Yokche:The Nature of Murder

by P. J. Erickson

  Between the two, four, nasty-looking pit bulls were let loose at night. Brian had briefly wondered how Hickman got away with building a place that looked like an armed camp, but then he realized that few people would see it at night. It was nicely camouflaged, seemingly cut out of the woods, the natural vegetation was left in place all the way around so that the fencing was screened by native trees and shrubbery.

  Inside the second fence, more trees as camouflage and inside those were assorted holding tanks, presumably for turtles and any other rescued wildlife that could not be kept at the marine center. Huddled in the middle were the buildings. A rough driveway ran from the gate to the smallest building, probably an office or living quarters. To the right of this was a much bigger building similar to an airplane hangar with no windows and only one small door visible. To the left, a small barn-like structure evidently used for storage of feed and equipment. Next to that, the dog kennels.

  The sketch was rough since Brian had been in street clothes and without equipment but as far as he could tell, there was no weak area in the fencing and there were windows in the back of the office, leaving no blind spot. The windows were blacked out. Myles Hickman could be out here working at night and the place would still appear deserted.

  Brian began planning his attack. No more the mild-mannered traveling salesman. Off came the heavy rimmed glasses, in went the contact lenses. It always tickled Brian’s weird sense of humor when he performed this transformation. He was a Gemini. That’s why he was such a good agent. He thought Superman must have been a Gemini. Getting in and out of that cape all the time. It took a special mindset and perhaps a twisted personality to be totally different characters at will.

  Once you walked on the wild side of international spying you could never be normal again. Life swung wildly between extreme gut-wrenching, terrifying danger to stultifying boredom. Brian grinned. He knew which side of the street his natural talent lay. Off came the baggy, rumpled suit revealing sinewy rock hard muscle as Brian dressed in black pants, boots and turtleneck. A combat knife fitted snugly in the small of his back beneath the turtleneck. This was Brian’s special weapon. Much more useful than a gun. Brian had carried several knives throughout his long career, each one identical to the last. He looked after it like a lover. It was a six-inch, single edge, serrated blade. The guard was stainless steel and the whole thing was beadblasted to prevent glare. He rounded the corners on the handle himself. The sheath was nylon to prevent noise and allow him ease of movement. Brian checked it over carefully before sliding it back into its sheath.

  Action at last. Long familiar tasks were performed with the precision of long habit. Brian checked his nine-millimeter and added extra clips to his pockets. He pulled out a black nylon holdall and began packing methodically. Night vision glasses. Extra ammo. Flashlight. A package of raw meat injected with enough tranquilizer to keep a horse asleep for a week. Wire cutters. And on it went. Brian regretted the need for stealth. He would dearly have loved to lob a few grenades and demolish the place single-handed but those days were over. He took inventory and then set about cleaning out his hotel room. He would not be back here again.

 

  Fifty-three

  Chase left a note for Shanna that he would be at the Indian Reservation most of the day. He fired up the old Ford and gave Jake the nod. Ecstatically, Jake bounced into the cab of the truck and sat in stately silence pretending to observe the world with disdain down his long fuzzy nose throughout the long drive to the Reservation.

  As soon as they arrived and the cab door opened, Jake was off, terrier nose bent to the scent, tail held high and waving fiercely like a predatory shark’s fin above the water mark. Chase yelled after him. “Watch out for gators, you crazy mutt and don’t chase snakes.”

  Joe stood at his threshold, arms folded watching the new arrivals. “That’s a good dog. You ought to hunt him.”

  “Hunt him.” Chase laughed. “If Jake actually caught something that moved, he’d be back here so fast so you wouldn’t even see the dust.

  Joe grinned. “Come on in. We’ve got work to do.”

  Chase stepped into the house and looked around appreciatively. Joe’s house was attractively furnished with rough-hewn furniture, native art and a few scattered throw rugs on the Mexican tile floor. Chase settled into a cowhide chair and stretched his legs. “Um. Good coffee too. You’ll make someone a wonderful wife.”

  Joe ignored him and launched into a detailed description of his adventure with Willie, ending with the animal autopsies, which had revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

  Chase rubbed his temples. This thing was like a Chinese puzzle. After Joe had finished, Chase related the highlights of his trip to St. Augustine with Shanna and then told Joe of Kenny’s death. There was no way to break it easily and when he was done, Joe sat in silence for several minutes. Then he jumped up, grabbed his gun and rushed outside.

  Puzzled, Chase followed. Joe ran to a corner of the house, raised the gun in the air and fired off a round. Then he ran to the next corner and did the same thing. Chase followed wondering if his friend had lost his marbles as Joe fired off a round at each corner of the house. At the last of the four shots the others came running, Willie in the lead. Joe was in the act of tying his gun to a tree. As Willie saw this he stopped dead in his tracks, did an about face and went tearing off in the opposite direction.

  Meanwhile, the others had scattered but soon returned carrying bundles of green wood. They set them in a circle around the house and as they did so Joe followed after them lighting the fire which soon put out enough smoke to set Chase coughing.

