The Rebel's Revenge

by Scott Mariani

  But close enough. In a matter of instants the back of the patrol car erupted in a dirty fireball as the gas tank caught light. The two officers inside flung open their doors and dived out to the left and right of the blazing vehicle, scrambling for safety. SWAT troops in military garb spilled from the armoured truck, weapons shouldered and searching for a target. They seemed marginally more in control than their regular cop colleagues, who now started shooting wildly in all directions as if a full-scale attack had been launched on them. A couple of bullets whizzed over Ben’s head and a third smacked into a tree six feet to his left, but if they got him it would be by accident. Nobody seemed to have any idea where the arrow had come from.

  Ben loaded another. Drew it back to full draw, let it catch fire, then let go. It soared towards the yard, went knifing through the pall of black smoke that poured from the burning car, and thunked into the back of the second Dodge. Same result, even more impressive this time as the fuel tank ruptured like a volcano and spewed flame all over the SWAT truck. The troopers scattered for cover and the driver leaped from his cab. They all disappeared from view behind the roiling smoke and heat ripples that distorted the air. Ben could see running figures flitting back and forth. The burp and splutter of radios and hoarse yelling of frightened men could be heard over the crackle of the flames.

  It was total pandemonium, utter confusion. Zero casualties, maximum chaos. They were probably all wishing they’d brought their dogs and helicopters after all.

  Ben smiled to himself at the spectacle. He still had one arrow left, but any more damage would be overkill. He set down Caleb’s bow, gave it a grateful goodbye pat and then snatched up his bag and began skirting through the trees towards the house.

  Chapter 51

  Sheriff Roque was alone in the Heberts’ kitchen, his temporary command centre, watching in slack-jawed stupefaction from the window as fire and explosions turned his carefully-planned sting operation into a chaotic nightmare. His men were in disarray, his radio was frantic, and he had no idea what to do to contain the situation. He was absolutely certain that this Ben Hope must have called in an entire unit of Special Forces crazies to back him up. It was unbelievable.

  ‘Holy shit,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Holy shit.’

  He was so distracted by the awful scene unfolding before his eyes that he never sensed the presence behind him until he felt his revolver slip out of its holster. He whirled round in sudden alarm. His hand instinctively went to his gunbelt and clapped against empty leather.

  ‘You,’ was all he could croak as he saw the fugitive standing there pointing his own Colt .45 at him.

  ‘Thought I’d find you in here, Sheriff. Leading from the rear, like a real commander.’

  Ben leaned back against the kitchen worktop. Just days ago he’d sat in this same cosy room while Caleb diligently did his algebra homework at the table and Tyler cooked up his trademark Gumbo à la Hebert. Now Caleb was a prisoner of the Garrett brothers along with his stepmother and half-brother and -sister, and Tyler was sitting in a jail cell.

  Reflecting on those facts didn’t make Ben very happy. He thumb-cocked the hammer of the ancient Colt and levelled it at the sheriff’s midriff. The gun felt solid and heavy and balanced in his hand. Old-fashioned blued steel and walnut were a far cry from space-age polymer and fancy alloys.

  Ben said, ‘I’d heard that some of you old timers were still using cowboy guns. I had to see it to believe it. Not ready to enter the twentieth century yet, Sheriff?’

  ‘You’re outta your goddamn mind, pointin’ a gun at me,’ Roque blustered.

  ‘And yet here we are,’ Ben said. ‘Live with it.’

  ‘I’ll be damned if this ain’t your handiwork,’ Roque said, motioning at the window. Outside, some cops were still running around in a panic, firing into the trees while others cringed behind whatever cover they could find, waiting for the attack to be over.

  ‘In my line of work we call it a diversion,’ Ben replied. ‘Would you like me to spell that for you?’

  ‘What the hell do you mean, a diversion? Diversion for what?’

  ‘I felt it was appropriate for the two of us to have a private chat,’ Ben said. ‘You see, Sheriff, I’m getting tired of being on the run. I decided it was time for a change, so I’m here to turn myself in.’

  Roque gaped at him and shook his head. ‘All I can say is, Hope, you got a helluva way of doing it.’

