- 42 -
UNANTICIPATED ARRIVAL
IT WAS CLOSE to 3AM when Wolf arrived at the Texas ranch. Pearson’s friend, Morgan, had directed him there, telling him that it was the last place the phone had pinged a cell tower before being switched off again. She’d also told him that the location was somewhere on a private game reserve, where sick people paid money—lots of it—to hunt exotic animals. Animals, which were kept within the confines of chain-link fences.
She had made it very clear how she stood on all that.
But Wolf had another, deeper worry. He had wondered why the girl he had met had been brought there, to which Morgan had speculated that it might make a great way to cover up a human smuggling operation. Those animals had to be brought in from somewhere, or exported to somewhere else, she’d said.
He wasn’t so sure. Not after what he’d seen in Iraq. It also made him realize that finding whoever owned the phone might be a problem, but a necessary problem. And that meant somehow getting onto the property and finding the phone’s owner. He’d already driven down the road to where the front gate to the property was located, only to find a guy sitting on the bed of a pickup truck with an assault rifle parked next to him. The guy had been not so friendly, too, and once Wolf explained that he was lost, the guy had given him directions to get back to town. He had apologized profusely, pulled a K-turn, and headed away. But as he checked the rear-view mirror and watched the guy be swallowed up by the darkness of the night, he was certain the guy raised and started speaking into a hand-held radio.
So, Wolf was certain that he had found the right place.
Once he was a mile or so away, he contacted Morgan again. She helped him map out a route to get to the only house on the property. According to her satellite map, it was about a mile inside the surrounding fence. She then told him just how to bring up the same map on his phone. He did, thanked her, and hung up after asking if she had heard yet from Pearson. She had not.
With a lot of zooming and panning, he was able to see that the sprawling property was about five miles to a side, with the house being nearest to the gate he had originally come to and been turned away from. Around to the western side, there was a dirt road that seemed to keep going past the property and onto another. Judging by how many finger widths it was from the house, he figured it was about two miles from the fence line, so he memorized as much of the property as he could and, with the headlights turned off and taillight wires disconnected from the bulbs, he went in search of the road that would take him to his desired insertion point. But on his way there, he hit a roadblock. The short dirt track ended at a gate made from welded steel tubes. He got out and checked it in the moonlight, but could not find a way around it, so he backed the car up into the bushes nearby, grabbed a floor mat from the front, and set off on foot toward his destination.
When he got about a mile in, he checked his position on the phone again and began heading east. It didn’t take him long to encounter the twelve-foot high chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Along the fence were signs that were clearly visible in the moonlight.
KEEP OUT, NO TRESPASSING.
The fence, he could climb over. It was only a matter of getting past the razor wire at the top. He shrugged off his jacket and climbed up and tossed the floor mat over the top of the wire and made his way up and then down to the other side. He stopped briefly to ditch the floor mat in a nearby bush, figuring he’d come back for it on the way out, hopefully with the girl who called herself Melody.
As he entered the trees, he could feel the presence of eyes on him. He could sense that there were animals all around him, and they seemed to know he was there just as well as he could sense them, maybe better. He heard a faint skittering in the woods and the light breeze held strong scents of musty scat. Not wanting to effect his night vision, he left the smartphone in his pocket and traveled by memory alone, crossing two clearings before sinking to his knees beside a large tree. In the moonlight, he saw animals in the distance that he’d never seen before. And when they saw him, they froze in place or scampered off deeper into the woods.
He’d already spotted a zebra and an antelope, and even a whitetail deer. It seemed odd to have such a mix of different animals living so close together, which made him wonder if there were any predators about, but then figured in such a controlled space, he was the only real predator that night.
Using his mental map, he made it to the final grove of trees that would take him behind the house. Morgan had said the phone had last been turned on somewhere inside. As he made his way through the trees, he could see a light that was growing stronger with each tree he passed. When he emerged from the canopy, he could tell that light was coming from a single pole near the house. No other activity was visible. Nothing moved. Then the wind shifted, and he caught a new scent on the breeze.
A human scent.
He crept closer and into the shadow of a large oak tree and crouched there, staying hidden behind the trunk as he scanned for the source of the human smell.
And, suddenly, he was blinded by a brilliant white light. He held a hand up to block the painful glare.
Then everything happened quickly.
He fell back on his heels, tripped and lost his balance, and rolled onto his back. He heard a voice and was instantly alert and scrambling and already beginning to push himself up to sprint away from the light. But as he turned and started to rise, there was a guy standing about ten feet away, ready to block him. The guy was thin and wiry and had on a cowboy hat. The guy also had a very large gun.
- 43 -
RIGHT IN THE GUT
NOW IT WAS Wolf’s turn to be tied to a chair. And the guy who had done it had done an excellent job.
He was inside the house he had wanted to enter, but he was also bound tightly. The walls surrounding him were covered with the heads of dead animals. There was an upright grizzly bear in one corner, claws raised in a staged attack. A pair of gray wolves were mounted on a small platform in the far corner, and one had its head turned sideways and fixed up into a sneer. The largest animal in the room was a full-sized rhino. It took up one of the corners. On its back were a pair of black crows. One was turned away, but the other seemed to be staring back at him, eye fixed hard. That single eye was shiny and dark and caught the light coming from a trio of spotlights hung above it, glinting ever so slightly.
