by Jerry Brown
She rolled up her windows, as if they would provide anything more than momentary protection. That muted the swamp sounds and drew her attention to the thumping of her heart and sucking air. Nothing could be seen outside the path of the headlights. Is there room to turn around at the bridge? She thought. Damn, I can't remember. What if I get stuck. "Don't be an idiot," she said aloud to no one but herself. "It hasn't been raining." Then she thought and answered herself: "It'll still be wet, you're in a swamp, dummy."
Approaching the edge of the bridge she saw areas on either side where she could turn around but both were steep and unpaved. No way I'm leavin' the pavement. She thought. She recalled seeing a more level spot only about fifty feet behind her to the right. The problem was that it was so dark that the tail lights would give relief only if she opened the driver's window and used the left side of the car as a guide. She was not inclined to stick her head out the window. Neither did she like the idea of not being able to see what might be coming up to the right rear of the car. So she stopped and did nothing.
Terror began to take control. She could not go forward. Behind was darkness. She gripped the steering wheel, fighting to control herself. She reacted to the radio only after Bowman's second call. She took three long breaths and held the last one as she grabbed the radio and blurted: "Bowman, I'm at the bridge."
"That much I figured," he answered. "But why the delay. Are you havin' trouble with the car?"
"No, actually, I'm terrified," she said as she began to sob uncontrollably.
"Okay, I'm goin' out the door to my car and I'll be there in no time at all. While I drive, let's just try to talk through this thing. You're goin' to be fine. Your friend is in his den for the night. You're some distance north of him. Okay?"
"Okay," she answered. "Where are you now?"
"I'm just gettin' onto the highway. Is there anywhere to turn around where you are?"
"There's a better place back a few feet."
"Can you see anythin' out the back window?" Bowman asked. She heard the sound of his roaring engine over the radio.
"Nothing but dark," she answered still sobbing, but more in control.
"Okay, put your foot on the brake. Does that help?"
"Some," she answered. "But it's still too dark to see."
"All right, keep your foot on the brake and put the car in reverse. Can you see better now?"
"Yes," she said coming to herself enough to feel embarrassment.
"Okay, then slowly and carefully roll down your left window, keep your foot off the accelerator and try backin'. I'm so close now, I'd be there before anythin' could happen."
"I'm backing. Okay, I'm far enough back to see the turn around. I'm going forward --- Now I'm backing back into the paved road --- Now I'm headed back down the road towards you. Bowman - (silence) - Bowman!" she screamed. "Where are you?"
"I'm at the store on the edge of the road with the motor runnin'."
"Then why did it take so long for you to answer me?" she asked breathlessly.
"To be honest, you startled me and I dropped the mike, but I'm right here and ready to come in if you need me."
"No, I see you. I'm entering the highway right now."
Yvonne drove up quickly and slid her car to a stop alongside his. She jumped out of her car and took the seat next to him. She crossed her arms over her breasts and held her upper arms as she trembled briefly. "Well, I really screwed that up. I've never been so scared in all my life."
"Hey, anyone who's not terrified by this guy isn't thinkin' too clearly."
"You weren't scared."
"No, but I wasn't in the swamp in the dark by myself. Listen, I have the greatest imagination in the world. If I'd been in the same situation, I probably would've been terrified too. Don't kid yourself. If I have to put myself in jeopardy in this thing, I promise you I'll probably be scared to death."
"Yeah, but you wouldn't go crackers and let it stop you. You would do what you had to do, regardless."
"What are you talkin' about. You just did that yourself. I think you're very brave. Now let's finish what we started. You stay right here with the transmitter. As soon as I get back to the cabin, I'll check the monitor an' gage the distance from this point as another cross reference."
"I have a better idea. You stay here and I will go back and check the monitor."
"I've got a problem with that. First off, I made the other distance assessments. For the sake of accuracy, I ought to make this one, also. Then, there's the other consideration..."