  ‘I wanted to surrender to you personally because I know you’re a reasonable man and you wouldn’t do anything like gun down an innocent civilian. That is, if you had a gun.’

  Roque almost laughed. ‘So you’re innocent now?’

  ‘I think you know it, deep down. You’ve got nothing on me, except for a couple of scorched police cars and a few bruised officers, and they brought that on themselves by getting in my way. I didn’t murder Lottie Landreneau. She was my friend. And I’m not in the habit of killing my friends. But I know who did.’

  Roque said nothing.

  ‘Think about it, Sheriff. You saw what happened to the Garretts’ little moonshine setup.’

  Roque wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. His eyes were narrowed into slits like cracks in a granite cliff face and watching Ben guardedly, but thoughtfully. ‘That was you, wasn’t it? I figured as much.’

  ‘And you must have asked yourself why I’d go and do a thing like that,’ Ben said. ‘Doesn’t make sense, does it, unless I had some reason to strike at the three Garrett brothers. Now reduced to two, but that wasn’t strictly my doing. I’d be happy if it had been.’

  ‘The Garretts killed the Landreneau woman. That what you’re sayin’?’

  ‘Wow. No wonder they elected you sheriff. That’s right. That’s what I’m saying. And it strikes me that you don’t appear too surprised. You know what they’re capable of. They’ve been getting away with it for years, and you lot were too chicken to do anything about it. That’s about to change.’

  ‘That a fact?’

  ‘Yes, Sheriff, it is. And there’s more. You won’t like it.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Your deputy, Mason Redbone. He’s in with the Garretts.’

  Roque grimaced. ‘That’s insane.’

  Ben used his free hand to pull up his shirt and show Roque his wound. Roque’s frown deepened when he saw it.

  Ben said, ‘That’s what caused the blood trail you fellows must have been able to follow from Lottie’s house that night. Your pal Mason stuck a stiletto boot knife in me. That’s after he tried to shoot me, using a handgun with the serial numbers filed off. I did ask myself why he would do that. Any thoughts, Sheriff?’

  Roque made no reply. The wild scene outside the window was beginning to settle down, as if the cops had finally realised they were no longer under attack.

  ‘The answer is that Jayce and Seth Garrett own Deputy Redbone,’ Ben said. ‘I was set up to be the stool pigeon for killing Lottie Landreneau, and your guy’s job was to make sure I couldn’t speak out in my defence. Case closed. Except it didn’t quite work out so neatly. Now the Garretts have given Mason another job to do. In case you wondered why Keisha Hebert and the kids aren’t here, it’s because Mason kidnapped them earlier today and delivered them to the Garretts. They’re hostages.’

  Roque had just turned a shade paler. ‘Hold on a darned minute. I got Tyler Hebert in the parish jail and he never said a thing about—’

  ‘Because I told him not to,’ Ben cut in. ‘Better you heard it from me. This situation needs to be dealt with properly.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Don’t waste time with questions, Sheriff. The clock’s ticking. It’s not money the Garretts want in exchange for Keisha and the kids. They want me, because they blame me for what happened to Logan. They’re going to kill them if I don’t stop it. But for that I need your help.’

  ‘You need my help.’

  ‘If I could tackle the Garretts and all the people alone and unarmed with no backup, we wouldn’t be h
aving this conversation. You’d never even have seen me. Just the smoke rising from their island and the two brothers lying hogtied in the street outside your office, with a signed confession stapled to their foreheads.’

  The sheriff stared at Ben as though he was an alien in a space suit. He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe a word of what you’re tellin’ me.’

  ‘Then don’t take my word for it. Let’s hear it from Deputy Redbone. Where is he now?’

  Roque frowned again. ‘That’s the funny thing. He oughtta’ve been the first to get here, after the Tanners reported to us about you and the Heberts.’

  Ben sighed. So it had been the Tanners. ‘But he never called in to say he’d got here.’

  Roque shook his head, frowning even harder. ‘Fact is, I ain’t too sure where he is now.’

  ‘Three guesses. He’s been on the island, drinking beer with his cronies and having a laugh at your expense.’

  ‘I just don’t know, Hope. I just don’t know. This whole business sounds as crazy as a soup sandwich.’

