Rust on the Razor

by Mark Richard Zubro

  Jasper placed the knife against a large zit in the middle of Dennis’s cheek. “Nothing to connect this to,” Jasper said. He inserted the knife and twisted. This time Dennis’s body nearly came off the table, which shuddered and moved several inches. If evil swamp creatures truly existed, they would have fled at the sound of Dennis’s howl of agony.

  Agonizing minutes later, when Jasper got done cleaning and reviving, I could see a half-inch-diameter patch of white in the middle of Dennis’s cheek. Jasper had cut through to the bone. It took quite some time for him to stanch the blood enough so that nothing covered the hole he had made.

  Finally Jasper stood in front of Dennis again. He’d cleaned and washed out towels after each session; twice emptied the dish drainer of accumulated blood. Before he started, everything had to be neat and in place.

  “Now then, you don’t know about Preacher Hollis. He does not like you boys. Course, I don’t either. The saintly little pudge gets up on Sundays and threatens his fellow sinners with hellfire and damnation. I enjoy his sermons. Try never to miss them. Reminds me of Jonathan Edwards and ‘Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.’ I got hold of all of Jonathan’s sermons that have survived. Memorized all of them. Bet that’s a surprise to you, Dennis. Thought I was stupid in school. Wasn’t stupid. Just never cared much for it.

  “Well, our sheriff never did get much below the age of consent with his escapades with women, but I’m afraid our preacher has gone far below the legal age to satisfy his carnal desires. If I had a little girl, I wouldn’t let her go on a field trip with the preacher.”

  “The Preacher Hollis?” I asked. “The one who did so much to out Scott?” I didn’t know whether to believe Jasper or not. If it was true, it gave us a powerful weapon.

  Jasper didn’t answer me. For a few minutes he chuckled to himself or hummed along with the music. Without warning he resumed: “I’ve actually got pictures of our holy preacher damaging the goods. Sheriff just found out.”

  He sighed and looked at me. “You know the problem with everything I’ve told you?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “Unfortunately, I don’t actually know who killed the sheriff. I also have to admit that while I’m good at sneaking around this county and getting information, some of this has come from inside the police department. You just can’t trust anybody these days. However, the main problem is, you’re both going to be dead, and you’re never going to be able to use any of this information.”

  I noted that Dennis seemed more conscious than he had been in a while. At least his eyes followed the movement of the knife carefully. As Jasper swung it back and drove it toward his face again, Dennis jerked back. The sudden movement caused Jasper to miss his aim, but not for the better. No matter where it was supposed to land, I saw the knife start above and to the left of Dennis’s left eye and cut a furrow down and over the eye. Dennis’s subsequent scream raised the hair on the back of my head.

  The spasms of his body, whether voluntary or involuntary, as it tried to get away from this invasion, launched the table forward. Not far, but enough that it hit Jasper’s midsection and caused him to lose his balance and tumble to the floor. Bob struck. I saw his jaws close on Jasper’s tanned calf. The guns on the table clattered to the floor on the far side of the table.

  Jasper whirled around and in seconds had his hands wrapped around the far end of Bob’s tail. Jasper began twirling the snake over his head. He was screaming at the top of his lungs and not paying attention to me. I was glad to hear something more human than the incessant monotone whisper.

  I could now move into the area no longer guarded by the snake on my right. I rolled to my side, tucked my legs under me, and leveraged myself to a crouching position. Jasper faced away from me as he swung the snake. I could maneuver my feet maybe three inches at a time. I moved as silently and as quickly as I could. Jasper twirled suddenly and slammed the snake’s head down on the tabletop. As best I could, I hurled myself at him. The weight of my body propelled him across the cabin. His back and head crashed into the side of the door. His head banged against a protruding hinge and he lay still.

  All this took maybe five seconds.

  I thought about the guns, but it wouldn’t do much good for me to hold them in my manacled hands behind my back while trying to get myself free.

  I turned to Dennis. His head was turned away from me. The snake’s body lay on the floor. Its head was completely smashed. I hopped to Dennis and saw his face. The knife had fallen to the floor. The last cut bled profusely. The initial point of penetration looked deep, but the rest didn’t look as bad. Dennis’s eyelid was bleeding, but I wasn’t sure if the eye itself had been cut. At least he was still breathing.

