Yokche:The Nature of Murder

by P. J. Erickson

 

  Forty-five

  Dominick paced nervously. Mick watched him. It gave him the jitters. The prick thought he had a slave for life, just for keeping him out of jail on a lousy drug charge. Well the tables had turned now. Mick had a lawyer in his pocket now; complicity in murder was not good for the legal profession. He couldn’t wait until Dominick realized the predicament he was in. You play, you pay. Mick smiled to himself.

  “I did like you said but the oaf was too drunk and that guy is a hell of a fighter. I think he made me so I didn’t want to take him on myself.” Mick was reporting on his trip to Daytona. So far it hadn’t gone well. “Anyway, he picked up a few bruises at least, enough to slow him down some,” Mick sniffed.

  Dominick swung around. “You incompetent moron. The man’s no idiot. I told you to stay out of sight. Now you tell me he knows you're following him around the state. Can't you do anything right?”

  Mick stirred sullenly. Nobody was going to talk to him like that and get away with it. His turn would come. Now would be a good time to give him a shot. “Well, you didn’t tell me that good looking secretary of yours hung around with him neither. What was I supposed to do about her?” Mick looked sly. “I always thought you were shagging her. Guess not huh? Did you know she was the type to do Daytona? I gotta tell you, she looked mighty tasty in them tight jeans and Harley shirt. If it wasn’t for your orders I’d have made sure of that myself.”

  “Shanna?” Dominick stared at Mick. “Shanna was with him?”

  “Yeah. They stayed the night in one of them cabins the campground rents out.” Mick lit up a cigarette and stretched out his legs. He knew Dominick hated tobacco smoke. “Anyways, I figured they was locked in for the night so I found a place to flop and in the morning I tailed them up to St. Augustine. A bunch of guys were riding up so I tagged along with them. I don’t think they made me for tailing them that far.” Mick watched Dominick pacing around. He flicked some ash in the vague direction of a trash bin and then contemplated the end of his cigarette, blowing smoke out slowly. “Ran into a little trouble there though.”

  “Trouble.” What kind of trouble?”

  Mick had Dominick’s attention again. He reached for another beer bottle from the six-pack Dominick had brought in with him, flipping the cap on the floor.

  “Well, I overheard them saying where they were going see, so I thought I’d do a little reconnoitering first, see what I could find out. I left them about thirty minutes out from St. Augustine and took a short cut. “

  “Get on with it. I haven’t got all day.” Dominick looked at his watch for about the seventh time.

  Jesus, what an antsy guy. Mick thought. Dominick could do with some dope. Might make a human of him. Well, if he’s in that much of a hurry I’ll give it to him straight. Mick stubbed out his cigarette in a nearby cup half full of cold coffee. He gave Dominick the details of Kenny’s murder in a matter of fact way, smiling slightly as he watched Dominick’s reaction. In truth, Mick was careful where he was brutal. He liked to slap people around, women and kids and meek little people, but he didn’t like to put himself at risk. He picked his moments and he enjoyed them.

  The hippie wasn’t planned. Mick had been in the store when Kenny caught him and he had scared Mick so bad that Mick had killed him reflexively but he wasn’t going to let Dominick know that. Nor was he going to tell him that he had immediately turned tail and bolted back home. As Mick finished his somewhat edited account, Dominick had at last stopped pacing. He sat bent over, head in his hands, staring at the floor. There was silence for a moment or so. Mick pulled out his knife and cleaned his fingernails. He wondered how much he could squeeze Dominick for.

  Dominick ran his hands through his hair muttering to himself. “She’s got to go. She must know it all. I’ve got to contain it now.’

  “What’s that you say?” Mick was eyeing him suspiciously. Dominick did not appear near enough upset that he was an accomplice to murder. Mick had been sure he would wail and moan and beg Mick to fix the situation. Instead he seemed fixated on this Shanna chick.

  Dominick looked up through his hands. “So you fancied Shanna eh Mick? Well if you want her, she’s yours. I just need one more favor from you.”

