Ghost of the Karankawa (The Bill Travis Mysteries Book 10)

by George Wier

  “Find the edge of this first net and peel it back,” Wolf said. “I’ve got a sharp knife, but it would take half the night to cut these off of him.”

  It took a minute to get the top net off of him. The damned thing was heavy. While we did this, I listened to the Old Man breathe. He waited and bided his time. I got a sense of patience, and not just the momentary kind, but instead a species of long endurance, as if time and the passage of seasons were days of the week to him.

  The trailer door slammed in the distance. I hoped they didn’t have more guns in there. If they did, I’d have to explain getting in a firefight to Julie, and that’s something I had no desire to do.

  We got another layer of rope off of him and I began to feel the onset of fatigue in my wrists, arms and especially my back.

  “I think two more layers,” Wolf said. “Most of them missed him.” Then to the Old Man he said, “How are you doing, old friend?”

  “Uuulf,” the Old Man grunted. “Uuulf oood.” I translated this as Wolf, good. And then he took me completely off guard, by saying, “Ill ood.” Bill, good.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Wolf stopped and turned to the trailer. “I think we’re good.”

  “They didn’t know you had a gun, did they?” I asked.

  “I didn’t. Not until Sheriff Renard gave me one.”

  “God Bless him,” I said.

  “Yeah. Bill, throw your gun several feet away, and remember where you throw it, just in case it’s needed. When he comes up out of there, I want him feeling safe.”

  I was bone weary when the final set of ropes came off of our friend. He stood slowly. And when I say stood, what I mean is he towered over us.

  His eyes came to rest on Wolf. He took half a step towards Wolf, and I marveled that Wolf didn’t flinch.

  I noted then that all fear had left me to be replaced by a sense of lightly burning warmth that seemed to come up from the ground.

  “The mound, Wolf,” I said. “What is it?”

  “It’s her,” he replied. “It’s his wife, I think. The Indians venerated his people. Have you ever been to Taos?”

  “New Mexico? Yeah.”

  “There’s a feel about the place, isn’t there?” Wolf said. “The Indians thought the spot sacred. It’s a healing place. I’m not much into mysticism, but they knew things about the land we’ll never understand.”

  “Lines in the Earth,” I said. “Ley lines, convergence points. That sort of thing.”

  “Oh. You know.”

  “No, I don’t. It’s just that I’ve heard about almost everything, and I remember everything. I think that’s what you’re talking about. For instance, a minute ago I felt fatigued, and at this moment I feel right as rain. For a minute back there, it felt like there was some kind of energy coming up right out of the ground.”

  The Old Man turned to look at me. For a moment I could have sworn upon a stack of Bibles that he was smiling at me.

  “He knows we understand,” Wolf said. To the Old Man he said, “Wolf, good. Old Man go. Wolf fix.”

  The Old Man tilted his head and made a questioning grunt, “Aruh?”

  “Old Man go,” Wolf repeated.

  “Oooh.”

  I heard an odd whistle close by. An instant later I heard the report. We were being fired upon.

  “Shit,” Wolf said.

  I started to go for my gun in the grass, but then a huge arm lifted me bodily into the air and I thumped against something so hard the air was driven from my lungs. The last thing I remembered was the sensation of bouncing up and down before I fell into the well of welcoming blackness.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I dreamed that Julie was a card in a Tarot deck, and I—who was also a two dimensional card—lay facing her. A great hand lifted me from her and laid me beside her. We could no longer see each other, but I knew she was there. The large face looking down upon us was, at first, Cathy Baha’s, but she soon drifted away from the table on which we lay and Evanston’s visage took her place. Evanston smiled, and there was an evil glint in his eye. His hand descended toward us—

  —And I awoke to the new moon. It was low in the night sky. I felt sand beneath my right hand. A pungent smell filled my nose and fear gripped me. I felt a warm cloak against my arm and turned my head to find that it wasn’t a cloak, but instead a silvery torso. The fear ratcheted up about three octaves and I felt the urge to spring to my feet and run. I lay there, trying to breathe, and as I did he let out a deep, long and slow breath. The Old Man was sleeping. I heard the distant white sound of waves crashing onto a beach and I sniffed. Aside from the Old Man’s odor, which was strong, there was the smell of the sea.

