his biceps to punctuate his words. “Listen. I…I saw something out there. Out there in the forest.” He shrugged his head at the mass of green beyond the houses across the street.
“What did you see? Someone out there?”
“Not someone. An animal.”
“What? What kind of animal?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. Look. Can you meet me later? Somewhere safe? Not my suite, though. I think it might be bugged, somehow.” Dodd blinked, and Ron could see that the little guy was really, truly worried. He looked scared.
“Well…sure. If you think it’s that bad. Sure. You want to meet me somewhere? Somewhere in town? I mean, outside of Salutations.”
“That would be good. How about Orlando? I could get some stuff together and meet you there. How about the Penta Hotel on International Boulevard? I think I’m going to take a look at room availability there, and check in. Get out of Salutations. Today, in fact. How about it?”
“Yeah. That’s fine. I’ll be done here in a couple of hours, I’m sure. How does seven tonight sound? Rush hour will be over, and I can be there by seven. I’ll meet you in the lobby.” Ron raised his eyebrows at Dodd; a quirky habit that his friends knew meant that the conversation was over. He turned to leave.
“One more thing,” Dodd said. He reached into the front pocket of his pants, a big pocket that zippered up to hold excess paraphernalia. He held out his hand, palm down, and hesitated.
“What?” Ron asked. His voice quavered, Dodd’s nervousness infecting him.
“Take this,” Dodd told him, whispering. “Take it and put it in your pocket. Quickly. Don’t look at it.”
“Okay.” Ron did as he was asked. He didn’t look. Whatever it was, it wasn’t very large or very heavy. Some kind of disk, he figured as he dumped it into his own left front pocket. The exchange had been quick, smooth. It would have looked, to the casual observer, like a last handshake.
“Just keep it for me. Until this evening. Just hold it, okay?”
Ron shrugged. “Sure. I’m just holding it until this evening. No problem.”
“See you around, then.” Dodd retreated to his Buick as Riggs turned, finally, and walked off, back to his truck.
Mary gave Ron a questioning look when he climbed into the truck, but said nothing. She generally wasn’t the type to pry much into someone’s business. If information was forthcoming, so be it. Otherwise, it was none of her affair. But she was curious about the final whispered bit of conversation she’d witnessed. “What was that all about?” she asked. “Anything to do with us going to see Tatum?”
Riggs chuckled, trying to put it into words. “Hell, I don’t know. Could just be dramatized grandstanding on Dodd’s part. But he says someone’s watching him and he wants me to meet him in Orlando tonight.” He laughed again, trying not to make it look so serious for Mary.
“You gonna do it? Meet him?”
“Hell, I guess so.”
“You want some company along? I mean, just to be riding along?”
Ron cleared his throat uncomfortably. He’d never really told Mary of his true reasons for ending their relationship. In fact, he’d never quite admitted it to himself. But however poor and dishonest those reasons, he couldn’t bring himself to try to get things going again. “I think I’d just like to go alone. You know. I’m just not in the mood to make a date out of it tonight.”
“Okay. Sure,” she told him. “Only I wasn’t really thinking of it as a date. But that’s okay. I understand what you’re saying.”
Ron hoped she did. He started the truck and backed out into the street, letting Dodd pull out, and he watched as the small man’s car headed away from them. He watched until the Buick went down two blocks and hung a left. “Well, we’re off to see Bill Tatum, now. Tell him what we’ve got. What we think happened to the dogs. The ball will be in their court, now.”
Chapter Eighteen
Walks Backward was finding it increasingly difficult to obey the First Command. He was certain that the Flock’s leaders were wrong in how they were handling this most basic problem. There was something that needed to be uttered, and they were not doing it. The existence of the Flock was in jeopardy. Despite fighting the urges to act, to continue to do the job for which he had been born, he was feeling a deeper need to do the unthinkable.
If something did not happen soon, he was going to have to challenge Egg Father for supremacy of the Flock. And, following that, would be forced to destroy the Flock’s Egg Mother and choose a mate.
The signs were there, although at this point only he recognized them in himself. He had already chosen a prospective mate. It was the Third. She was a young, but mature female who corralled the chicks when it looked as if they might stray. She did her job well, and had never lost one of the young to any predator or accident. She would make at least as fine a breeder and nurturer as Egg Mother. Walks Backward had picked her, had chosen her, and would mark her as his mate if something did not soon occur to bar that path.