  Mick stopped cleaning his nails and started picking at Dominick’s desk with the knife. A truly criminal lawyer, what a surprise. The possibilities were mind boggling. Mick would play along for now. He saw Shanna in his mind’s eye and promptly lost track of any other train of thought. “And what might that be?”

  Dominick eyed Mick’s knife, rhythmically picking out chips from his desk. “Shanna could cause some problems for me in a deal I’m negotiating and now that’s she’s hanging out with this biker, well, she could do some damage. I want you to pick her up and hold her somewhere incommunicado for a while. Maybe this guy will go ape shit looking for her and that will get him out of the way as well. Can you do that?”

  “Sure. No problem.” Mick knew just the place. He was tolerated on the fringes of an outlaw biker gang. They kept a shack, well hidden in the acreage for purposes such as this. Of course, after he was done with Shanna he would have to share. If he let them know ahead of time, he probably wouldn’t get his share. There were risks involved in holding out on the Skulls, but she would be worth it.

  “Good. Let me know when you’ve got her and where. Now get out of here. I’m late for a client.” Dominick moved behind the desk and started acting like a lawyer again.

  Mick slouched towards the door no longer willing to be pushed around by Dominick. He would tell him where to find her all right. What was left of her. Come to think of it, he had made his bones now. This should make him more acceptable to the Skulls. He would get one of those little black patches for his jacket. Things were looking up. Whistling, Mick ambled out of the office.

 

 

  Forty-six

  Myles was whistling happily. The formula was finished. Dominick had completed negotiations with the South Africans and was now only waiting for the money. Myles laughed to himself. The dolt. Did he think that he, Myles Hickman, greatest scientist on the face of the earth, controller of the weather, would be satisfied with some measly krugerands. The man had no vision. His greed made him stupid.

  Myles had it all within his grasp now. All those years of kowtowing to those nasty little people, and Alicia. She would be sorry now. He could be master of the world. Dominick thought he was making diamonds. Hah. Myles wasn’t making diamonds. They were a side product. He was making weapons. He could obliterate anyone or anything at will. He was almost ready to make his demands on Washington. He just needed one more test but he had to be careful. The Indians had found most of his test sites and they were closing in on this one. He couldn’t afford to be found out now.

  Myles had a master plan. There was trouble again in the Middle East. Myles planned to take out the bad guys with his new weapon. Not that he really cared which side he took out, but he’d start with the bad guys. Then he would take the credit and present his fait accompli to Washington. They would see the possibilities. The armed forces would side with him immediately and he would be in control. No one could stop him then. He would take care of Dominick later. Let him scrabble around for the money for now.

  Chuckling, Myles went back to work. Open in front of him on a portable table was an aluminum briefcase. Myles made an adjustment to the complicated looking pop up panel inside the briefcase and rubbed his hands in anticipation. He wiped the sweat off his palms onto his pants, made a few calculations, turned a few dials and pushed a button.

  Instantaneously, a huge bolt of lightning flashed in the sky directly in front of him at a distance of about three miles. Myles had previously marked a circle out there and cleared the ground designating the area. He picked up some powerful infra-red binoculars and watched as bolt after bolt bombarded the same spot. A huge gray thunderhead gathered over the spot looking ominously like an atomic cloud. No rain fell but hail
as big as baseballs pounded the earth. The storm, muffled at this distance, still sounded like a battlefield. From where he stood, Myles saw trees come crashing down. Fire raced over the area consuming everything in its path, fighting for supremacy against the hail that still pounded at the earth.

  Myles cackled with glee. Perfect. He pushed a button and the storm was gone. A serene blue sky hung overhead glowing from a south Florida sun. Only one small area was hung with a pall of smoke. The smell of destruction wafted faintly out from it. Snapping shut the briefcase, Myles packed up his gear and headed out to inspect the results of his test.

