Gator Aide (Rachel Porter Mysteries)

by Jessica Speart

  “He’ll never know, Hunky. I promise.”

  Five minutes later, I not only had explicit directions to Trenton’s house, but the time he usually arrived home after a morning of hunting. Picking up the sack of ducks along with Hunky’s shotgun, I headed back to my car.

  Hunky watched in stunned silence and then waddled after me. “Hey, wait a minute! Where you going with my stuff?”

  “I never said you’d be getting these back, Hunky. Only that I wouldn’t bring you in on charges. The ducks were illegally shot and are being confiscated. As for the gun, I’m sure Delbart will be glad to retrieve it for you. And try not to poach anymore, because the next time I catch you, I’m taking you in just to screw up your day.”

  I’d at least be able to keep him from killing anything else for a few hours. As for the ducks, I’d leave them at the first shack filled with kids on my way. While Charlie would have fried my rear end for that, my job was to keep ducks from being shot in the first place. At this point, they might as well feed some hungry kids.

  As for my deal with Hunky, I’d never be able to tell Charlie, though I knew he would have done the same thing himself. As with the rest of life, he lived by a double standard: what was fine for him was not okay for me. I intended to change all that.

  I was headed for the outskirts of Gibson, a small town just before Morgan City. With a natural swamp close by, it was Trenton’s kind of place. I was hoping this would be my ticket out of hell. I needed something to get me into Charlie’s good graces and out of permanent duck patrol if I was ever going to make it in my new career. I wasn’t asking for much. Just a break. Where Charlie Hickok was concerned, that was crossing the line. But I was willing to take the risk, even if it meant having to deal with the looming specter of Trenton Treddell. He had unknowingly gotten me into this mess. The least he could do was help get me out.

  A slight breeze brought the distinct smell of swamp water on the air as the rising humidity cooked the odor of muskrat into my clothes. It was early yet. Too early for Trenton to return. I stopped at a local restaurant as my stomach began to growl. I had forgotten what it was like to have three well-balanced meals a day, subsisting on Hickok’s eye-opener of a candy bar and a quart Mason jar filled with iced Coca-Cola. I sat down for a leisurely breakfast.

  Two overly greasy eggs, underdone fatty bacon, and a side of grits later, I was back on the road, vowing to follow Charlie’s example from now on. At least I had a full thermos of coffee. With an erratic schedule that dictated catching a few hours of sleep on the run, I was relying more and more on caffeine these days. Long gone was my devotion to juicers, vitamins, and health food. Even Terri had thrown up his hands in defeat, calling my haphazard lifestyle the “kamikaze beauty technique.”

  Following Hunky’s directions, I pulled off the main blacktop and headed down a narrow dirt road, hitting every hole and bump along the way. A lumbering movement off to the right caught my eye, and I slammed on my brakes to see a nutria scurry by. A small alligator basking in the sun slithered into the canal as my VW spewed up dry, dusty plumes of dirt in its wake. Another five minutes of bone-jarring bounces passed and there was still no sign of human life. I felt sure Hunky had swindled me, even now having a good laugh over the con he had pulled.

  My faith was restored as I rounded a bend and saw the outline of a dilapidated house looming ahead. In bad need of new paint, the one-level ranch had rows of wooden shingles missing. Tape had been stuck on most of the windows, and a Confederate flag was draped across the front door. Parked out front was a vintage pink Cadillac, with tail fins that easily ran the length of my car. Off to the side stood a small wooden shack, home to chickens pecking for bits of grain, and a pot-bellied pig which buried its face in the earth, its nose blowing up tiny dirt devils of dust. A large wading pool was fenced off to the left, holding a multitude of baby gators. It looked like Trenton was an efficient one-man hit team, exploiting the reptile from both ends of its existence. Busy collecting eggs to hatch on his own, he had a steady pool of skins coming in once the gators were grown. All was quiet, with a heavy air of neglect about the house and grounds.

  I knocked at the front door, not expecting an answer. If Trenton were here, he would have made his presence known by now. I tried to peer through the front window, but drapes obscured my view, their dirty cream lining shredded in long, thin strips. Turning around, I followed a trail of parched brown grass back to my car, a thin trickle of sweat running down between my shoulder blades. I resolved to sit there and wait till Trenton returned home.