  I hopped over to the knife, knelt down, and leaned backwards. Sweat poured down my body faster than the rain outside as my still-shackled hands reached down for the knife. It took several tries, and I thought I heard Jasper groan. Finally, I grabbed the knife handle. Fortunately for me, Jasper kept everything in prime condition. The knife was very sharp and quickly cut through my bonds. Unfortunately, Jasper was coming around and my hands were still cuffed and I had no idea where the key was.

  My feet were free when Jasper shook his head groggily. I stepped quickly over, balanced myself carefully, and aimed a kick at his crotch with all the power I could muster. He shrieked nearly as loudly as Dennis. He groaned and arched his body in agony, then pulled himself into a fetal position. I needed him unconscious. Dead would not have bothered me. I aimed a kick at his kidneys, and he flopped onto his back with his hands in front of his running shorts. His head was close enough to the wall. I aimed a kick at it. His skull thunked resoundingly against the wood, and his eyes closed in unconsciousness.

  I glanced at Roy, still eagerly waiting to use his fangs if anybody got too close. He seemed securely in place. I had no experience with poisonous creatures. Trying to kill it could just as easily get me bitten.

  Anal-retentive insane people are good for one thing. In one of the drawers I found sets of keys, each in its own little receptacle, neatly labeled. With my wrists still shackled I couldn’t reach far enough into the drawer to pick up the correct key. I had to dump the contents out, but I managed to do this with some care so they didn’t spill all over. Still, it was good that I remembered what the key looked like. It took painful contortions, and I scraped off large chunks of my wrists before I got the key inserted, turned, and freed myself.

  First, I shackled Jasper with handcuffs and rope. Then I hurried to Dennis. Blood still oozed, especially from the last cut, but I didn’t bother trying to clean the wounds. Infection was the least of my worries. I covered his face with a towel and hoped he would stay unconscious until I got us some help. My watch told me we’d been captive for over three hours.

  I took the car keys from Dennis’s pocket. I wedged the shotgun under his belt and stuffed the handgun into my pants pocket. I didn’t see any other weapons, nor could I waste time looking for them. I didn’t doubt Jasper had an arsenal handy.

  Outside, the rain fell in torrents and the sky was dark. The mud squished under my feet as I carried Dennis through the downpour to the car. While in the cabin I’d dried off some, but I was completely soaked again before I’d walked three feet. The path was more mud and puddles than solid ground. I had to plant each foot carefully in front of me so I wouldn’t slip. Even then, halfway to the car, I almost dropped Dennis. A large tree was in the direction of my fall and stopped me, but I had to go to one knee to keep myself up. As I staggered forward again, a bolt of lightning sheared through the top of a mammoth pine tree about twenty yards ahead.

  While struggling through the downpour, I wondered what to do with Jasper. I remembered the description he’d given of the effect of a bite from a cottonmouth. He was young and strong, so it might take quite a while for the bite to kill him, but even so I was sure that if he didn’t receive prompt medical attention he would die. Not being an anal-retentive loony but a man desperate for escape, I had not cleaned after myse
lf. The knives and keys were as available to him as they had been to me. I figured our safety was more important than his life. I decided to go back to at least throw his means of getting loose into the surrounding swamp. I would get us out of danger, then send help back to him. By the time I eased Dennis into the car and closed the door, I knew what I had to do. I couldn’t just let Jasper die. I took both shotgun and handgun and turned back to the cabin.

  Jasper stood at the edge of sight in the trees. For once I wished I was the neatnik in my relationship with Scott. A little more anal retentiveness and I’d have cleaned away Jasper’s means of freeing himself.

  Jasper raised a hand with a gun in it and came running toward me. I dropped the handgun, grabbed the shotgun, pulled it up, and fired both barrels. The echoes rivaled the thunder for dominance. Jasper disappeared into the foliage. I didn’t know if I’d hit him or not and I didn’t want to take any chances. I grabbed the handgun, jumped in the car, started the engine, and realized I was facing the wrong way. I had neither room nor time to turn around.