 

 

  Forty-seven

  Chase wondered how Shanna’s day was going. He worried about sending her back to work. Odds were someone as sharp as Dominick would know by now that she was involved. He didn’t know what the outcome of that would be but had to trust that Shanna could take care of herself. Chase was at a loose end. He had to wait for Shanna’s report on Dominick. Joe had still not gotten back from the reservation and Annie was tailing someone around. Inactivity was not to be considered. There was a new biker bar opening in downtown West Palm today and they were having a bike contest. All the guys would be there. He ought to put them on notice that they might be needed for a rumble soon. No doubt the place would be full of Rubbies too but that could not be helped.

  Jake lay down forlornly as Chase pulled on his riding boots trying not to look. He felt Jake’s eyes transmitting the expected guilt trip through his back and sighed. “Sorry buddy, not today, but you know, those old squirrels are still out back eating me out of house and home. With the mention of his nemesis “squirrel” Jake was out the doggie door like greased lightning and Chase was able to get the bike out of the back gate without the usual struggle between man and dog.

  They had done a good job downtown closing off the street to traffic. The bikes entered in the competition were lined up in the center of the road and those just ridden there were parked any which way on the sidewalk. It was almost like a miniature Daytona. There was a lot of money outside that bar in row upon row of chrome and steel. Some of those bikes cost fifty thousand dollars. Chase checked out the entries and admired one or two of the restored antiques. For the most part they were Rubbie bikes, bought without thought to cost and ridden rarely, pretty but useless. The bar looked about the same, Chase thought. It was too pretty inside. It was a hell of a big bar though, lot of overhead here.

  Chase managed to get a beer then wandered around looking for a familiar face. Eventually he found a couple of the guys in the far corner.

  “Hey man, pull up a chair.” Tank waved him over.

  “Thanks. I didn’t see your machine outside,” Chase said as he sat down.

  “Nah. I wouldn’t put it near these pretty boy toys.” Tank nodded at the front of the bar screwing up his face in disgust. “Parked it out back with the rest. We paid a kid to keep an eye on them. We just came for the free beer.” Tank roared and the others joined in. “Say, did you hear about Whitey?”

  “No, what?” Chase was only mildly interested, his thoughts elsewhere, his gaze roaming the room.

  “He’s dead man. Funeral’s the day after tomorrow. The whole club is going on the dead man’s run.”

  Chase’s attention snapped back to the group. “Dead? Whitey? Did he go down?”

  Tank shook his head mournfully. “Sort of. Freaky man. He was riding with a couple of the other guys up by Hobe Sound. They said this weird storm came out of nowhere and sort of attached itself to Whitey. He went nuts trying to get out of the way. You ask Don and Pinsky.

  Tank leaned forward frowning and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “They said Whitey ran flat out for while, then started weaving, he did a three sixty and just about stood the bike on end trying to get away. They were riding fairly close but only Whitey was getting rained on. It freaked him out and he burned rubber tearing up the road, lightning striking all around him.” Tank straightened up and took a large gulp of beer before continuing. He shrugged. “Eventually of course, he got hit. The guys said the bolt threw him and the fucking bike about three hundred feet. Slid it right under a truck.” Tank shrugged again. “There wasn’t much left after that of course. Don and Pinsky, they’re still freaked.” Tank scratched his head. “Ain’t never seen nothing like that man. Don’t ever want to. Poor Whitey.

  There’s a wake at the club tomorrow night. We’re charging twenty bucks a head for cover for Estelle and the kids. You in?”

 

  “Of course.” Chase forked over two twenties.

 

  Tank passed the money over to his old lady. “Any news?”

 

  Chase shook his head. The whole club knew of his fight to find out what happened to Sophie and they were doing their own bit, asking questions wherever they were, spreading the word. “No. I was going to ask you the same thing but keep the guys on alert will you Tank? I got a feeling something really nasty is going on and we might need to take care of it.”

  “Sure. We’re ready when you are bro. Any idea what we’re going to be getting into?” Tank waved the waitress over to the table. Talking was thirsty work.

  “No, but it just might have something to do with Whitey’s death as well. We’re going to need some firepower sooner or later. There’s some kind of nut case out there. Here’s what I got so far.” Chase leaned forward and began telling Tank what he knew.