  When this was done, Joe sat down cross-legged within the circle. Chase started towards him but stopped when the other Indians shook their heads. Just then an old wizened little man hurried into the circle with Willie and a couple of others in attendance. They carried bowls of something obnoxious-looking with them. The old man offered a bowl to Joe from which he drank. One of the others set a larger pot down and Joe proceeded to wash himself with the contents.

  Willie motioned Chase back into the house. “You are privileged, white man, friend of Joe. There are not many of your kind who get to witness our death ceremonies.”

  Chase was aware of Willie’s politics. Joe had told him that Willie was descended from a family of Red Sticks, fiercely independent Indians who wanted nothing to do with outsiders and still remained aloof, even from the Seminole and Miccosukee, but Chase also knew that Willie had mellowed some in recent years and he liked the guy. Willie also was Joe’s closest friend and by virtue of association would accept Chase.

  “I thought he’d lost it out there. I’d like to hear it if you will share it with me.”

  Willie considered Chase gravely then shrugged. “We Indians believe that the dead journey for four days along the road you call the Milky Way. The boat you call the Big Dipper carries the souls along the Milky Way to the City in the Sky. There are numerous tests and temptations along the way and at the end of the path is a slippery bridge made of logs that stretches across a river which leads to the village of the blessed. It is guarded by a dog who attacks those wishing to cross seeking to dislodge them. Once there, a soul will never return. However, sometimes souls do not start their journey immediately, and get lonely. They sometimes try to steal another soul to keep them company.”

  Willie waved Chase to a chair, indicating it would be a long story. He poured himself some water and then continued. “A violent death is especially harmful, as in this case. Since the dead person is not a relative, Joe will maintain silence for as long he deems necessary. Only Joe can determine the length of his silence. If a woman was mourning the death of someone close, she would maintain silence for four days and the green fire would be kept smoldering that long. The gunfire is to scare away the soul and hurry it on its path. If this is not done, the ghost might try to take the soul of someone here, causing a living person to sicken and die. The liquid you saw Joe drink and bathe in wa
s prepared by our shaman. Anyone who has had anything to do with the dying person must both drink it and bathe in it. This prevents the soul from returning to camp.”

  Willie looked sideways at Chase. “Perhaps we should have the shaman make up a batch for you.”

  Chase had been close enough to that stuff to get a whiff. “Thanks. But I wouldn’t like to intrude on your ceremonies. I had only met the man twice, and the second time he was dead.”

  Willie’s eyes glinted. “You found him dead. The soul will attach to you. You endanger the camp. You must be purified.” He clapped his hands and a young boy appeared at the doorway.

  Shit. There was going to be no getting away from this. That bastard was actually going to treat him like an Indian just to get a good laugh. Chase knew damn well that Willie didn’t believe white men were even human, let alone capable of stirring up souls.

  Sure enough, a few minutes later the shaman showed up at the door with more of the foul stuff and Chase found himself standing meekly while the most disgusting-smelling stuff he had ever encountered was being poured down his throat. He swallowed fast, hoping to avoid the taste. The shaman then dumped the large pot unceremoniously over him. No luxury of discreetly bathing in it allowed for the white guy. Wet, spluttering and smelling like a dead hog that had been ripening, Chase was led outside to join Joe.

  Jake had shown up after all the ruckus to see if his master needed protection but at a distance of about fifty feet he wrinkled his delicate nose and decided his master was in no danger. Jake left the humans to their weird games and went back to his own.

  Chase didn’t know how long they sat in smelly silence but some time later Joe motioned him to get up and the two men returned to the house where they bathed, changed into fresh clothes and took up where they had left off.

  Joe seemed totally unaffected by the smell which still clung to Chase’s nostrils but he threw him a pack of dry cigarettes and waited for Chase to light up and inhale deeply before speaking.

  Joe poured himself some coffee. “Yesterday, when we got back from the wetlands, Willie sent out some of his best trackers. They found more burn sites, all north of here and extending into northern Palm Beach County. All had the same general characteristics. He sent out another team to scour the North Palm Beach, Jupiter area. They are expected back later today. Something weird is going on here man, and it’s killing our people and our lands.” Joe looked a little haggard. Aside from the recent ceremony, he told Chase he had been up all night working. “But damned if I know what it is. I mean it’s pretty obvious what it is, but why? What’s the purpose?”

  Chase reached into his inside pocket. He drew out Kenny’s little leather book and slid it over to Joe. “Perhaps that will tell us. I found it at Kenny’s place. He tried to hide it. I think Kenny knew what was going on and that’s why he’s dead.”

  Joe reached for the book just as Jake came tearing into the house at full throttle, a pack of dogs streaming behind him, a Chihuahua in the lead. Jake skidded to a stop behind Chase’s chair, wrinkling his nose comically. Chase and Joe looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  “Why don’t you take that hot shot macho mutt of yours and go look at one of the storm sites while I go through this. I’ll get Willie to take you before my house is destroyed by every dog on the reservation.” Joe rounded up the other dogs and escorted them out of his house. Jake had the grace to look slightly shamefaced but retained his position behind Chase’s chair.

