by BJ Bourg
“He is! Did he tell you about the time he spent over a week in the marsh with no food or water? His boat broke down.” Mrs. Boudreaux waved her hand around. “That was before they had those carry-around phones. No matter how long he was gone, I knew he was coming home to me.”
Mrs. Boudreaux’s eyes lit up when she spoke about her husband and the deep wrinkles that were etched into her face seemed to grow shallower. As her voice droned on, I absently wondered if counting her wrinkles would offer some clue as to just how old she was. She talked nonstop until Susan entered the room.
“Hey, there, young lady,” Mrs. Boudreaux said. “Would you like to join us? We have all night because the doctor said I won’t be able to see Dexter until the morning.”
Susan smiled and cocked her head. “Thank you so much! I’d love to stay, but, actually, I’ve come to steal my chief away from you. I need him back at the office.”
“I understand. You two run off. I’ll sit here and read until they let me see Dexter.”
I nodded my goodbye and followed Susan out into the parking lot. The warm air felt good on my face. “How is he?”
“Not good. They said he lost a lot of blood.” Susan frowned. “He hasn’t regained consciousness, and they said it’d be a miracle if he survived the night.”
“He’s lucky he survived as long as he did.”
“That’s exactly what the doctor said.”
We rode to the office in silence, and after Susan parked her Charger in the sally port, I paused outside the passenger’s door. “It’s late, so don’t feel like you have to be on time in the morning.”
“You’re not interviewing Randall Rupe without me!”
I shook my head. “I wouldn’t think of it. I’ll hang around the office until you get here.”
“I’ll be here early just the same.”
I removed the revolver from my waistband and flipped the cylinder open. I turned it backward, holding it by the yoke, and extended the handle toward Susan. “Thanks for loaning it to me. I appreciate it—especially since it was your dad’s. That was nice of you.”
“Go ahead and hold onto it, just in case you need it.”
I shook my head. “It’s not necessary, but thanks.”
“What if you need it tonight?” she asked.
I smirked. “Um, we’re not in the city.”
“Bad shit happens here from time to time.”
“Not tonight.” I placed the revolver on the passenger’s seat. “Besides, I have plenty of guns at home.”
“Okay, but be careful.”
I walked into the office and an elderly lady with snow white hair was sitting at Lindsey’s desk completing a crossword puzzle. She smiled. “I’m Marsha. I’m the night dispatcher. And you must be Chief Wolf?”
I nodded, shook her hand. “Just call me Clint.”
“Okay, Clint. If you don’t mind me saying it, you look like you need a shower and some sleep.”
“Is it that bad?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I can smell the marsh rot from here.”
I took a step away from Marsha, suddenly self-conscious. “Alright, I’ll be back in the morning.”
CHAPTER 13
It was nearly midnight when I got home. Achilles gave an excited yelp from his crate and it was then that I remembered having a puppy. I sighed when I saw the mess inside. As soon as I opened the latch, he rushed from the corner of the crate, his over-sized ears flopping up and down as he ran. I dropped to my knees right as he came through the opening and dove headlong into my lap. His soft fur was warm. He wriggled in my arms and licked my face aggressively. I laughed and gently moved him off me and set him onto the floor.
“Whoa there, little man!” I rubbed his neck and muscular shoulders. “I bet you’re hungry.” I walked into the kitchen, and he followed closely behind me, jumping up on my legs and yapping at me. When I opened the refrigerator, he nosed into it and stood on his hind legs, his front paws resting on the bottom shelf. He sniffed the shelves and then looked up at me with eager eyes. His tongue dangled out of his half open mouth. I rubbed his ears, and he chomped his mouth shut several times, as though telling me he was hungry.
“What about some turkey?” I asked. His mouth clamped shut and his ears perked up. “Yeah, you know what I’m saying.” I grabbed the package of turkey I’d purchased upon rolling into town that weekend and coaxed Achilles out of the refrigerator. I put some turkey on a plate and placed it in a corner of the kitchen. He was trampling all over my boots and kicked the plate away in the process. His tail wagged so hard his rear end bounced from side to side. “If I don’t do something about you right now,” I said, “I’ll be dealing with this every time I feed you.”