"What's that?"
"I left the cabin in a big hurry. My mind was on grabbin' the pistol and gettin' to you as quickly as I could. I left the door to the cabin wide open."
"I've got a good idea. Why don't you go back and check out the cabin and give me a call on the radio when you're ready."
"Yvonne, you know you can be very persuasive."
"Smart ass!" she cracked back.
Once Yvonne returned to the cabin she quickly calmed while drinking a cup of hot chocolate. She did not volunteer to help and took great pleasure in watching Bowman's clumsy attempts at threading a needle. She stifled a chuckle as he, not very deftly, cut away a portion of the stitching on two sides of one of the orange vests. She watched him place an activated transmitter in each of the two slits, then, very carefully and tediously re-stitched them.
She was hoping he would ask her to take over the chore so she could refuse, but he didn't. She had to admit to herself that he had done about as good a job as she could have done, since she wasn't any "great guns" as a seamstress herself. Still, it would have been nice to surprise him with her refusal.
Chapter 44
When Yvonne left the cabin, Bowman felt it was too late to call Baltimore, but he was already one night late and who knew what tomorrow might bring. He punched in a long stream of credit card and telephone numbers. When she answered with a raspy voice, he said cheerfully: "Hi, peaches."
"Don't peaches me. John, you are absolutely incorrigible."
"Annie, now doggone it, that's just not fair."
"I don't want to hear your song and dance. Where are you?"
"I'm on the edge of the swamp."
"Why did I know you were going to say that? Am I correct in my assumption that it's the same swamp where your friend was killed?"
"Yes."
"John, please come back to Baltimore."
"I can't do that, Annie, but there's no reason for you to be upset. I'm in no danger and don't intend to be. All I'm tryin' to do is induce the killer to wear a fishing vest I'm goin' to drop from a boat onto land in his huntin' territory. The vest'll have electronic devices in it. Once he starts wearin' it, I can track him from long distance and direct the deputies to his exact location. If he gets away from them, I'll be able to tell 'em where he is."
"Tell me your killer is incredibly stupid," Annie said.
"No, the more I know about him, the brighter I think he is. It's a pretty sad situation, Annie. I now know that he is a deaf mute and has had an outrageously traumatic life. He lives by scavenging, fishing and trappin'. My vest should be just too temptin' for him to turn down, especially once he sees a very impressive example of mankind wearing one just like it."
"Please, I'm getting sick." Her voice tightened. "How long will all this take?"
"The problem will be in gettin' the vest to him. There's no way I can predict how long that will take. I don't even know for sure that I'm goin' to be able to find him. If I do I'll have to agitate him a little bit to make him drop his guard and accept the vest. But once he starts wearin' it, I'll monitor him through out the day and make spot checks at night until I know his habits, his routine and the extremes of his territory. Then, it's all over but the shoutin'. But that's enough about him, let's talk about us. I'm lonesome. Talk nasty to me."
"Oh no you don't. You wake me in the middle of the night when my mind won't clear. You come up with this innocent, simple plan, then you try to divert my attention. Why is it that I
feel like I'm being had?"
"Baby, you've just been livin' with those yankees too long. You're startin' to get suspicious of everything. We both know that I couldn't put anything over on you, my mind is an open book to you, and I'm mere putty in your hands."
"Give me a break, Sport. I'm not interested in buying any bridges either. I haven't been up here that long."
"It seems too long to me, Annie, but thank goodness it'll all be over soon."
"John, please don't do anything stupid. Not now, not when we have so much to live for, so much hope."
"Annie, I'm every bit as excited about us as you are. There are things I simply must do, but I intend to be extra careful. There's absolutely no reason for you to worry. What you need to be worryin' about is how to get rid of me once you tire of me."
"Then I have nothing whatsoever to worry about."
"That's what I've been tellin' you. Good night, Sweet Peaches."
"John."
"Yes."
"You got by me again, didn't you?"
