The Redneck Detective Agency (The Redneck Detective Agency Mystery Series Book 1)

by Phillip Quinn Morris

  He left the boat and waded through some weeds and then out of the water and through the canebrake. He came to the clearing. His wet shoes squished out river water with every stride.

  He jumped across the old locust log and then ran and rolled up onto the platform of the tree house. Thank God. It was there. All on the little crate. The old radio and his cell.

  He grabbed them and hopped back down onto the ground. He picked up the phone. But then he looked up.

  And only then did Rusty see him.

  Twenty feet away right on the other side of the log stood Al. He held a Glock in his right hand. Not pointed at him, but dangling down at arm’s length.

  “Don’t turn on the phone,” Al said.

  Chapter 45

  Rusty kept his eyes right on Al.

  In the bottom of Rusty’s vision, on the ground, on his side of the log, Rusty could see them. Two huge cottonmouths. The one Rusty recently saw and its mate. Yeah, just step right over the log there Al and right down on one of those and get your lower leg nailed with some cottonmouth poison.

  “And why don’t you want me to turn on the phone?” Rusty shrugged. He put the phone in his pocket. He took the radio, put it under his left upper arm and held it there.

  “I want you to go with me to Ecuador?”

  “Why?”

  “I need to do a job there. We go together as business partners, we buy a palm plantation and I operate from there. It’s perfect. It’s providence. I need a cover. You speak Spanish. It’s perfect. Two years, max. My job will be over. You’ll net half a million. I guarantee it.”

  “You stole Elmore’s catfish,” Rusty said. He meant to say—you killed him.

  “Rusty, talking about providence, you’re not going to believe this…

  Then Al spoke in a low, calm tone. He spoke as if he were confessing his life story. He spoke as though he sat on the log with his elbows on his knees, looking down at the ground. But Al stood there, holding the Glock, as if it weren’t really dangling at the end of his right arm.

  The first Christmas after Al’s mother and father divorced, his father came to New York so they could spend the holidays together, for Al’s sake.

  King knew Kate from high school. He heard she now had money and tracked her down. He wanted her to invest in a restaurant. His mother wasn’t interested. But his father was sold on the idea. His father was down to his last hundred grand. He thought it sounded like a sure fire way to get his funds built back up. He gave King almost every last cent he had.

  In Al’s mind, King stole it from him, conned him out of it. Instead of paying the money back, King put it into another restaurant, stalling his father for a couple more years, saying he would get more.

  His father had a weak heart and the stress put him in his grave. His mother was still in love with his father. Her love’s death sent her into a world of alcohol, uppers and downers. It took two years for the destructive lifestyle to decimate her kidneys. Then she died from a ruptured spleen.

  “Why did you tell Gloria your mother was from Bermuda?”

  “I did not want there to be any known connection to Winston County. See, I came here five years ago, to kill Elmore King, for revenge of my parents’ deaths. Yes, Rusty, I have my character flaws. I am not above revenge…”

  When Al tracked Elmore King to Florence, Alabama, he came to the Tennessee Valley five years ago to devise his murder. But Al happened to walk into the Davenport Marina, got one look at Gloria, and become enamored by Elk River life.

  “Ah, the Elk Riviera, Rusty. Then Providence played its hand. It was just one of life’s little serendipitous gifts. I was merely going to kill King, but one fine morning I was out on my dock having his morning coffee and I noticed something going on at the west bank. I got out my telescope and oh, coincidences of coincidences, there was Elmore King standing at the bow of a boat like Washington crossing the Delaware. Two boats, four men. I saw them disappear a huge fish into the water. I deduced what they were doing.”

  “So, you stole the catfish.”

  “Don’t get ahead of my story, Rusty.” For a moment Al looked as though he were going to put the gun away and step across the log right into the two cottonmouths, that were beginning to writhe around. But he stayed put.

  “King stole my father’s money. I would steal King’s catfish. I would torment him a bit. I knew who he was and from his stupid commercials. I knew he was media hungry. I would not only steal his catfish, I would hold it for ransom. I would get my father’s hundred thousand back. That became more important than killing him.”