I tossed the turkey on the counter, and Achilles jumped up on his hind legs and tried to reach the food with his front paws.
“Down,” I said in a firm voice and pulled him off the cabinet.
I led him to the far side of the kitchen and told him to sit. He looked up at me like I was speaking Hebrew. I gently applied pressure on his rump and repeated the command. He was filled with nervous energy, but he sat. I moved my hand from his rump and he popped back up. I repeated the command and pressure on his rump, and only had to do so several times before he caught on. Next, I worked on getting him to stay where he was while I loaded the plate with food, but that was a bit more difficult. I finally gave up and let him break rank as I dumped all of the turkey into the plate.
“Enjoy that while you can,” I said. “Tomorrow I’m bringing you some real dog food and then you won’t be so happy.”
Achilles ignored me as he devoured the soft meat. I grabbed the bowl of water from his crate and set it beside him. He stopped chomping long enough to lap up several gulps of water, but then went right back to eating the turkey.
I cleaned out the dirty crate and then showered and dressed in boxers while Achilles was preoccupied with his food. When I checked on him, he was standing by the back door peering out the lower pane of glass. He looked up when he heard me and bounded toward me. I padded across the wooden floor to let him out—
“Shit,” I said when I stepped in a puddle of warm urine. I shook my head, laughing. “I thought you were potty trained.”
I walked with him out the back door and let him explore the yard while I leaned against the porch railing and enjoyed the cool breeze blowing through the trees. After a few minutes of roaming around, Achilles finally squatted and did his business. When he was done, he kicked grass over it with his rear legs and loped toward the door. I let him in and locked the door behind him.
“Okay, little man, it’s time for bed.”
I walked to the only bedroom in the house that my father-in-law had agreed to rent to me. He offered it up free of charge, but I’d insisted on paying rent. I didn’t like handouts.
I closed the door so Achilles couldn’t tear up the living room furniture and slipped into bed. Achilles tried several times to climb up the side of the bed to get to me, but couldn’t. He finally gave up and retired to the corner of the room where I’d laid out a blanket and pillow. He rested his head on his front paws and stared at me with sad eyes, whining his disappointment.
I flipped the switch on the lamp near my bed and—like I’d done every night for over a year—closed my eyes to try to sleep. As soon as I started to doze off, her lifeless and bloodied face came vividly into view, and I jerked to a seated position, fighting to catch my breath. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I felt around in the dark to get my bearings. When I was sure I had been dreaming, I sat in the dark like I’d done every night for two years and tried to talk myself out of it. And, like I’d done every night for two years, I lost the argument and walked to the kitchen.
I heard Achilles padding along behind me in the dark and felt his fur rubbing against my leg. When I reached the cabinet, I opened the narrow door closest to the refrigerator and grabbed one of the half dozen bottles of vodka that was neatly situated on the shelf. I knew without looking that it was unopened—they
all were. With hands that shook, I twisted the cap off and took a long drink. I then tossed the cap into the sink and took the bottle with me to my bedroom. I heard Achilles’ little body plop to the floor in the corner. He let out a grunt, and I grinned. “It’s okay, buddy. You’ll get used to sleeping alone—we all do.”
I slid into the bed and leaned my back against the headboard, then took another drink from the bottle. A warm feeling started to spread across my chest. I gulped more of the alcohol and my lips began to feel numb. My stomach burned like it usually did when I drank too fast, but I didn’t care. I needed to sleep, and this was the only way I knew how.
CHAPTER 14
Wednesday, June 25
The sun bled through cracks in the shade and stirred me from my sleep. I opened my eyes, but shut them when a piercing pain shot through the right side of my head. I eased my feet to the floor and felt for the bottle of painkillers on the night table. I popped two into my mouth and swallowed them dry. Something wet slid up my shins, and I suddenly remembered Achilles. I pried both eyes open and looked down. His tail slapped the floor and he panted excitedly, as though begging me to go outside and play.