"Everything I told you was true, Annie," he pleaded.
"Granted, but not the whole truth."
"I'll call you Friday and let you know how things are goin'."
"Call at six o'clock your time. We're going out as a group for dinner."
"That's a date," he answered, relieved that he kept Annie un-centered and avoided close questioning.
Chapter 45
He rose early from a restless sleep, anxious to begin the operation. Bowman adjusted the filled shoulder holster on his left side, then covered it with the second orange vest - the one without the transmitters. He then sprayed himself liberally with insect repellent, placed the strap of the shot gun over his shoulder and carried the fishing equipment and gift vest to the boat.
A foggy haze hung over the water, but not so much that it disturbed his view of landmarks as he motored his way to Manny's Lagoon. The entrance to the circular inlet was about fifty feet wide.
On the landed sides, heavy patches of undergrowth predominated, except for a twenty foot long strip of black mud transformed into a sand bar at the inlet.
He grasped the wide brim of a straw hat with his knees. Unacustomed as he was to wearing caps or hats, he would in this instance, for protection from the sun and to cover the movement of his eyes. His attention would be directed to the north, toward the area where Flint was killed.
He anchored the boat more toward the center of the lagoon to distance himself from shore, to protect himself from attack and to maximize the width of his visual field. This positioning also allowed a view over some of the shorter palmettas dominating the shoreline. The undergrowth now blended, but he knew his senses would become more distinguishing in time.
Content with his positioning, he began the process of throwing and retrieving the hookless lure, constantly shifting the focus of his visual search. He quickly realized he was wearing himself down unnecessarily and resolved to calm himself and switch to a weighted float during the days of waiting that would likely follow.
Mostly he listened, tuning his ears to the sounds of the swamp, reacting to the silence or the sudden flight of birds, while watching intently for any movement.
Initially, he could distinguish few sounds, aside from the noise of his hand slapping his neck or fanning himself to avoid deer flies and mosquitoes. The hiss of the repellant spray became familiar, as well. It pleased him that with the passage of time either his skin was toughening, the repellant was more effective or his attention was less diverted by the pests. He was also aware of an increasing ability to distinguish movements, cries and calls of various swamp critters.
The first two days were uneventful except for his over-sensitized imagination. He reminded himself to be patient, that "Big Ugly" was in his element and, if he was around, he would likely watch from a distance than allow himself to be seen. Bowman decided he must develop some plan to irritate or challenge the guy to avoid a long waiting game.
At midmorning of the third day, a Saturday, he changed his anchorage a little more to the northwest and cast his cork toward the western shoreline. His thoughts were on his recollections of his telephone conversation with Annie on the previous evening when a large dark hawk with a light mottled breast, flapped his wings to light on the lower limb of a tree to the right and front of Bowman. A pair of squirrels engaged in play nearby. In response to the arrival of the hawk, one scampered away to the safety of another large tree. The second kept his ground and defied the hawk, popping his bushy tail and barking at the bird. Bowman studied the hawk's huge talons and sharp beak. He was astonished when the squirrel darted swiftly and positioned itself directly under the limb occupied by the hawk.
Suspecting the acrobatic little animal would soon be lunch, Bowman tried to look away, but found himself entranced. The squirrel barked, but the hawk showed no reaction. After a few minutes, the squirrel moved from beneath the limb, appeared to show no interest in the hawk and to be digging for acorns. But each time the hawk spread its wings to attack, the squirrel instantly scrambled to the safe position beneath the limb.
After the process was repeated three times, the hawk dropped from the limb. It clumsily made two steps toward the squirrel. In response, the squirrel zipped to the left in a close circle, attacking from the right rear. It bit the bird's abdomen behind the right leg and zoomed away. The hawk flew back to the limb at once. The squirrel resumed his position underneath.