  Ben looked at his watch. ‘Sheriff, the Garretts are arranging for me to be picked up outside the Big Q Motel at nightfall. That’s about five hours from now. I don’t have time to stand around listening to your droll Southern colloquialisms.’

  Roque gave the helpless shrug of a man overloaded with confusion. ‘So what’m I supposed to do?’

  Ben uncocked the revolver, flipped it around butt-forwards and offered it back to the sheriff. Roque hesitated, then took the gun. But he didn’t point it at Ben. A thousand conflicting thoughts seemed to be churning around behind his eyes.

  Ben held out his arms, offering both wrists. He said, ‘Here’s what you do, Sheriff. I’m all yours. Take me back to Villeneuve. The heroic law officer captures the dangerous armed fugitive, single-handed. The crowning moment of your career.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Then you put out a call to Deputy Redbone. Make it sound like everything’s okay. Then we sit tight and wait for him to return to base.’

  ‘Okay, and what next after that? Say for one moment that you’re right about this. He’s gonna confess to kidnap, accessory to murder and colludin’ with criminals, just like pretty please with cherries on top?’

  ‘He’ll talk,’ Ben said. ‘Leave that part to me.’

  Chapter 52

  By mid-afternoon the police convoy was racing back towards Villeneuve amid a chorus of wailing sirens. Waylon Roque’s car led the column as they rolled into town like a victory parade and crammed Ascension Square with noise and activity. Word spread rapidly that the manhunt, having kept the local media buzzing virtually nonstop since the night of the murder, was finally over. The good folks of Clovis Parish could now sleep easy in their beds knowing that the savage killer was about to be put behind bars. Photographers snapped eagerly and spectators thronged up against the police cordon outside the courthouse as the sheriff personally escorted the cuffed prisoner from the back of his patrol car and inside the building. A heavy guard of armed cops crowded the doorway, ready to gun the desperado down should he try to make a last-ditch bid for escape.

  Away from the public hubbub, it was a very different story. Nobody, not even Roque’s deputies, knew that the prisoner was yet to be formally charged or read his rights, because they assumed that the sheriff had already done so when he’d single-handedly managed to overpower and apprehend the desperate criminal. But they could all tell from the sheriff’s odd behaviour that this was a far from conventional arrest. Rather than march the prisoner downstairs to the basement holding facility to be booked, logged into the system, fingerprinted, photographed and then stuck in a cell pending transportation to the Clovis Parish jail, Roque led him through the building and down the corridor to his own office, ushered him inside and closed the door, just the two of them alone together.

  Roque was well known for not always following exact book procedure, but this was unprecedented and just plain bizarre. In the corridor outside the closed office door the bemused Deputy Eli Fontaine said, ‘What’s up with that?’ To which another, Bob Trahan, shook his head and replied, ‘Damned if I have any clue what’s goin’ on, buddy.’

  A minute later, the sheriff poked his head out of the door to say, ‘Eli, I want you to get hold of Mason Redbone for me. Tell him I got a special new assignment I need him to take care of personally, and I want to see him in my office asap.’

  ‘I’ll get right on it, Sheriff.’ Fontaine hesitated. Trying to peek through the gap in the door, he added, ‘Uh, everythin’ okay in there?’

  ‘We’re fine, Eli. Jump to it, will you?’

  Roque closed the door. He turned to Ben, who had taken a seat on the sofa by the window. It sagged in the middle and looked as though it had been slept on many times in its life.

  Ben said, ‘Nice work, Waylon. That should do the trick. Unless Mason’s decided to switch tracks entirely and quit his job without notice.’

  ‘I’m takin’ a hell of a chance on you,’ Roque said. ‘And don’t call me Waylon.’

  ‘You don’t have much choice, Waylon. If I’m right, which I am, this trumped-up manhunt was the biggest and most corrupt abuse of police powers in this parish since you shot Grace Hebert to death. Remember her? You’d best treat me nicely, or I might just decide to tell the world how rotten to the core your department really is.’

  ‘You threatenin’ to sue?’

  ‘Not my style,’ Ben said. ‘But Tyler might. And he’s a pretty good lawyer.’