“I wish I could go out and play, but one of us has to work so we can buy food and pay the rent.”
I let Achilles out to do his business, but he seemed more interested in playing, so I crated him and showered for work. Once I was dressed, I let him out the back door again. I sat on the bottom step nursing my headache, as I watched Achilles sniff his way around the clearing. My backyard measured about fifty feet wide by fifty feet deep and was surrounded by thick woods. While it was a little overcast out, the shadows from the tall trees made it seem darker than it was. Achilles made his way to the far edge of the clearing and stared intently into the dense woods. His ears were on high alert and he let out as threatening a bark as was possible for his puppy voice. I laughed. “Easy, killer. It’s probably a rabbit.”
Achilles turned at the sound of my voice, but then redirected his attention to the woods. He barked again, and this time I caught a quick movement in the trees. Squinting through the pain in my skull, I watched the movement until a squirrel came into view on the side of a tree. It scrambled higher and paused to grab at a small branch. “You see, buddy, it’s just a squirrel. No reason to get all worked up.”
I clapped twice, and Achilles turned clumsily and bounded in my direction. I didn’t know what was longer, his tongue or his ears, but it was fun to watch them flop up and down as he ran. He wouldn’t be winning any races, but he was the cutest puppy I’d ever seen. When he reached me, I leaned over and rubbed his ears. He rolled onto his back and made noises that sounded a lot like an excited kid during Christmas.
Abigail would love Achilles. I frowned and stood. Achilles squirmed until he got to his feet and followed me up the steps. I reloaded his bowl of water and fed him more turkey before returning him to his crate. I then went into my closet and punched in the code on my fireproof gun safe. I grabbed a paddle holster for my Beretta nine-millimeter pistol and clipped it onto my waistband. Next, I pulled my pistol from the gun safe and—out of habit—checked to be sure it was loaded. I shoved it in the holster until it locked in place and walked out the door. When I looked back before pulling it shut, I saw Achilles staring through his prison bars with his head cocked to the side. I could’ve sworn he was frowning.
When I arrived at the office, Susan and Melvin’s cars were already parked in the sally port. Jack was in his office and walked out when he heard me greet Lindsey.
“Hey, Chief—I mean Clint,” Jack said. “I stopped by the hospital an hour ago and checked in on Dexter.”
“How is he?”
“He’s hanging tough. The doctor said he’s not out the woods yet—not by a long shot—but they saw a slight improvement overnight that gave them hope.”
I knew better than to get excited just yet. “Was Mrs. Boudreaux still at the hospital?”
“No. A nurse said her daughter came from out of town and brought her home.” Jack handed me a log sheet. “Nothing to pass on from last night. It was quiet except for a few traffic violators.”
I scanned the log. They had made a dozen traffic stops, responded to a complaint of a suspicious man lurking around the gas station, and handled a burglary call. “Anything came of the suspicious subject?”
Jack shook his head. “He was gone by the time William got there.”
“What about the burglary?”
“It was an old warehouse for one of the chemical plants on the river. They said they used to store chemicals there, but it had been mostly abandoned since the oil field slump a few years back.”
“What company?”
“Blackley and Sons Industries. The family’s from Mechant Loup, but their company is in the city.”
“What kind of chemicals did they store there?” I asked.
“Ammonium nitrate mostly.”
“Ammonium nitrate?” My ears perked up. “Are you shitting me? If criminals with bad intentions get their hands on that, we’re in trouble.”
“The owner was sure the place had been cleaned out. He said no chemicals had been left on the premises.”
“I sure hope not.” I handed the log sheet to Lindsey and walked into the break room where Melvin and Susan were talking over coffee. I grabbed a cup of water and sucked it down, grateful my headache was nearly gone. I refilled the cup and sat at the table with Susan and Melvin.