  “You used the dynamite to stun Ole Blue.”

  “Yes. We do think alike, Rusty.”

  “You kept him in Doc’s old hatchery.”

  “Yes. And I began my negotiations over the phone. He finally said he would pay a hundred thousand.”

  “For a catfish?”

  “Ole Blue was more than a catfish to the Katfish King. It was his ticket to national celebrity. The payoff was bullshit. I suspected it to be. He was stupid enough to show up on a deserted dirt road by himself. First thing he did was pull a .38 revolver on me. I shot him between the eyes with a .44 magnum.”

  “The paper said it was a .45.”

  “I’m not responsible for what the authorities or media reveal to the people.”

  “You set me up. You somehow sent King to see me.”

  Al laughed. “No. Fate, Providence. I did nothing. Rusty we are connected in the spiritual universe. We are kindred spirits.”

  “You killed Compton! You set me how for that one.”

  “No.” Al held up his hands, the pistol still in his right hand. “I swear, I had nothing to do with that. I know nothing about it. Don’t accuse me of that, the same way the authorities accused you of it.”

  “You killed him?

  “I had no motive to kill him. I would never set you up. What? The man was worth sixty million dollars. Even if your wife only stayed married to him a year, she would have gotten a bundle. And Crystal would have eventually gotten part of that. Rusty, I would never take food out of your daughter’s mouth.”

  Bringing Crystal into it gave Rusty the creeps. Al let his arms down, still offhandedly holding the pistol.

  Step over the log. Step over the log. Step right over the log right onto the snakes. They are getting restless.

  Al put his foot up on the log.

  The cottonmouths stirred. One coiled and turned his head back, opened his mouth, showing that trademark whiteness. And Rusty saw the outline of the two sticks of dynamite in the cargo pocket of Al’s shorts.

  “Come with me, Rusty. Help me in Ecuador,” Al said. “You will be such a perfect asset in the world of intrigue. You will fool them all. You come across as such a redneck. But you are a fucking genius. Yes, I said it, Rusty. A fucking genius. It was clever how you grabbed onto the Winston County connection like a pit bull and just wouldn’t let go of the notion. It didn’t bother me until you called Preston for the yearbook.”

  Step across the log your crazy son of a bitch. “I thought we were friends, Al?”

  “We are. That’s why I have a proposition for you, my friend.”

  “Then put away the gun.”

  Al shrugged and stuffed the gun somewhere at the small of his back. Then he reached into a cargo pocket and got out a small black pouch and tossed it at Rusty’s feet. “I must ask you to take one of the pills in the bag.”

  “For what?”

  “So you will forget about me killing King. And so you will not change your mind about going with me to Ecuador and joining forces with me.”

  Rusty didn’t say anything about joining forces with him. “You want to drug and brainwash me?”

  “Oh, Rusty. Our life together will be grand. It will be me, you, and Vivian. After two years in Ecuador we will all go the South of France with Vivian and me. You know, Vivian has a thing for you. We would be very happy there. We would live in this place outside of Nice. Now and then I would have to go o
ff into Europe to do a job, and you could keep Vivian company while I’m gone. And for about five years we will live happily ever after.”

  Rusty knew it. Al possessed some weird designs on him. He had created some kind of rapport. But for clandestine reasons of Al’s own warped making. Rusty asked, “What happens after five years?”

  “Historically, that is how long it takes me to get bored with any one scenario. Perhaps, after five years, I will go my way and you and Vivian come back here to Elk River.”

  Then Al took his foot off the log and stepped back. Shit. For a moment there, Rusty thought Al was going to step right into the cottonmouths.

  “Let’s cut to the chase, Rusty. I have had my eye on you since I came to Elk River. I’ve monitored all your communications since King came to see you. I know you want this. I know this is your destiny.”

  “I don’t think so,” Rusty said, meaning I know so.

  “I must insist you take the pill. Or else it’s this.” Al pulled a plastic box from his cargo pocket. At first, Rusty thought he was going to take out a Crippled Crawfish, that it was some kind of joke. It was no joke. It was a syringe. Al put it back in the plastic box.