  Then I caught sight of a woman coming around from the back of the house, moving with the force of a bulldozer picking up speed, her sights set on knocking me down. Her piled-up mound of flaming red hair resembled the muskrat nest on which I’d spent my night. Her body was beyond Rubenesque, with a royal blue top stretched tightly over her chest, the deep V-neck accentuating heaving breasts that pushed forward like twin torpedoes. Black stretch pants seemed grafted onto her skin, outlining every muscle, clump of cellulite, and grainy ounce of fat in excruciating detail. Chanel perfume permeated the air, mixing with the noxious odor of stagnant water and rotting waste. Color-coordinated, her coral lipstick matched her manicured nails, long and sharpened to fine deadly points. From Hunky’s description I knew this to be Dolly Treddell, Trenton’s wife.

  “What do you want here?” Dolly didn’t carry a gun like Marie. She didn’t need to.

  “I’m looking for Trenton Treddell.”

  Dolly planted her legs firmly apart, her hands clenched in fists on her hips.

  “And just what do you want with Trenton?”

  “I’m with Fish and Wildlife. I’d like to talk with him for a few minutes. Is he at home?”

  “Is he at home?” Dolly mocked, her imitation of a Northern accent a strident bray. “No, he ain’t home, and unless you got a legal and dated warrant, I suggest that you trounce yourself right on outta here. We don’t take kindly to no Fish and Game agents in these parts.”

  As tough as Trenton, the woman knew her law. She didn’t flinch as my hand made a calculated move toward my .357.

  “I just want to speak with Mr. Treddell, that’s all. I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

  Pulling at her bra strap to realign a breast, Dolly didn’t see it that way. “If you’re with the government, you ain’t nothing but trouble. I want you off my land right now.”

  She began to roll forward as a Ford Explorer came tearing down the dirt road from behind, its chassis heading straight at us. Determined not to go alone, if that was Trenton’s intention, I threw an arm around Dolly’s neck, pulling her close. The Explorer churned up a geyser of gravel as it slammed on the brakes just before impact. The car door flew open and I found myself face-to-face with Hickok’s Moby Dick. At five feet eleven inches and weighing a solid 180 pounds, Trenton was as tightly built as his airboat. Impeccable in pressed jeans and a blue oxford shirt, he had the relaxed look and deep cocoa tan of a tycoon just back from vacation. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal rock-hard biceps that Popeye would have envied. Broad shoulders and a bodybuilder’s neck led up to a head sporting a mane of shiny silver hair. Steel blue eyes looked out from a face that maintained a neutral expression. The only odd feature on his face was an overly long nose that could have passed for a gator’s snout. He wasn’t at all what I had expected.

  Glancing down, I saw in his hand an illegal shocking machine used to catch fish. Strings of perch and sockalee dangled at his side. Restraining a dangerous desire to laugh, I realized that I had him. The man Charlie Hickok had been after all these years. It was this simple, if I was crazy enough to try and pull it off.

  “Are you Trenton Treddell?”

  Treddell looked as though he hadn’t a care in the world. “That’s me. And may I inquire as to who you are?”

  His voice was as deep, soft, and smooth as an old forties’ matinee idol, throwing me for a loop.

  “I’m Rachel Porter with Fish and Wildlife, and you’re
under arrest for illegally shocking fish.”

  Once in jail, all it would take would be a phone call to Delbart Lumstock to make him a free man. But until then, I had him. It was something even Hickok hadn’t done before.

  Treddell stood waiting for the punch line, until the charge began to sink in. His steel blue eyes turned to two lethal darts that were an icy shade of grey. His hands rounded into fists, the knuckles a bony ridge of threatening projectiles beneath the skin. The nerve under one eye twitched, and the muscles in his neck bunched tautly, thick as cords of rope.

  It was Dolly who broke the silence, pulling back to get a better view of the suicidal woman beside her.

  “You fucking bitch! Who the hell do you think you are? Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”

  She moved toward me with ten coral claws unfurled as I reached for my gun. But Trenton intervened, holding her back before she hurled herself at me.