  Roque pulled a sour face. ‘I get the idea, Hope. But if you’re wrong—’

  ‘Then feel free to book me for auto theft, assaulting officers and damaging police property,’ Ben said. ‘I don’t think wrecking an illegal moonshine plant is against the law, is it? Apart from that, you don’t have a single shred of evidence against me.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Roque said. ‘I wouldn’t get too cocky, if I was you.’

  ‘You can start making reparations by taking these off,’ Ben said, and held out his cuffed wrists. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t hit you.’

  Roque gave a surly grunt, then pulled a ring of keys from his desk drawer and undid the locks on the cuffs.

  ‘Thank you, Waylon.’

  ‘Asshole.’

  Ben leaned back on the sofa. Roque sat at his desk. He took the Colt out of its holster and laid it in front of him, next to an old-fashioned desk intercom system that looked like an instrument panel from the Millennium Falcon. He turned the gun so its barrel was pointing at Ben.

  ‘You still don’t trust me, do you?’ Ben said.

  ‘We’ll see,’ Roque said again.

  Ben closed his eyes and settled in to wait for Mason Redbone. Outwardly he was calm and peaceful, but every tick of the wall clock was like a ball peen hammer tapping a raw nerve inside his brain. He couldn’t stop thinking about Keisha, Caleb, Noah and Trinity. Tyler must be going out of his mind with worry.

  Forty-seven painful, silent minutes had ground by when the intercom beeped. Roque reached out and pressed a button. A voice from the speaker said, ‘Mason Redbone to see you, Sheriff.’

  ‘Sure, send’m right in.’

  ‘Might want to frisk him for concealed weapons,’ Ben said. ‘He’s apt to be tricksy.’

  ‘I know how to handle my own men,’ Roque snapped.

  ‘Do you?’

  There was a knock. The door opened and Deputy Redbone stepped through it, full of confidence. ‘You wanted to see me, Sheriff?’ With the angle of the open door, he couldn’t see Ben.

  ‘Close the door, Mason,’ Roque said.

  Mason closed the door. Then saw Ben sitting there, and the part of his face that wasn’t already mottled purple and blue turned the colour of raw liver. He started backing towards the doorway as if he was about to bolt. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly a few times before he managed to gibber, ‘I don’t … I don’t get it. What in hell’s he doin’ here?’

  Ben stood.

  Roque rose from his chair,
walked around the desk and held out an open palm. ‘Mind if I see your service weapon, Deputy?’

  Mason’s face turned from blood red to snow white. He began to protest loudly, but the expression in Roque’s eyes quickly shut him up. He reluctantly drew the Glock from his holster. For an instant, Ben thought he was about to start shooting. Mason swallowed hard, then handed the gun over.

  Roque laid it on the desk. ‘You wouldn’t be packin’ any more hardware I should know about, Mason? Like a concealed firearm or a boot knife? You know that’s not permitted, right?’

  ‘What in hell’s name is this about, Sheriff?’ Mason protested angrily. Guilt was written all over his face. The Academy Awards would have to wait for another year. ‘I was told you had an assignment for me.’

  ‘What happened to you today?’ Roque asked. His voice was soft, but menacing. ‘We sorta lost track of your whereabouts for a while there.’

  ‘Nothin’. I—’

  Roque took a step closer. ‘Did you pay a visit to Keisha Hebert?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you take her and the kids away in your car?’

  Mason let out a strangled laugh. ‘Oh, come on now, Sheriff, where’d you go gettin’ ideas like that?’

  ‘Did you see Jayce and Seth Garrett today?’

  Mason’s jaw dropped open. He glanced nervously at Ben, then back at Roque, who was advancing towards him like a glacier.

  ‘I truly do not want to believe what this man is allegin’ against you,’ Roque said. ‘But somethin’ about this whole story is beginnin’ to smell bad enough to gag a maggot. I want answers, Mason. Right now, you heah?’

  Mason shuffled back a step, then another, retreating in a little semi-circle that took him nearer the desk.

  Roque’s face had turned harder than gunmetal. ‘Why so nervous, Deputy? You’re sweatin’ like a sinner in church. You got somethin’ to say you best start talkin’, son.’