  I began to relax, and as I did, a sense of peace rolled over me, a serene clarity of time and place as inexorable as the sea. I closed my eyes.

  I drifted away from my body and was borne up into the air. Below me was the moon shimmering on the Gulf, and spread across the inland blanket of darkness were many dim and distant lights. I thought of Julie and sped toward her. She was there, nestled somewhere within the little cluster of lights. I slowed as I came to the town and wafted through the wall of the hotel as if it was no more than illusion. She lay there on the bed, sleeping. I knew that I should attempt to communicate with her, but had not the slightest clue as to how to do so. Then the answer came to me. I reached out a hand of nothingness and touched her face. She turned from her side and lay on her back. Her eyes fluttered open and she sat up in bed.

  Honey, I thought to her, come to me.

  Her mouth formed words, but I couldn’t hear them. I was pulled upward from her, arced through the air for miles, and fell back into my body with a shudder.

  “Don’t go wandering off, Bill,” Wolf said.

  “Wolf,” I said. “What the hell?” Wolf was silhouetted against the moon. In his right hand was a dead flashlight and in his left was a paper sack.

  “I’m just getting back.” Wolf said. “Glad you could rejoin the party.”

  I sat up, but the Old Man continued to sleep.

  “What happened?” I asked. “I remember shooting. Are either of us wounded? If I am, I can’t feel it.”

  “No, I’m fine. I think you got body slammed when he picked you up. I tried to wake you up, but you were down for the count. But him,” Wolf gestured, “he took a bullet, picked up both of us, and ran about five miles.”

  “Where is he shot?” the urgency of the moment came home to me. I got to my knees, then to my feet. I stood unsteadily in the darkness for a moment. “I guess we need medical supplies.”

  “That’s what I’ve got in the sack here. I walked until I found a road, then I got a ride to a store and got some medical supplies. Also, I made a call to the Sheriff.”

  “Good. Are we going to operate right here among the sand dunes?”

  “Yeah. We are. How are you with the sight of blood?”

  “If I grit my teeth, I’ll manage. Where is he hit?”

  “In the upper leg. They missed the femoral artery because the blood wasn’t...you know, spurting.”

  “Oh. Okay. Good.”

  “Bill, I’ve never operated on a sasquatch before. I think he’s asleep and trying to heal himself. I’m hoping he’s not in shock. If he is, he could be dying.”

  The fear that now settled into my heart was of a different variety. Quite suddenly I knew that I would do anything to keep the Old Man alive. If I were hard-pressed, I might even lay down my own life to protect his.

  I asked Wolf a strange question. I don’t know where it came from and I knew as I asked it that it couldn’t make much sense, except for one thing: it made a whole world of sense. “Who is he?” I asked. “I mean, who is he really?”

  “I think he’s us,” Wolf said. “Not just me and not just you. He’s all of us. Does that...I mean...”

  I let out a long breath, and the tension from a moment before drained away. I knew what needed to be done. That’s all I’ve ever asked for in life—a task and
a way to see it through.

  “It makes all kinds of sense,” I said. “Let’s get to work.”

  *****

  Wolf operated and I assisted. The Old Man awoke and lay watching us. His brow furrowed in pain and he made grunting sounds. His large, protruding jaws bunched and tightened, but he seemed to know that we were helping him. I held the flashlight as close and steady as I could. As Wolf began probing in the hole in the Old Man’s upper thigh for the bullet with his finger, he began humming. After a moment, I noted that the Old Man throat began to gurgle, and soon it was apparent that he was humming along with Wolf. The song was La Mer. Charles Trenet, the song’s writer, would have loved it. And maybe, just maybe, his ghost was hanging fire somewhere close by, listening in.

  Wolf stopped humming. “It’s down in there. I feel it.” His eyes met mine. “There’s a couple of chopsticks in the sack.”