His grandmother had spoken at length about crows. She called them “go-gv” which he always thought sounded like “go-give.” They were often spoken of as messengers from the spirit world. Sometimes they brought good news and sometimes they brought bad news. She had also told him that it was difficult to tell the difference between the good and the bad because they could be such tricksters. Always watch the crows, she had said. She had also warned him that often crows could be mistaken for ravens at a distance, and that one should never mistake a crow for a raven. Crows were not to be feared, but ravens were. And there was one in particular that she warned him of above all. She had called it the Raven Mocker, and its primary purpose was to steal the hearts of its enemies.
This one-eyed dead crow had a message for him—he was certain—but what that message was, he did not know but knew he would learn the truth of it soon. He felt it. He also did not know just how it was that he had been caught. He’d been as silent as a ghost. They could not have been tracking the phone in his pocket, either. He was certain of that. He had turned it off before climbing the fence.
It was all a puzzle he had to figure out if he ever got loose and wanted to get away. He almost asked the guy in the room with him, but he held his tongue as that might give too much away.
But he did have another question. Before he could ask it, though, a short, balding man came limping through an archway, propped up by a cane. He indicated to the guy who was still in the room to take a step back.
“Who are you?” the short man asked.
Wolf said nothing.
“No matter. We’ll figure it out soon enough.”
Wolf then recognized the guy. He looked quite different in stature, but the face was much the same. He was the man who was in the picture with Maggie Crawford.
Husband? Ex…? Not much was making sense.
“Who are you?” the man repeated.
Wolf again said nothing. The short man limped all the way around him and then indicated to the other guy with the sweep of a finger.
The wiry guy leaned in and struck Wolf hard across the jaw with his fist. The blow had been slightly off balance, and the guy was wearing black gloves, but he still came away shaking the pain from his hand and sucking it back and squeezing it under his armpit. While the blow had stung Wolf, he’d also heard the bones in the other man’s hand cracking, if not breaking. He wanted to smile at the guy’s misfortune, but he did not.
The short man snorted derisively and shook his head in disgust. Another guy joined them. This guy was not much more than a kid, probably eighteen, if that.
“Would you like to give it a try?” the short guy asked the kid.
The kid shook his head as he circled around and grabbed a wooden cane from a hook on the wall. “With this, maybe.”
The short man chuckled and lifted his own cane and pressed the brass tip against Wolf’s cheek and pushed until his arm shook. “We seem to have a chained predator here in our midst.” He tried to push harder, but could not. The cane finally dropped.
Wolf worked his jaw back and forth and into place.
“Let me start at this again,” the man said. “My name is Quentin Krieg. You, sir, have invaded my property. If you were not already aware, we here in Texas are allowed to shoot trespassers. I’d be perfectly within my rights to do so.”
Wolf said nothing.
“Why don’t you tell me who you are…? And why you are here.”
Wolf thought about it for a moment. This guy was named Krieg. He was in the photo with Maggie Crawford. Wolf had somehow mistaken the guy for her dead husband. Maybe she had remarried this man? Maybe it was something else. But, still, why was his name Krieg and not Crawford?
“Can you speak? Or do you not understand me?”
“I got lost,” Wolf finally said.
“Ah, so he can speak. Good, good. It is always so impolite when people do not have conversations with each other. Wars are often fought because people simply refused to talk to one another. Did you know this?”
Wolf said nothing.
“Mr. Wolf,” Krieg started, bending lower, locking gazes, looking for something. “Yes…you didn’t think we knew your name already, did you? You are Raymond Wolf. A US Marine, decorated with a Silver Star for valor, even. Fought multiple tours in Iraq, one of them cut short. We thank you for your service, son. We do appreciate it. But none of this explains why I found you sneaking onto my ranch in the middle of the night and disturbing all my animals. So, again, I ask you, why are you here?”
“I’m following someone. A runaway girl,” Wolf admitted. No harm, no foul in admitting that, he figured, and he also wanted to judge the man by how he reacted, which might expose a bit more about the guy’s involvement with the girl. He’d already figured the guy was guilty as sin, just not the how or the why of it, yet.
And he’d been right.
He saw it in the way the guy straightened and angrily stamped his cane against the hardwood floor. The noise reverberated through the space and caused both men in the room with Krieg to shrink away from him.
“One big mess, that’s what they have caused me. Can I tell you that, Mr. Wolf? I work so hard to employ the most competent people, but I am always thwarted by their stupidity. Constantly! Fools and charlatans and money grubbing ex-wives, all trying to—but you don’t care, do you?”
“Not particularly,” Wolf said.
To which Krieg let go of a small laugh. “I think I like you. You don’t cower and cringe like those others do. And your name…? I really like it. You do know that wolves are one of the only predators that kill for sport, do you not? That is something mankind definitely shares in common with them. I also hope you understand that the animal kingdom has a rigid pecking order, Mr. Wolf, and that we all must know our places in it.”