  I glanced out the windshield. Jasper emerged from the undergrowth and began running toward us. I threw the engine into first and aimed the car at him. I grabbed the handgun, reached outside the window, and fired two rounds. My ears rang from the noise.

  When he saw the gun, Jasper threw himself onto the ground and rolled into cover. I slammed on the brake and jammed the car into reverse. The car fishtailed in the mud. Jasper’s arm and head appeared around a tree fifteen feet away. He started firing. I tromped my foot down on the accelerator as the sound of gunfire boomed and roared. It’s tough enough to hit something that is standing still, and a moving target is even more difficult. Maybe if I repeated this to myself often enough, it would come true.

  Because I was racing backward, I had to grip the wheel tightly with both hands to keep from flying off the road. I’d never driven backwards so far, so fast, much less in such conditions. Not something a lot of us practice.

  Jasper was now maybe fifty feet away. Of course, a Volkswagen is a mite or two bigger than a person; but large as it was, we were throwing up showers of spray as we bounded over the ruts and potholes, making accuracy even tougher.

  Even if I dared take a hand off the wheel, I hesitated about firing the gun. I had no more ammunition for the shotgun and didn’t know how many rounds I had left in the handgun. I had to assume Jasper had an unlimited supply.

  Using the side and rearview mirrors for guidance made me keep my head further above the protection of the dashboard than I wanted, but there was no helping it; I had to see our path. The VW’s engine was in the back; so except for a tire, which wouldn’t have stopped me at this point, the only vital thing Jasper could hit was my exposed head.

  I was going faster than I should have on the muddy road. Jasper began to sprint toward us. As the tires slipped in the mud, so did Jasper’s footing. He fell twice, and the second time came up limping. Trying to run and limp and shoot made his aim even more inaccurate. Forget this movie crap where they raise their guns and make dead-aim shots after swinging their guns into position. Nevertheless, we weren’t far enough away. The windshield shattered from one of the shots.

  Then his firing abruptly stopped. Was he reloading, or circling around, or planning a trick, or finally being overcome by snake venom? I had no idea.

  I came to the end of the small lane we’d entered last. Finally, there was enough room to maneuver. I swung the car around, rammed the clutch into first, and floored it. The wheels spun in the mud for an agonizing instant. I eased up on the gas pedal. The car rocked back. I gunned the engine again and the car surged forward.

  The only thing I can liken to that journey back to the road is Mr. Toad’s wild ride. I concentrated on holding on to the wheel, seeing through the rain, and not missing any turns. My thoughts swung wildly through anger and vengeance to memories of Scott and my family to moving to an arid desert and thinking I’d kiss every flat inch of the Midwest if I ever got back to Illinois.

  Except for the final turn, we’d taken every right to get in, so now I took every left to get out. I had no idea how far we had to go. Getting here had taken at least forty-five minutes.

  Thunder boomed all around us, and I could see streaks of lightning through the thick foliage. Rain poured in through the broken windshield. The only thing wetter I could imagine would be drowning in the ocean. It was odd driving in the rain without wipers.

  After one sharp turn, for which I had to slow, I thought I saw in the distance a solid gray spot that could have been the highway. Seconds later I realized that it was Jasper in the middle of the road. I hunched down, tried to swerve the car from side to side as much as I dared, yet aim straight toward him. Again his gun boomed amid the rain. He must have hit the front of the car any number of times, but I held on, barely keeping my eyes above the rim of the dashboard. Several shots whizzed through the broken windshield and smashed through the rear window.

  When I was twenty feet from him, Jasper moved off the path and behind a screen of brush. He could simply wait by the side of the road and pour a rain of fire into the car as we passed. I picked up the handgun and aimed it out the front window. Driving forward and gripping the wheel with one hand would have to work. I slowed for an instant. I wrenched the wheel toward the farther side of the road. Water spewed from the tires on the right side of the car. I saw Jasper grinning as he raised his gun. Suddenly I swung the car toward him, accelerated, and began firing. The bushes swayed violently as we rushed past. The car began to swerve. I swung the wheel violently to the left. The car swayed and then rocked back onto the road. I floored it. Gunshots roared next to my ear. I heard them thunking into the car, but we flew on. Unfortunately, now, for the first time, he would have a shot at the engine.

