Rumble on the Bayou

by Jana DeLeon

  He was a goner.

  A minute later, Jenny approached the counter, her long black hair pulled back into a ponytail, her big green eyes sparkling, and Dorie decided Joe could do a lot worse than hook up with her friend. Jenny was young, pretty, smart and nice as hell.

  When her mother had gotten ill a couple of years ago but refused to leave Gator Bait for a nursing home, Jenny did the only thing she could to make enough money to support them both, including fulltime care for her mother: She opened the cafe. And it had been an instant success. The population of Gator Bait was made up of a few more bachelors than married men. Added to that, the feminist movement had finally reared its ugly head, so home cooking was at an all-time low.

  "What can I get for the fearless law enforcement of Gator Bait?" Jenny asked, giving them a broad smile.

  Joe looked as if he'd been blinded by high beams. He sat there grinning like an idiot, not blinking at all. Jenny took one look at his face and fixed her eyes on Dorie. "Dorie?"

  "I'll have a soda and a BLT on white," Dorie said. "Add a bag of chips, too."

  Jenny nodded and made a note on her order pad. "What about you, Joe?"

  Dorie watched Joe try to shake himself out of his stupor, but he only made it halfway. "The same," he finally managed.

  She stared at him but waited until Jenny walked away before saying, "Joe, you don't eat bacon or tomatoes."

  He sighed, clearly disgusted. "Shit. Is that what I ordered?"

  Dorie nodded.

  "Guess I'll be eating a lettuce sandwich then"

  "I don't get it." She assessed the man next to her. With his wavy brown hair and amber eyes, Joe was considered a bit of a catch in Gator Bait and wouldn't have had any trouble holding his own in a big city. His lanky frame and soft heart only completed the picture.

  "You're a smart guy," she continued. "Good at your job, dedicated to this town and its people. Why does this one girl make you an idiot?"

  Joe shot a look back toward the kitchen. "I don't know. There's just something about her that gets me all tied up. It's like everything I say or do around her is so damned important."

  She laughed. "And then you wonder why I don't have a relationship with anyone. Who needs the angst?"

  He narrowed his eyes. "I didn't notice you having a communication problem at our annual conference with that sheriff from Texas."

  She waved a hand in protest. "Sex is not a relationship. Sex is easy and satisfying, and when it's over, you're done and can move on. There's absolutely no reason to complicate great sex with a relationship."

  "Oh, c'mon, Dorie," Joe said and blushed. "I hate it when you talk that way. Girls aren't supposed to think like men."

  "Seems only fair since you're thinking like a girl."

  He stared at Jenny, his expression softening at the sight of her. "Everyone thinks this way at some point in time. You just don't know when it's going to hit you and then - wham, you're knocked down by it."

  Dorie-who had never even been gently shoved by the feeling Joe described, much less knocked down - gave him a smile. "If you want her so bad, then tell her. If you wait around forever, you might lose her to someone else. Don't take me as an example when it comes to love and such. I'm an old cynic."

  “You might be a cynic, Dorie, and a hard-ass, but I'd hardly call thirty-three old. You've still got plenty of time to be hit by the love bug. You just haven't met the right one yet." He gave her a huge smile. "Boy, I can't wait till you do. It's gonna be a doozy."

  She shook her head and turned her attention to her drink. He couldn't be more wrong. Her life was perfect the way it was-quiet, simple, easy. Why screw up all that pleasure over a man? It couldn't possibly be worth it.

  They took their time over dinner. Wasn't much reason to hurry since both of them were unhappy over the situation and not looking forward to the work it was going to require. Finally, reality couldn't be put off any longer, and Dorie shoved her empty plate to the back of the counter with a sigh.

  "So?" Joe asked.

  "First off, I'm going to put a notification bulletin out to all the hospitals and see if we can locate the man with the missing finger-not that I expect to turn up anything. Then we have to make sure that finger didn't belong to anyone in Gator Bait."

  "Oh, c'mon, Dorie. You know that backpack didn't belong to anyone here."