 

  Forty-eight

  Joe and Willie had met up at the reservation and were trekking through the wetlands towards the spot where the latest storm had hit when another one struck about a half a mile in front of them. They saw a shadow cross the sun and a huge storm cloud, heavy and ominous gathered directly ahead. Just one, like the anvil of a tornado cloud, gray and threatening.

  “Look.” Willie had Joe by the arm. “There are no other clouds. If you look behind you the day is beautiful.”

  Joe looked and indeed it was. He turned his attention back to the storm cloud. They couldn’t feel it but they could see ahead of them a wind had sprung up spiraling leaves and grass up into the air like a suction cup. The men started running.

  They hadn’t gone far when they heard the thunder. Joe looked up. “The Breathmaker is angry indeed. Hear how his voice rumbles and rolls and roars overhead. Hurry.” Joe ran, covering ground in long even strides, his warrior’s trot, Willie close on his heels. They had almost reached the outskirts of the storm when they stopped in awe. Lightning bolts bigger than any either man had ever seen pounded the area below the cloud. Wind whipped and thrashed furiously at the trees and bolt after bolt after bolt struck with incredible precision. The noise was terrifying.

  The two men stood transfixed. They were perhaps a hundred feet away and untouched. They watched in disbelief as ball lightning raced in a circle around the perimeter of the storm. Everything within the circle was on fire. Now they could smell burning flesh and hear the terrified cries of the animals as they crashed around seeking to flee the death that reached out its fiery fingers for them. Almost at the same time as the cries subsided, hail came pounding down, huge boulders of ice. The scorched earth sizzled and steamed and the icy anvils shattered and turned into crystal knives, quickly silencing anything left alive. It stopped abruptly, as if a switch had been thrown and there was silence.

  Joe and Willie had sunk to their knees, unable to do anything but watch. Even in the silence of the aftermath they did not move for several minutes. Nothing stirred. The day was beautiful once again. The sun glistened off the raindrops shimmering in the heat but now, the earth in front of them was barren.

  Willie recovered first. “This is how the other areas looked,” he whispered almost to himself. He turned a face drained of color to Joe. “So this is how it happens. Why is such a death being inflicted on our people? For inflicted it must be. This is no natural storm. The shamans must come and decide what to do. This is an evil place.”

  Joe was just as s
haken. The power of nature was formidable but what they had just witnessed was so terrifying that his legs trembled and he forcibly stifled a primeval urge to crash back through the wetlands as far and as fast as he could. Instead, Joe spent a minute in prayer to the Breathmaker, gathering his scientific mind to replace his native superstition.

  “Come on Willie. We must inspect the area while it is fresh to see if I can find out what caused this.” Joe picked up his rifle and headed into the scorched area, silvery lightning balls still dancing across his eyes.

  They trod cautiously around still steaming areas to protect their moccasined feet and warily began a circle around the outer perimeter. The outside edge of the area where the storm had stopped, was indeed a perfect circle. Joe figured it to be about five hundred yards in diameter. It had no ragged edges. The fire simply stopped when it got to the edge of the circle.

  Willie scouted around outside the storm area. He found only some strange looking formations of sand, like miniature bolts of lightning, fused into solid form. Everything was as it should be except that the animals had left. Returning to the circle, Willie joined Joe and the two men gingerly picked their way onto the scorched earth inside the circle.

  Joe grew grim as he saw the fulgurites. He motioned Willie onward. “You go this way around the outside and when we meet we’ll move further in and start another circuit. Look for anything unusual.”

  Willie rolled his eyes. “Unusual, he says.” Muttering to himself, Willie started out, eyes to the ground, knife at hand. He walked as the animals did, on his toes, silently.

  Joe was shocked at the destruction. Charred bodies littered the area. Snakes, birds, a small racoon. The vegetation had been completely consumed. Only the larger trees remained partially burned. In his mind’s eye, Joe watched as five of his people perished in this dreadful manner. He pulled out a deer hide pouch from his jacket and poured in a handful of the scorched earth for later analysis. Willie had told him that in areas where other storms had hit, nothing had ever grown back. The land was useless for man and beast.