  Gunfire continued behind us. White smoke began to shoot from the rear as I drove on. Seconds later we came to the row of weeping willows that had marked our entrance into the swamp. I plowed through their dangling branches and turned back toward Brinard.

  Dennis woke up a mile or so down the road. He variously screeched and moaned, “I’m going to die! … I’m going to be blind! … God, it hurts! … God, I’m sorry! … Make it stop! … Please, let me die!” I tried to comfort him as best I could, with one hand on the wheel and the other patting and caressing him.

  Mercifully, he passed out again a few minutes before the smoke stopped pouring out of the back of the car. Seconds later the warning lights on the dashboard lit up. I didn’t care if I drove the car with hazard lights brighter than the lightning around us. However, on the next rise, the car began to lose power. Down the next decline we picked up speed, but the next incline was impossible. The car coughed, shuddered, and stopped in the middle of the road.

  Two cars had passed us going the other way; none had caught up and passed us going this way. I got out and hurried to the passenger side. I had no idea what resources Jasper might have. Perhaps even now he and his favorite tank were rumbling toward us. I wasn’t going to feel safe until I was in the middle of some kind of civilization. I opened the door, made sure Dennis was breathing, and carefully lifted him from the car.

  I began to carry Dennis. I was halfway up the next incline when I heard a car engine behind us. I turned. I didn’t know if it would be Jasper in full pursuit or a stranger willing to help. It turned out to be neither. An old man in a straw hat glanced at us once and accelerated over the rise.

  I started forward again. I was almost to the top of the hill when a police car topped the rise in front of us. I saw the brake lights flash on. The car skidded until it was half off the road. Using the shoulder, the driver righted the car, turned around, flipped on the Mars lights, and parked behind us. Cody hurried over.

  “What the hell?” was his only question. Then he saw how badly hurt Dennis was. Quickly he helped me carry him to the backseat of the police car. I flopped into the front. I barely noticed the cool air flowing from the vents. I realized how drenched I was and then noticed that my hand
s and arms were trembling worse than a junkie in need of a fix.

  8

  Despite the humidity, I continued to shiver. We used both the blankets from the trunk on Dennis. I wrapped my arms around myself. Cody put the heat on. We kept the windows open wide enough for fresh air but closed enough to keep out the rain. He radioed ahead so they would be ready for us at the emergency-room entrance when we got to the hospital.

  “How’d you happen to be on the road?” I asked.

  “Violet insisted I at least check the road to the swamp. She can be pretty persuasive. She got worried when you didn’t come back.”

  As we raced toward Brinard, I told him what had happened. I did not relate all the leads Jasper had given us about who might want to kill the sheriff. I did ask, “What’s the story on Jasper’s dad? How could he protect an insane son?”

  “Lots of tolerance for eccentricity in the South.”

  “Violet said the same thing the other night. This isn’t eccentric—this is stark raving, totally, entirely, certifiably nuts.”

  “His dad owns more than half that swamp. Jasper lives there legally. The family was one of the first to settle the county. They’ve got cash and history on their side.”

  Our trip was slowed by the elements. By the time we were halfway to the hospital, Dennis was shivering and sweating. He became conscious enough to begin moaning. If nothing else, the shock and loss of blood could kill him.

  After several miles of silence I asked, “Did the autopsy report come back on the sheriff?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did it say?”

  “He wasn’t killed there. We’ve only identified your fingerprints so far. He had a mild narcotic in his system.”

  “He was given knockout drops?”

  “Probably. Enough of something to make him sleepy and easy to control, happy and goofy.”

  “He died laughing. Good for him. Where was he the night before?”

  “Wife says he left at eleven. He told her he had police business to take care of. She didn’t ask. As sheriff he was always on call, no matter what the hour. If something came up that needed a decision or was a major problem, his orders were to call him in.”