  “There’s nothing to get upset about, Dolly. She’s just doing her job and wasting her time.”

  I was left with an unsettled feeling as a second passenger stepped out of the van. Gaunt and gnarled as a windblown cypress, he had long, stringy hair straggled in different lengths. It fell below his shoulders to form three distinct girdles of color in a garish rainbow around his head. His ribs protruded through a black tee shirt, while his jeans rested on the bones of his hips. One gaunt arm had an elaborate tattoo of a gator crunching down on a human skull. A tiny gold alligator dangled from one pierced ear. His blackened nails clung to strings of perch and sockalee in both hands, exactly matching Trenton’s catch. As he moved slowly to stand beside Treddell, the three made for the strangest trio I had ever seen.

  Trenton reverted to his former smooth self. “Let me introduce you to Gonzales, my swamp creature.”

  For a fleeting second, I wished I had never sought out Trenton Treddell.

  Gonzales’s eyes flickered toward the road, and I half expected him to bolt, but a stern look from Treddell held him in place.

  Looking askance at my wreck of a car, Trenton motioned toward his own Explorer. “Are we supposed to travel in your vehicle, or would you prefer to take mine?”

  I struggled to hear the question above Dolly’s shriek.

  “You aren’t actually going to let this bitch take you in!”

  Trenton maintained a cool demeanor. “We’ll be back before supper, Dolly. No need to worry.” He held up the strings of fish. “Can these be left for tonight’s meal, or do we need to bring them along?”

  Stunned by his decision to let me bring him in, I wrapped my uncertainty inside a brisk demeanor.

  “We’ll take my car. The fish are evidence.”

  Trenton didn’t blink an eye. “Then I suggest you fold them in a tarp and place them inside the trunk. Slidell’s a long way off, and they’ll have begun to rot by then.”

  There was no menace in his tone, but I felt myself shiver.

  With calm deliberateness, Trenton walked to my car as Gonzales followed, both dropping their fish on the ground as they climbed inside as best they could. Twisting his gaunt body into a fetal position, Gonzales took what there was of a backseat. Trenton folded himself into the front as Dolly watched in disbelief. Rolling up the fish, I tossed them into the trunk and joined the two men inside. We pulled out to a stream of curses as Dolly stood in the middle of the road, shaking her fists in rage.

  “You’re a fool, Trenton Treddell!”

  Her words echoed after us as the house disappeared from view. Trenton gazed out the window in silence. His long silver hair hid his face from my view, camouflaging whatever he was thinking. We were halfway down the dirt road by the time my own stupidity struck me. As I slammed on the brakes, the men turned toward me and stared.

  “Under the circumstances, I think it would be best if I handcuffed you both.”

  In no position to wrestle each man to the ground., I didn’t want to pull my gun after getting this far without it.

  Trenton studied me for a moment in silence. “Agent Porter, if I wanted to escape, don’t you think I would have done so before we stuffed ourselves into this tin can you call a car? I’m coming along with you willingly. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be alive to tell about this day.”

  Trenton had made his point. Starting the car up again, I continued down the road.

  “Why don’t you tell me what the angle is?” I asked. “Just why are you letting me arrest you?”

  Trenton slowly smiled. “Charlie Hickok and I go back a long ways. He’s been working hard to catch me for the last twenty years. He can taste it, he wants it so bad. I don’t mind the game. Sometimes I even enjoy it. But the older that man gets, the more ornery he’s become. He needs to be taught a lesson. Letting you bring me in is the most humiliating thing I could do to Charlie Hickok. It’ll add a notch to your belt, and you’ll owe me one. Besides, Delbart will have us out in time for dinner. Isn’t that right, Gonzales?”

  Gonzales guffawed in the backseat as he slapped a thin thigh. “Dis’ll get ol’ Charlie Hickok good. ‘Wil’ Bill’ I call him. Dat man, he gonna go crazy.”

  Treddell was right. Whether Charlie admitted it or not, this would be a notch in my belt. It was something that Hickok would have to recognize sooner or later and deal with. The arresting officer on Treddell’s file would bear my name, written proof in black and white that would never go away. It would be an event that everyone in the Service would eventually learn of. For better or worse.