  "I know. But we wouldn't be doing our job if we didn't check. It shouldn't be that hard. I figure two places will cover all the residents. We'll hit Pete's Bar tonight. It's Friday and payday. We can cover at least half of the town's people in there."

  “And the other half?" Joe asked, sweat beginning to form on his brow.

  "You still got your navy suit?"

  He groaned, his worst fears obviously confirmed.

  "Good," she said and smiled at the look of dismay on Joe's face. "Then we'll hit church on Sunday. That should cover the rest."

  Joe's father had been Gator Bait's pastor for thirty-six years before he passed twenty years ago. After the funeral, Joe had made a solemn vow to avoid church from that point forward. He said he was done for a lifetime. Dorie had never asked him his reasons, but she was sure they were good. Consequently, she knew how hard it would be for him to set foot in the house of God, work or no.

  "Go on home," she said, relenting a little. “Take a shower, and I promise you'll feel better. That's what I plan on doing. I'll meet you back here in an hour or so."

  "Are you going to tell the sheriff?"

  Dorie considered this for a minute and shook her head. "Not yet. Officially speaking, he's still on leave. I think I'll wait until we have something more concrete."

  "Like a body?"

  Dorie laughed. "We should be so lucky."

  Joe gave her a solemn look, threw some bills on the counter, and headed out of the cafe. She was certain he hoped the fingerless man was in a hell of a lot of pain for what he was about to make Joe do. With a shake of her head, Dorie put her money on the counter and followed him out the door, unable to help feeling the same way.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sunday morning was bright and beautiful, and Dorie was two minutes late for service. As the choir began to enter the church, she slid in the very back pew next to Joe. He looked miserable, and she was pretty sure he wasn't faking. She gave a small sniff of amusement. Joe couldn't possibly be as miserable as she was, unless he had on pantyhose.

  She crossed, then uncrossed her legs, trying to find a comfortable position in the offensive garments, but finally gave up as Joe leaned over and whispered, "I checked at least twenty people before service and crossed them off the list."

  "Who do we have left?"

  Joe passed her the sheet of paper. She scanned it and decided they weren't in a bad position at all. Only twelve names remained, and she'd bet a year's pay that all of them were in church this morning. They'd had a huge success at Pete's on Friday night-well, in crossing off names anyway. But so far, neither Joe nor Dorie or the hospitals had turned up any news on Missing Digit Man.

  "I think they're all here," Joe said, "but a few came in late and a couple others are in the choir. I guess we'll have to wait until service is over." He sighed and sat back in the pew, tugging at his shirt collar.

  Dorie shook her head. "No waiting required," she whispered. "I asked the song leader to change the opening hymn to 'How Great Thou Art.'"

  He looked at her, a new respect in his eyes. "That's pretty good."

  She gestured toward the pulpit and gave Joe a quick nod and a wink as the song leader took the stage and said, "Turn in your hymnals to page one hundred eighty-three. And let's all stand and lift our hands to the heavens. Direct our attention to the one on high."

  The piano player began the intro and every hand in the church went up in the air. Dorie moved quietly to one side of the pew and scanned hands all the way to the front of the church. She looked over at Joe, standing at the other end of the pew, and nodded. He nodded back, and they hurried out of the building.

  "
Whew," he said as they stepped outside. "That was worse than the bar. At least I can drink at I Pete's."

  "Stop whining," she said and smiled. "You only had to listen to opening announcements. You didn't even have to sing a song. How did it look on your side?"

  "All fingers accounted for. The ones that were there before yesterday, anyway."

  "Yeah, my side was clean, too. I figured as much. No one from Gator Bait is stupid enough to let an alligator get the best of him. Especially not with a healthy sum of product and money tied up in the gator's mouth."

  Joe nodded, and placing one hand over his forehead, looked out at the bayou. "So what's the plan for today?"

  "It's Sunday. It's eighty-five degrees outside, and the sun is shining." Dorie grinned and waved one hand at the clear blue sky. "I'm going to head back home, clear off the lounge chair on my deck, pull a six-pack of beer out of the fridge and pretend to fish. Probably be some of the best sleep I've seen in weeks. Why? You interested in coming along?" she teased, knowing full well that Joe would be headed into the diner as soon as she pulled out of the parking lot.