Eventually, the hawk left the limb and flew from sight. The two squirrels returned to their play. Bowman delighted at the squirrel's bravery against his large and dangerous adversary. But his concern returned when he scanned distant treetops and saw the hawk return, watching from on high, apparently waiting for the right moment to swoop down in its traditional attack strategy.
Bowman shuddered and considered all he witnessed. He saw parallels to his circumstances, but what were they? Was he the hawk or the squirrel? Don't take chances, he cautioned himself.
His pondering was broken when a white heron squawked and flapped its wings wildly, flushed by some intrusion in the front and left of Bowman. He continued to face the floating cork, but his eyes searched for any movement in the area deserted by the heron. His heart pounded. He felt a sudden need to empty his bladder. After assuring himself he was a safe distance from shore, Bowman willed himself to return his attention to his mission. He glanced at the shotgun lying at his feet and moved his left arm only enough to press against the shouldered holster.
His head faced the direction of his cork, but his eyes and senses were focused on the area from where the bird had flown in alarm. He dared not blink his eyes. He surveyed the area, carefully examining each bush and tree.
Bowman reeled in his line and cast in the direction of the brushy area, continuing to focus on his senses, but his eyes and ears provided no warning signs. He had decided to again reel in his line when a light breeze elevated his caution and flared his heartbeat. An odor, not overpowering - he was too far away for that - but a repugnant, putrid, dank smell more noxious than swamp gas.
Bowman knew instinctively that "Big Ugly" was there, but how could he draw him from concealment. An idea came to him as details of the child's murder rushed through his mind. Hell, it was worth a try. He forced himself to continue slowly reeling in the line. After placing his rod behind him, he cranked the engine, allowing it to idle as he slowly brought in the anchor toward the stern. He then directed the boat farther away from land and returned the engine to idle. Standing with a foot on either side of the middle transom of the boat, he turned his side to the bushy area, unzipped the fly of his jeans and emptied his bladder.
He shook his member longer than necessary to simply remove the residue. "Big Ugly" rose from behind the bush where he had been kneeling, revealed his position and allowed view of his upper body. His face was splotched with filth, his hair knotted and greasy. Bowman watched as the man took a few steps into the clearing. He locked eyes and returned the man's intense stare. Then he lowered his
eyebrows to intensify his challenge.
The man's mouth tightened to a snarl and his eyes filled with hatred. His face knotted in rage. A roar blared from a mouth filled with blackened teeth.
Bowman, still holding himself in his hand, displayed no fear and slowly shook himself twice more. He altered his expression to a derisive smile, refusing to break eye contact. He slowly covered himself, zipped his fly and sat straddle the transom of the boat - elbows on knees and hands on cheeks. Though his heart rate soared, he continued his challenging body language.
A puzzled looked came over "Big Ugly's" face. He quickly looked around as if suddenly realizing he was no longer hidden. Bowman held his stare, watching the man retreat to cover.
Concentrating his sight on the spot where he believed the creature to be concealed, Bowman moved to the stern, steering and operating the boat with his left hand, while positioning the shotgun against his right thigh. He grabbed the Trojan vest with his right hand and slowly turned the boat directly toward the creature's last known position, then turned sharply in the direction of the sandbar, about about fifty yards away.
He heard the crashing of palmetti fronds over the sounds of the motor and knew the man was running on a parallel course behind him. He forced himself to feign calmness and to maintain his slow speed. His biggest concern was getting close enough to shore to be certain he could toss the vest on high ground, yet to avoid running aground in likely shallows near the sandbar.
The black swampy water denied assessment of the depth. When the boat hit a snag the shot gun fell away from Bowman's leg and landed near his feet. He immediately hurled the vest in the direction of his pursuer whose approach was blurred in his peripheral vision from the left and behind him.
Bowman maintained a steady hand on the steering handle and gas control while reaching for the pistol. He gripped it with his right hand as the motor raised itself over the snag. Motoring away, he refused to increase his speed or look back as he passed through the mouth of the inlet.