  Somehow, Rusty knew what he was up against. With no confirming information at all, he knew Al was one of those guys trained in clandestine hand-to-hand. He was one of those guys who could kill someone silently with a number two pencil. That sort of stuff.

  Running was Rusty’s best option. But he had nowhere to run. He could sprint through the woods, to the end of the island, his terrain, and Al would probably never catch him. Then, it left the question, how fast and good of a swimmer was Al? Rusty didn’t think it was a good idea.

  Rusty was on his own territory. He had to best Al some way with what he had. The cell phone was worthless. Even if he could use it to call for help, he would be left to a showdown with Al first.

  Then Al made a move. He came toward Rusty, stepped right over the log. One of the snakes bit him right below the calf of the right leg.

  Al looked down, fright on his face. He saw the snakes, registered what happened. He reached at the small of his back and pulled out the Glock. He fired two shots at the snakes. All that did was rile them up more. The other snake—its mouth opened grotesquely, probably unhinged its own jaw—nailed him on the same leg right below the knee.

  Rusty backed away from Al, turned to get away from the crazy bastard.

  “Stop!” Al screamed. “I’ll shoot you in the back.”

  Rusty turned. He still had the radio under his arm. Rusty stepped closer to Al. Al had the gun aimed right at Rusty’s chest. With his other hand, he was taking his belt off. Rusty knew for the purpose of making a constriction band.

  “It’s over, Al. You need to get to a doctor.”

  “It’s not over. We’re just shorter on time.” Al put the belt around his leg, right below above the knee and pulled it tight. He got out the syringe and stepped toward Rusty.

  “You take another step, I’ll blow you up,” Rusty said.

  The statement confused Al. He did take another step.

  Rusty turned the radio on full blast. He began running the tuner the gamut of the frequencies.

  Maybe this was the stupidest thing Rusty had ever done. Something his old man used to warn him about: Don’t be playing the radio near the nitro. Don’t be playing the radio near the dynamite. You can set it on fire if you want, but the right frequency wave will make it explode. The truth was--Rusty had never seen a radio set off any dynamite.

  With gun still in hand, Al frantically reached into his cargo pocket and grabbed the dynamite. He tossed the two sticks and caps away from him as hard as he could.

  Thirty feet away, the dynamite exploded in the air. The shock wave hit Rusty. It knocked Al down.

  Rusty should have known it. Don’t ever bet against Rusty’s daddy. Even if he had been dead for twenty-five years.

  Rusty ran toward Al and took the gun from Al’s hand. He stood back from Al, pointing the Glock at him.

  The cottonmouths were gone.

  Al stirred. He moaned. He propped himself up on his elbow. His head bobbed around, like he was trying to rouse himself after a night of heavy drinking. He was not in a coherent state.

  Rusty looked at his leg. It was swollen up worse than Jenny’s were when she was eight and half months pregnant with Crystal.

  Al might not have been in a completely coherent state, but still Rusty said to him, “You shouldn’t have pulled the gun on me. Before that, I might have could have walked away from it all. You should never mess with a river Clay.”

  “I understand completely, Rusty.”

  Chapter 46

  Rusty kept the gun on him. “Where’s your boat?” Rusty asked.

  “Near yours.”

  “You’re going to have to walk on your own.” Rusty wasn’t getting near him.

  Al got to his feet and slowly limped toward the south part of the island. Ten good feet behind him and with gun still in hand, Rusty used his left hand to get out the cellphone and punched Gloria’s number.

  “Gloria. Al tried to abduct me, pulled a gun on me. He’s been bitten twice by two cottonmouths. I’m on Clay Island about to bring him in his own boat. ”

  “Oh, my God! You be careful. I’ll handle things from this end.”

  Rusty clicked off. Al trudged along in a slow, automaton kind of way. Rusty kept the gun pointed right at his back. They got to Al’s boat. The bow had been run up onto ground. Al walked to the bow of the boat and collapsed in it.