  "Nah," he said, fidgeting a little. "I thought I might stay in town a while. Grab a bite to eat or something."

  She gave him a knowing look. "It's just as well, since my 'fishing' tends to make you uncomfortable." She walked down the church steps to her jeep.

  "You talk to the sheriff yet?" he asked.

  "No. Not yet. I guess I'm waiting for things to get worse. He's just too difficult to deal with. I'd like to avoid it as long as possible."

  He considered this for a moment and nodded his agreement. "You think we should call in the feds?"

  Dorie stopped and glared at him, certain he'd lost his mind. "No way. I'm not dealing with any big-city prick telling me how to run things in my town. You know better than that."

  Joe shrugged. "I know, but we did run the print. The likelihood of a big-city prick showing up here anyway is pretty high. I still don't buy that anyone hauling around that much product and money is a first-timer."

  The people in this town are simple, not stupid. They're not going to give away anything to an outsider without telling me first. You can take that to the bank."

  "Maybe so, but you know if the feds come here, they're gonna want to take over the investigation. Start giving orders and throwing around insults."

  Dorie grinned and jumped into her jeep. "I'd like to see them try." She pulled on her sunglasses and backed out of the parking lot. "Say hi to Jenny for me," she yelled as she started down the road, leaving Joe standing in a cloud of dust, a chagrined look on his face.

  DEA agent Richard Starke took his first look at the town of Gator Bait and immediately knew he was going to hate it. Bunch of rednecks and idiots, he thought as he scanned the street in front of him. The average blood alcohol content was probably higher than the median IQ. Every building was rundown, the paint peeling from constant exposure to saltwater, and from his position at the end of the street he could make out a couple of the faded wooden signs.

  On the right was the sheriff's office, with a big CLOSED sign in the window. A grocery store shared one wall of the decrepit building, and a cafe shared the other. On the other side of the street stood a run-down motel next to a boat shop with a bar on one side and, ironically enough, a church on the other.

  Parallel to the dusty road and behind the side with the church was a bayou that ran down past a large metal building set apart from the others. Unfortunately, he was downwind from that building, and the general odor permeating the air told him it wasn't a place he wanted to see any closer.

  He considered his options again. What the hell kind of place closed their entire law-enforcement facility on Sunday? He'd driven into Hicksville thinking he'd march straight into the sheriff's office and quickly deal with his problem. Obviously, he was-wrong.

  Disgusted by his lack of choices, he sighed. The cafe was probably his best bet. If he turned up anything useful, he could always get a room later at the Fleabag Inn. His skin already itched in anticipation. Studying the cafe, he mentally assessed the few people he saw through the plate-glass window. With a final disgusted look at the sheriff's office, he started across the street.

  No way was this town of morons getting in the way of his finishing his job. It had already gone on too long, and he was ready for it to end.

  No matter who he had to roll over to get it done.

  Joe took a seat at the counter in the cafe and pretended to read the menu board, while casting sideways glances at Jenny, who poured coffee for a group of fishermen at a table in the corner. This was it. Today was the day he'd ask Jenny out and put a stop to Dorie's nagging. He would not fail this time.

  A minute later, Jenny headed over his way and he felt his throat go numb.

  "Hi, Joe," she said, flashing him a bright smile. "Would you like a cup of coffee this morning?"

  He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Damn it, this was not going to happen to him today. He tried again, but even the words, "yes, thank you" were unattainable. Finally, he just nodded, too embarrassed and frustrated to try anything else.

  Jenny stared curiously at him for a moment and turned to retrieve a cup of coffee. He slumped back in his seat and tried to get a grip on himself. It must be his allergies. He could never talk right first thing in the morning because of his allergies. Only problem with that theory was that it was already after eleven o'clock, and he'd been up and talking for hours.

  Jenny set the cup in front of him and pulled out a pad. "You want the breakfast special or are you interested in lunch?"