  “Chopsticks?”

  “Yeah. It was a Chinese grocery store. I know. Way out in the middle of nowhere, an island of light that happens to be an all night Chinese grocery. I was going to bring you back some eggrolls, but I ate them all on the way.”

  “I’m starved,” I said, “but I don’t think I can hold anything down right now.”

  Wolf nodded. “Chopsticks,” he said, and held out his free hand.

  It was no easy task to hold the flashlight steady and fish for the chopsticks, but I managed to find them in the sack by feel. I tried to press them into his hand, but he shook his head.

  “No. Just one.”

  I gave him one chopstick and kept the other.

  He pushed the point of the chopstick slowly down into the wound along the top of his finger. While he was doing this, he took to humming La Mer again. The Old Man managed to grunt a few bars of it. He had the tune, now.

  Wolf stopped humming. “The other one,” he said.

  I tried handing it to him, but he shook his head. “No. Now, this is the hard part. I’ve got the tip of my finger on the bullet, and I’ve got the stick on one side of the damned thing. You push the other stick into—”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. If I had three hands, no problem.”

  During the momentary pause, I assessed myself and the situation. I was beginning to feel faint. Whether it was the lateness of the hour, the odd situation of having to perform surgery on an injured Bigfoot at night by flashlight among the sand dunes along the Texas Gulf Coast, or whether it was the lack of proper food, I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that I didn’t have much juice left in me.

  I looked up at the Old Man and saw the glitter in his eyes from the side-wash of the flashlight and knew he was boring his eyes into my soul, weighing me for my worth.

  “Just one more minute, Bill,” Wolf said. “We can do this.” Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead despite the cool breeze.

  “Shit,” I said. “Here goes nothing.”

  The Old Man began grunting La Mer again. My heart swelled and I felt a renewed strength, whether it was from the Old Man or from the power of the decision, I have no idea. Whichever, I knew it was going to be enough to see me through.

  I placed the tip of the chopstick as close to the underside of Wolf’s forefinger as I could where the web of flesh ran from his finger to his hyper-extended thumb.

  Wolf took La Mer up as well, and I joined them both. I used Wolf’s finger as a guide. Blood seeped up and ran into the Old Man’s silvery fur. The point touched something and I felt the Old Man wince, but to his credit he continued to grunt out the tune. I angled the chopstick against the flesh of behind Wolf’s knuckle until it was past the obstruction and drove it in another half an inch. The Old Man’s leg began to shake. That had to be enough.

  “All right,” Wolf said. “You have to take the other stick. I have to remove my finger. Keep them on the bullet. You ever eat Chinese food?”

  “All the time,” I said.

  “Do you use a fork, or chopsticks?”

  “I use the damned chopsticks.”

  “That makes me feel better,” Wolf said. “Lay the flashlight down for a second and take this stick.”

  This particular operation made foraging in a paper bag seem like child’s play. Once the flashlight was down, I allowed my eyes to adjust to the absence of light for a second, then carefully took the other stick from Wolf's hand.

  “Okay, good,” he said. “I’m going to start removing my finger. You know what to do.”

  I nodded. Wolf retrieved the flashlight with his newly freed hand and gave me some much-needed light.

  The finger came out slowly, but the sticks stayed in place.

  “Now, Bill. Get yourself a big wad of long-grained rice. This will be a walk in the park.”

  I thought of a retort, but decided against it. Why weren’t my hands shaking? Why couldn’t I feel my feet, my legs, or the back of my head?

  I applied pressure on the sticks and brought them together such that I could hold them both in one hand. And pulled upward, slowly.

  The bullet came out, and with it a rush of blood. Wolf fished for and found a large wad of gauze and slapped it over the hole and pressed.

  The Old Man grunted, “oooood.” Good.

  “Yeah,” Wolf said. “You did good, Bill.”

  “Thanks. I think I’ll just pass out now.”

  “Go ahead. There’s supposed to be a coke in the bottom of that sack somewhere. When I left the store it was cold.”