  Rust put the phone in his pocket. He pushed the bow until the boat floated freely. Rusty pulled the boat around and hopped in just behind the helm. He started to crank the engine, but looked at Al.

  Al stared at him. He didn’t seem to be in any pain now, but his entire leg and especially lower leg was swelled up to cartoonish proportions. Rusty wondered if in fact it could explode.

  “Aren’t you supposed to cut little x’s on the bite wounds and then get down and suck on it?” Al said in a dead pan sort of way, but it sounded like the punch line to a joke.

  Rusty laughed. “Naw, they don’t do that shit anymore. More people died from having little x’s cut in them than they did the snake bites. We’ll pack you in ice just as soon as we get to the marina. In the meantime, just lower your heart rate down. I know you can do mental shit like that.”

  “That dynamite blast knocked off the electronic balance of my body.”

  “It didn’t do anything for the hearing in my left ear either,” Rusty said.

  Rusty got the Boston Whaler full throttle. He came around the point and made a ninety degree. The marina was still crowded with boats, cars, and people.

  But a lane of open water had been created among the boats. And at the end of that lane, at the water’s edge of the boat ramp, a big ass Dodge Ram pickup was parked.

  This huge bearded man in bib overalls waved Rusty on in. The back of a deputy’s car was right in front of the truck. The blue and red lights were flashing.

  You could always count on Gloria to take care of things.

  Rusty pulled in. Two gargantuan bearded men grabbed Al up and put him in the back of the pickup. Gloria and some man Rusty didn’t know climbed into the back. Two men ran up with four five gallon buckets of ice. The buckets were handed up. Gloria dumped the first bucket—Al was out of Rusty’s line of sight now—onto Al.

  The truck eased forward. The deputy’s car took off, with the truck following.

  Sheriff Barker walked over to Rusty. Rusty stood in the bow of Al’s boat. Rusty extended the gun to the sheriff. “Here’s the gun Al killed Elmore King with. He claimed self-defense.”

  Nolan was about to take it, but pulled his hand back. “Hot damn. Lay it down in the boat. I better call Sammy.”

  Then it hit Rusty. “Where’s Vivian?!”

  “Who?” Nolan asked.

  “Al’s girlfriend. She didn’t come in here in Doc’s old fishing boat with a huge, huge catfish?”

>   “No. I been here for an hour. Some grabblers from Mississippi were causing a commotion.”

  The sheriff got on his cell phone.

  Rusty hopped out of Al’s boat and ran around the place, looking. But if Vivian had come in with Ole Blue, everyone would have known it.

  Rusty ran down the dock—dodging in and out of grabblers—to Gloria’s slip and got into the old wooden Chris-Craft. He got the keys under the passenger cushion. He unmoored her and cranked her up.

  Rusty blasted the horn a few times to urge a couple of boats out of the way. He taxied out of the marina and then opened her up, headed straight for where he had grabbled Old Blue.

  He went almost all the way to the catfish hole, but there was no one or any boat to be seen. He looped the boat full speed and headed back across the river. That’s when he saw the figure. He saw somebody sitting on Al’s dock. Doc Davenport’s old dock. He headed straight for it.

  As he neared he could see the figure all hunkered over. A little closer, he saw it to definitely be Vivian, with her head in her hands and her legs dangling off the end of the dock. And closer still, he saw Doc Davenport’s boat swamped. The bow barely stuck out of the water. The video camera sat on the dock right beside her. The outboard was just under the water, the foot probably resting on the bottom.

  Rusty pulled up and moored the Chris-Craft. He climbed up on the dock.

  Vivian sat there. Every once in a while, she caught her breath between light sobs. She seemed spent, like she had been there crying her eyes out.

  She raised her head up and looked at Rusty. He sat down beside her. “What’s wrong, Vivian?”

  “I’m sorry, Rusty. I’m sorry. I was taking the fish in like I was supposed to and I heard him grunting. Over the outboard I could hear these terrible grunts. I stopped the boat and he was just grunting, almost whining. It sounded like he was a man. It was so pitiful. I couldn’t take it. I thought it was some man that looked like a catfish. I had to let him go. I just had to.”