Krieg took a labored step to one side, tapping his cane against the floor. Then he leaned in close and cocked his head to one side. “Would you ever consider working for me?”
Wolf drew his head back and lifted his chin, considering the proposal.
But not seriously.
“I would pay you well,” Krieg added. “Someone like you would be perfect for my line of work. I could use you. It might be good to have a predator nearby and under my control instead of all these lickspittles.”
Neither of the other two men with Krieg responded to the insult.
“So what do you say, Mr. Wolf?”
“Where is the girl?”
“Ah, yes, the girl. She is well. She has almost recovered from the regrettable injuries she has suffered at the hands of one of my incompetent employees. A most troubling affair, I assure you. But that man has been dealt with appropriately.”
“Why did you take her?”
“I can see now that we will need to reach an agreement in principle, so to speak. Fine, fine. She is very important to me. But she is not for me. None of the girls we have collected have been. Frankly, I find it rather sickening what is planned for her, but the money is good. You do like money, Mr. Wolf, do you not?”
Wolf said nothing.
“You don’t like money…? Everyone likes money. It is only the matter of finding a man’s true price.” Krieg stared at him for a moment, then nodded knowingly. “You have a true price. I’m sure I can find it. And you should know, these girls are worth more than you could ever imagine to me. With you helping to keep them safe while they are being…transported, I could pay you quite handsomely. Just name your price.”
“Transported to where?” Wolf asked.
“Oh, no. That I cannot tell you just yet. No, no, not yet. Soon, perhaps. Are you interested in working for me then, Mr. Wolf?”
“Maybe. Does it include a dental plan?”
Krieg cocked his head at the question. “Dental plan…? I do not understand.”
Wolf lunged, driving his chair upward and toward Krieg, aiming to bust all the man’s teeth out at once. But the guy had been slightly off balance already, and the blow Wolf had wanted to deliver with the chair back missed and the momentum carried him forward and straight over and onto his face. He tried to bend his neck to one side to absorb the impact, but with the way he was tied up, he hit the floor, hard, face first.
Next thing he knew, he was being lifted by the two men and set upright again. He blinked to clear his blurred vision. Blood from a cut on his forehead had already trickled into one eye.
“That was quite a blow you took, Mr. Wolf. Too bad it missed, right? And it is really too bad we will not be able to work together after all. Perhaps you are too dangerous for even me to control.” Krieg backed away. “But there may be another way you can serve me.”
Wolf, in his dazed state, almost asked, “And what is that?” But he did not because the sound of an approaching helicopter caused Krieg and the other two men to glance at each other and share troubled looks. Very troubled looks.
- 44 -
REUNION
WOLF WAS STILL tied to the chair, but he’d almost gotten loose. Just a few more minutes might have allowed him to slip out of the knots and free his hands. He’d inhaled deeply and held it when they’d cinched him down earlier, making himself as large as possible, but they’d also been wise to that trick and had yanked the ropes tight.
These guys were serious. These guys were Texas cowboys, probably used to tying up cattle and game. And, Wolf was certain that was precisely what he represented to them—a very large, dangerous animal. But, if he’d had only a few more minutes alone, the outcome might have been different. He never remained tied up for long.
Never.
Footsteps approached and one of the men with the hat
s and the belt buckles became two men with two hats and two belt buckles. The only difference between them was that one held a shotgun loosely in his grip while the other wore a big revolver slung low in a fancy leather holster. They could almost be brothers. Maybe they were.
Wolf then heard additional voices, heard additional footsteps as well, and finally came the familiar sound of a cane clicking against the wood plank floor. It stopped. He recognized the first voice to speak right away—Krieg. But there was someone else with him. And that voice was an eerily familiar voice.
Icy tendrils raced down Wolf’s spine as he recalled the accent and timbre and remembered who that voice belonged to and what it represented. And hearing what he had been hearing, he quickly redoubled his efforts to break free, straining against his bindings, hurriedly trying to loosen them just enough to wriggle free, letting his sudden fury drive him to the extreme edge of his abilities. But, as he attempted to lift the chair from the floor using only his bent toes, the man with the shotgun clocked him hard on the thigh.
That didn’t quite stop him, but it did piss him off a bit.
He tried to free himself again, and the wood of the chair creaked and began to crack and break under the stress. But the man hit him yet again, this time solidly in the gut, driving the wind straight out of him. He collapsed forward against the bonds and fought hard to get his wind back, but tied as tightly as he was, he could only take quick, shallow breaths. When he finally did normalize, the business end of the shotgun barrel was brushing up against the tip of his nose.
“Try that again and you die,” the man said.
Wolf settled, biding his time. The man with the shotgun drew it back, but only a few inches, and, from beyond, the tapping of the cane grew louder as Mr. Krieg entered the room and waved off the man with the shotgun.
Then Wolf saw the guy whose voice had caused his blip of fear. The person standing next to Krieg was one that Wolf knew well. It was someone he had once vowed to kill.
Wolf Who Walks Alone: A Raymond Wolf Mystery Novel Page 18