“I’m fixing to head back out on the water,” Melvin said. “With any luck, we’ll recover Mr. Boudreaux’s boat and your guns this morning.”
“Is Beaver going back out there with you today?”
Melvin hesitated, nodded. “If that’s okay with you.”
“It is,” I said. “I wanted to ask him to show you the spot where he found Hays Cain’s arm. I’d like to get a few more boats out this morning and have them scour that entire area. We need to locate his body so we can find out what happened to him.”
“Are we still interviewing Randall Rupe today?” Susan wanted to know.
I nodded. “First thing.”
“Okay,” Susan said, getting up from the table. “I’ll grab the water-boarding kit.”
Melvin and I chuckled and watched as she left the room. Melvin pointed after her. “Did you know she was a professional fighter?”
“You’re shitting me.”
Melvin shook his head. “She’s training for a fight right now. In fact, it’s this weekend.”
“Boxing?” I asked.
“Mixed martial arts. She definitely favors striking and would make a great boxer, but she said there aren’t many female boxers around to compete against. She wants to fight men, but the rules don’t allow it.”
“That’s interesting. I’ve never met a real professional fighter. I mean, I’ve seen them on television, but never actually came face-to-face with one.”
“She’s worried you’ll try to make her quit.”
“Me? Why would she think that?”
“In case you thought it reflected poorly on the police department.”
I laughed. “How on earth would her being able to kick ass reflect poorly on the department? If anything, it shows me that she’s excellent backup and it’ll deter people around here from resisting arrest. And even if I didn’t like it, I can’t tell her what to do in her personal life.”
“Beaver sure tried. She told him she’d quit her job before she’d quit fighting, and he finally backed off.”
“I’m not Beaver.” I stood, downed the last of my water, and tossed the empty cup in the trashcan. “In fact, I’m going watch her fight. Let me know when and where.”
“Saturday night at the bingo hall—eight o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.”
CHAPTER 15
“Why’d you decide to drive?” Susan asked on the way to Randall Rupe’s car dealership.
“You drive crazy. I want to make it to my thirtieth birthday.”
Susan twisted in her se
at to stare at me. “You’re only twenty-nine?”
“Do I look that bad?” I asked.
“I’m sorry,” Susan said. “I shouldn’t have said that. I know you’ve been through a lot and I can relate a little. If you ever need anyone to talk—”
“I don’t, but thanks.” I changed the subject. “So, Melvin tells me you’re a cage fighter.”
Susan nodded slowly. “I hope that isn’t a problem.”
“Hell, no! I want to come to your fight. Where can I get a ticket?”
“Nonsense! I’ll give you one.” She was almost bouncing in her seat. “I won’t lie. I thought it would be a problem. Beaver threatened to fire me if I wouldn’t quit, but when I told him I’d rather fight than be a cop, he finally backed off. Well, he still complained, but he stopped threatening to fire me.”
“Wow. Fighting must be real important to you.”
“It is. My dad used to box, and I fell in love with the sport while watching him fight.” She lifted a hand and tilted her head. “Now, don’t get me wrong. I love being a cop, too—almost as much as fighting. It’s just that I picked up fighting from my dad and, since he’s gone, it’s even more meaningful.”
I was curious how he died, but dared not ask. I didn’t want to be rude and I didn’t want her asking me any questions. I was approaching the bridge along Main that connected Mechant Loup with the rest of the world. When Mayor Malcolm Landry first offered me the job, I wasn’t sure how I felt about living in a town situated at the southernmost tip of a rural parish that had one road in or out. I also didn’t like having to cross a single bridge to get there and had wondered at first what would happen if the bridge broke. Once I was there it didn’t seem so bad. “The dealership is over the bridge, right?”
Susan nodded and pointed to the left. “Take the first street. That’ll take you directly to the showroom where his office is located.”
“Have you been there before?”
“Every five thousand miles. The town buys all of its cars from Randall, and they service them.”