  Treddell turned to face me. “Now it’s time for you to answer a question, Agent Porter. What made you decide to come after me?”

  I thought of the flames that had nearly engulfed me. And of Charlie’s black mood ever since.

  “I was in the boat with Hickok a few nights ago.”

  Treddell continued to gaze at me blankly.

  “The night you drove us out of the marsh by setting that fire.”

  Gonzales howled, slapping his thighs in rapid succession as a low chuckle escaped Treddell’s lips.

  “Oh, my. Oh my. This is gonna be good. It’s just a game we play, Agent Porter. I knew Hickok had plenty of time to back out. But I had no idea there was a woman with him.”

  “Would it have made any difference?”

  Trenton caught sight of a baby gator and, holding his two fingers together in the shape of a pistol, pretended to take a potshot.

  “Probably not. So, you came after me for revenge?”

  “No. I came after you to get Charlie Hickok off my back.”

  Treddell pulled a packet of Red Man from his shirt pocket. He delicately lifted a small wad of the chewing tobacco between his thumb and forefinger as if it were a piece of priceless china, examining it for a moment before slipping it behind his bottom lip. A few brown strands fell onto his pants and he picked up one sliver at a time, placing each back in the pouch before throwing it over the seat to Gonzales.

  “How did this game between you and Charlie get started in the first place?” I was counting on Treddell to fill me in the details that Hickok never would.

  Trenton spit a stream of tobacco out the window, taking care not to hit my car.

  “I think it had to do with the forty gators I was skinning a night. But that was years ago when I was a young man. Charlie was new around these parts and he came gunning for me. Thought I’d be as easy as all those other turkeys he’d managed to catch up till then. He didn’t know at the time that he was dealing with the King of the Outlaws.” Trenton attempted to stretch, but there was nowhere for him to move in the tiny front seat. “Then there was the night of our boat race. Since then, it’s been a blood feud between Charlie and me.” Trenton looked over and smiled. “He ever tell you about that one?”

  “Charlie only tells me stories about the ones he caught. Up until recently, I didn’t know there were any that got away.”

  Gonzales fidgeted in the backseat in a futile search to find a comfortable position. “Dat Charlie! He don’t tell de good stories den! Trentone, he got plenty
of dose.”

  Trenton leaned his head out the window. This time a breeze blew the brown wad of tobacco juice back against the side of my car. “It was another one of those nights when Hickok was set on bringing me in. He’d been hearing about my exploits from all the small fry he was catching, and I think his ego was itching. I’d already been pretty busy that night snagging gators, but I still had plenty of hours to go and a lot more killing to do. I heard his boat before I spotted him. But I knew who it was.”

  Gonzales tossed the Red Man back and Trenton took out another wad before folding the pack up and putting it away.

  “He thought he had me this time. We were both in our putt-putt boats and pretty evenly matched. But what Charlie failed to realize is that no one knows this marsh better than me. I grew up here. I know every twist, every turn, and every tree stump there is. I’m like the Vietcong, and Charlie ain’t nothing but another upstart invader. So, I decided to teach him a lesson. I took him for a ride that he’d never forget, showing him the ins and outs of my hometown. He was good. Kept on my tail and never let up. But he started getting a little too smug and stopped looking where he was going. So I let him get real close, almost have a taste of me. Meanwhile, I’m leading him to his doom.” Trenton gave me a sly glance. “Just like the other night. I’m that elephant with the big tusk that Hickok is hankering after, and he wants me real bad. So there I am, heading for a big stump barely sticking out of the water, when I swerve. And Charlie’s wondering why the hell I just veered out of the way. Well, let me tell you, that boat of his went flying up in the air like he’d just been shot out of a cannon. It was better than Smokey and the Bandit. He had a lot of explaining to do, to get himself a new boat after that. I missed him there for a while.”

  Gonzales guffawed, spraying a mist of tobacco juice on the backseat as I tried to picture Hickok flying off into the wild blue yonder.

  “Then you don’t hate Charlie Hickok?”

  “Oh my, no. I consider him one of my best friends. He just doesn’t know it. Without Charlie, I’d never have earned the reputation I have today.”