  He took a big gulp of the coffee and burned his tongue. "Special's fine," he managed to blurt out. Jenny jotted a note on her pad, gave him a smile and walked over to the grill. Glancing up at the chalkboard on the wall, he gave a mental groan. Grits were on the breakfast special. He absolutely, positively hated grits.

  If he didn't learn to speak around Jenny, he would starve to death. What the hell, he thought, giving the board another disgusted look. After that first drink of coffee, I don't have any taste buds left anyway.

  Jenny scrambled eggs in a bowl and dumped them onto the grill. "You been working this morning?" she asked.

  "Yeah," Joe managed. "Just a bit." Then curiosity got the better of him, and he found his voice. "Why do you ask?" Jenny had never asked about his job before, and it struck him as a bit odd.

  Jenny blushed a little, or maybe it was just the heat from the grill, and said, "It's just that you're wearing dress clothes. There's not a wedding or a funeral, and everyone knows you don't go to church anymore, so I figured if you were there this morning, it was because of work."

  Joe glanced down a moment and shook his head. He'd completely forgotten he was dressed up. The tie had immediately come off after exiting the church and was stuffed in his pants pocket, but that still left him with tan Dockers and a white button-up shirt. Not his normal dress, for sure.

  "Is Dorie coming in, too?" she asked.

  "No," he replied, trying to sound natural. "She went fishing as soon as we were done with business. It being Sunday and all."

  Jenny nodded and stirred the eggs around on the grill. Everyone in Gator Bait knew Dorie fished on Sunday. Everyone also knew she absolutely never caught a fish. But the townspeople respected her request for solitude and played along with the fishing game. No one called Dorie in for work on Sunday unless there was no other choice.

  Jenny slid the plate of food in front of Joe. "Anything else?"

  He looked down at the plate of steamy food, complete with the icky grits. "No," he said and tried a smile. "I think I'm good."

  "Okay," Jenny said, and moved to the far end of the counter where she started restocking catsup bottles, obviously readying herself for the after-church lunch rush.

  Fifteen minutes later, Joe was halfway through all he wanted to eat, when the bells above the cafe door jangled.

  The sound of low talking at the front of the cafe just reached him, but the
words weren't clear. He was busy stirring the grits in a small circle, trying to make it look like he'd eaten some of them, when he heard a man right behind him say, "I'm looking for the sheriff."

  It wasn't a voice Joe knew, and he turned around in his seat to see the man it had come from.

  He didn't like what he saw.

  The man pulled a badge from his suit coat pocket and flipped it open. "My name is Richard Starke. I'm with the DEA out of Washington, D.C. Do you know where I can find the sheriff?"

  Disgusted, Joe blew out a breath. This had been quicker than expected. "I'm Joe Miller. Deputy Miller. I guess you're here about the print"

  Richard gave Joe a look up and down. "Yes" He cocked his head to one side and studied Joe's face. "You don't seem surprised"

  Joe returned the look. High-dollar suit, alligator shoes, two hundred-dollar pen, perfect hair. Damn, he thought, remembering Dorie's comment about big-city pricks, that woman is always right. This guy looks like a walking hard-on.

  "Actually," Joe said when he finished his assessment of the other man. "My boss was expecting you. Just maybe not this soon."

  Richard raised his eyebrows. "Your boss was expecting me, specifically?"

  He gave Richard another quick look. "Yeah, pretty much."

  "I'm intrigued," Richard said and gave him a polite smile. "So can I meet this boss of yours, the sheriff, I presume?"

  Joe shook his head. "Nope. Sheriff's on medical leave. Deputy Berenger is in charge during his absence. That's who was expecting you."

  Richard began to tap his foot, clearly impatient. "Great. So where exactly is this Deputy Berenger, or does he have a medical malady also?"

  Joe slouched back in his stool, unimpressed with the man in front of him and already irritated by his attitude. Working with him may be inevitable, but there was no need to make it easy. "Well, you see the problem is that Sunday is Deputy Berenger's day off, and no one disturbs the deputy on Sunday. It's a general rule."