But, he was willing to wait for just a bit more. The Flock was now in the midst of their range. They knew the wilderness well. Knew this place of no-Man, where only the things that were woven together existed. Before, over all of the lives of all of the living members of the Flock, Man had been present around the edges of the forest and streams and wetlands. But Man had only rarely come into their domain, for purposes it was hard for them to understand. Man did not hunt there. Did not kill there. Only seemed to play strange games among themselves, and send the Screamers overhead. When he was a hatchling, the Egg Mother of his day had given the command to hunt some men who had threatened the Flock’s chicks. In the Song of History, it was the first moment in many lifetimes that such a thing had happened, and it had been the last.
This one—who watched the path that his fellows left behind, destroying all trace of their passing—was ready to continue his task in another way. He would cease to be Walks Backward, and would take a new name. He would become Egg Father. The latest Egg Father. So that he would not be the last Egg Father.
He thought, that for a small time more, the Flock would be safe. They were north of the new, sprawling nests that Man had begun to build at the verge of their homeland. This was not good, but he (and the others) had thought that they could continue their ways, as long as Man did not venture into the forest and eat it as they ate everything else. There were stories, in abundance, of how Man consumed the world. Walks Backward was acutely aware of the threat.
And, worse, was that now, at this time, the one they called the Scarlet would be born. The rogue had appeared to the Flock the previous night. He was singing a song of confusion when he came running along the edge of the track they had made, to hunt one of the pigs that were present in these forests since the second wave of Man had come. The first Man, the ones who had been here for two hundred lifetimes, had been difficult to deal with and had forced the Flock to change its ways of living. But the next Man, the ones who came in such huge numbers only six lifetimes ago—they had brought with them new creatures, while destroying as many as the first men had decimated. If the Man from whom they now hid ever discovered them, Walks Backward knew they would be doomed. Their only hope lay in retaining their effective invisibility. The Scarlet was going to reveal them. He knew this just as surely as he knew that in a few hours the Sun would rise up from its nest in the Earth.
During the previous night, the Scarlet had trailed the Flock for hours. Walks Backward, of course, had spotted him first. Initially they all hoped that he was rejoining them, that he had abandoned his ways and would once mor
e sing with them, hunt with them, obey the leaders. But he had not. He had stubbornly nagged at them, trailing behind and making short dashes up to the west and east flanks of the Flock. Tunes of confusion had chirped up from the youngster and the adolescents, as they had not understood. Nor, even, had some of the adults.
However, Walks Backward had understood, seeing in the Scarlet some of the signs of what he was beginning to sense in himself. What the rogue was doing, even if he himself did not quite grasp the fact, was making the false steps that would soon develop into a mating dance. He was going to cull some females from the Flock. He was going to choose young males to act as his supporters. The possibility existed that he might, indeed, challenge Egg Father for supremacy, or else try to form a new Flock.
It was only that the Scarlet was so stupid that had so far spared them either of those particular scenarios. If a challenge did occur, he would be able to destroy the current Egg Father. Of that, Walks Backward was certain. No other in the Flock was nearly as tall, as heavy, as powerfully built. Not even Walks Backward. The Scarlet might be injured in such a battle, but he would certainly kill Egg Father in a struggle. His reach was greater. He could pounce higher and slash with speed, his mass behind each blow. And his gigantic head…a single bite could end any confrontation as quickly as one could blink an eye.
Still, even if that unthinkable occurred, Walks Backward was prepared. He would leap in even as the Scarlet sang his victory trill, and he would kill him. He could do it. He would do it. If the battle happened.
But there was a better plan, if only the Mother and Father would do it. The Flock could kill the rogue and be done with it. It was only that the problem member had come from one of their own clutches that prevented them from doing it. They could not quite bring themselves to destroy one of their own young, hideous and twisted though he was. It was a flaw in their emotions that could spell destruction for the entire Flock.
Walks Backward had decided. He would wait for the Sun to come up from the Earth one more time. If, after that, nothing were done, he would insist that a new tune be sung. And if, after he had given sound to his thoughts, nothing were done, he would sing a different song. He would sing a song of death. And if Death would not stalk the Scarlet…well, then it would come for Egg Father, or Walks Backward, whomever of them would prove to be weakest.
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