  It was then that I noticed my knees and legs were crying out in pain. I rolled my shoulder over onto the ground and lay flat on my back. The moon was just over the top of the sand dune across the way. My right hand was likewise bunched in pain. It took a moment to realize why. I still held the chopsticks and the bullet.

  I heard the sound of a soda can being opened and the can came up and hovered before the moon.

  “Drink,” Wolf said.

  “Amen,” I replied.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  After drinking the cola, I slept the sleep of the just and awoke with the morning sun in my eyes.

  I sat up and took stock. Wolf was asleep on the sand a few feet away. The Old Man was gone. On the sand where he had been was the indentation of his ten foot tall, four foot wide form, wads of bloody gauze, the sack with its former contents spilled this way and that, and the empty can from several hours before.

  “Wolf,” I said. “Wake up.”

  A hand pawed at the air. “Not now, Eula. Ahm busy,” he said through a sleep-filled haze.

  Who the hell is Eula? I thought.

  I stood. The dunes about us were covered in places with patches of coarse grass and weeds. I walked to the top of the dune over which the moon had hung the night before. A few hundred yards away I caught the flash of whitecaps, and far beyond the water was more land. Anahuac is a good twenty-five miles from the ocean, and the mound a mere five miles outside the small town toward the Gulf. The Old Man hadn’t taken us nearly as far as that. I felt that we had to be somewhere along Trinity Bay, with Bolivar Peninsula and the Gulf just over the horizon beneath the rising sun. Regardless, Wolf knew the way home.

  I turned back to him and he was sitting up on his elbows.

  “You look like crap,” I said.

  “You look worse.”

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  At that moment Franklin came charging over the dunes. He passed Wolf by without a nod his direction and leaped. I came down the back side of the dune tumbling with him in my arms. He licked at my face and I laughed long and hard.

  I heard her voice just over my own laughter. “Bill?” It was Julie.

  I got to my feet and ambled up the dune. I gave a shout and her voice rose in surprise. I saw the top of her head for a second as she crested one of the low dunes.

  “Better get out of her way, Wolf,” I said.

  Wolf turned and backed toward me. Julie burst over the top of the dune and came flying at me.

  “The lovers meet,” I heard Wolf say.

  I was ready
for her. She jumped into my arms while Franklin raced around us in circles, barking. She kissed me half a dozen times and I decided I had better kiss her back.

  When I set her down, I asked the most damning question I could come up with. “How far is the car?”

  *****

  Wolf rode in the back seat and Franklin tried repeatedly to climb all over him. Who was I to break up the love fest?

  Julie gave me the story. She had awoken in the middle of the night and knew I was in trouble. She put Franklin in the car and went straight to the Sheriff’s Office. Sheriff Renard was halfway to the mound after Wolf’s call, but he had to turn around and come back and meet up with Julie, who followed him out there. The mound area was completely deserted. There was no evidence of any shots having been fired, no ropes near the mound—nothing. All the while, Julie had tried calling my cell phone a hundred times. Finally, she gave up and decided to get smart about it. She got back on her phone and did a GPS trace on mine. My phone was mid way between Double Bayou, where the mound was located, and Trinity Bay. The Sheriff was more interested in catching Randy Marshall than he was at locating me and Wolf, so Julie and Franklin continued the search alone while the Sheriff went about his own business. Julie found my cell phone in a field past one of the many small bayous that feed into the bay. By this time Franklin had my scent in his nose and went charging on ahead. All by way of saying the car was half a mile away over the fields.

  “Where to now?” I asked her.

  “Back to the Sheriff’s Office, I think. I don’t know how you did that, but you woke me up in the night.”

  I pursed my lips. Maybe it hadn’t been me. Maybe it had been like the energy coming up through the ground around the mound. Possibly it was because I was with the Old Man when it happened. He had been right there beside me, hadn’t he?

  As Julie drove us along country backroads toward Anahuac in the bright sunshine, I tried to recall the events of the night before. For some reason, however, the images seemed faint and far away. It was a little unsettling. I still had the dried blood on my hands, but for the life of me I couldn’t see his face. What had it looked like?