  Chase wagged a finger at him. “Call yourself a dog, you hairball on legs? I should have left you home. Where’s your balls? A Chihuahua.” Chase shook his head in disgust. Jake hung his head.

  A few moments later, Willie arrived and they set off for the wetlands. Jake peered warily around the door and not seeing the enemy, he perked up and trotted haughtily at Chase’s heels.

  It took Willie and Chase about three hours to tour the closest burn spots and when they returned, Joe was practically doing a war dance with excitement. “You were right, Chase. Kenny knew what they were up to all right. You’re just not gonna believe this.”

  Chase dropped wearily back into the cowhide chair, Jake drooping at his side. “Okay, lay it on me man. I want to put Sophie to rest and get on with my life.”

  “It’s Myles Hickman without a doubt, and just like we thought, he is controlling lightning.” Joe waved the book at Chase in his excitement. “He collects the fulgurites left after the storm and from what Kenny has here in this book, he apparently has devised some method to convert them to graphite. Now it gets interesting.”

  Joe’s eyes gleamed. “Graphite is used to make diamonds, only this stuff is not the usual graphite. To make a diamond, graphite has to be subjected to very high temperatures and pressures. Hickman has been able to bypass this. Unbelievable. The man is a genius. He has devised some kind of super graphite from which he can make diamonds with very little effort and expense. They’re not gem quality diamonds mind, but industrial diamonds are in high demand world-wide.”

  Chase whistled. “Cheap, easily made industrial diamonds. Holy shit. That will put the diamond mines virtually out of business if he refines the process and starts making high quality stones.”

  Joe looked grim. “That motherfucker is killing our people and our lands for money. We’ve got to get him on the reservation, then we can dispense tribal justice.”

  “Hold on.” Chase jumped up. “We haven't got the whole story yet. If Hickman killed Sophie, it doesn’t make sense that he would have done it just because she found out he was making diamonds. We’re missing something. And what about Wilding? It could have been him. We don’t even know where Hickman is. They told me at the Turtle Center that he had gone out of town for a while and Shanna says he doesn’t live at his house anymore. We need to know more. Was there anything else in Kenny’s book?”

  “Yeah. Just a couple of pages. Give me a few minutes and I’ll have it for you.”

  “Sure.” Chase wandered outside for a smoke.

  Four cigarettes later, Chase was watching a couple of Indians heading over to the administrative building where Willie was when a shadow fell over him and he looked up to find Joe standing in the doorway. “Well, what’s the word man?”

  “The word is war.”

  “War?” C’mon man, I thought we had that all sorted out, you can't go off half-cocked….”

  “No, man.” Joe stopped him. “Not Indian war. World-wide war with new weapons.”

  Chase was getting pissed. “What the fuck are you talking about, man? Cut the crap and get back on track. What are you talking about, new weapons?”

  Joe handed Chase Kenny’s book, open to the last page. “Lightning. Myles Hickman is going to start World War III with lightning. That’s what’s going on here. He’s been killing our people as a test for his new weapon. He’s crazy as a bed bug. He can make lightning on a massive scale, destroy whole cities with it. Kenny figured it out.”

  Chase stared at Joe in disbelief. “You’re shitting me.”

  “No, man. It’s all in there and that answers your question. Sophie was probably going to the authorities with that information.”

  Chase read the information Joe passed him and when he looked up again he whistled softly. The two men stared at each other while the import of what they had just read sank in.

  “Jesus Christ.” Chase was shaken. “What do we do? We can't go to the FBI or any of those guys. They wouldn’t believe us. A bunch of bikers and Indians with a Sci-Fi story. Oh god. Poor Sophie.” Chase looked inward and saw Sophie. He could not imagine the depth of her terror as she ran chased by a storm of awesome dimensions that tracked her down with lightning bolts so huge their power would have made Superman tremble. She must have choked on the ozone in her nostrils and the streaming water would have blinded her as she fled, seeking an escape she would never find. The noise would have deafened her and the silver flashes of the lightning strikes would repeat themselves behind her closed eyes, th
robbing, terrifying strobe lights, until eventually one caught up with her.

  Chase choked down his anguish and wondered what other horrors Sophie had endured at the hands of Myles Hickman before he finally killed her. When he looked back up, the killing rage was in him and he saw it reflected back at him from Joe’s eyes.

 

 

  Fifty-four

  Shanna’s throat was dry. She could not remember ever being so thirsty and she was so hot, her hair was damp and sticky and sweat was pouring off her. She stirred restlessly. Something was wrong. She couldn’t seem to move.

  Shanna opened her eyes. She saw a roughhewn plank wall. It was covered in pornographic pictures. They were large and in color and very explicit. They showed different women all undergoing different methods of torture. They all depicted snuff scenes. Shanna knew what they were because a police officer friend of hers had once told her about a case he was working on where a teenaged girl had been abducted by her closest friends and killed making a snuff movie. Shanna stared stupidly, squinting her eyes in disgust. She refused to acknowledge what those pictures probably represented.

  She felt fuzzy, her mind working in slow motion. What kind of dream was this to be having? She realized she didn’t know what day it was or where she was. She shook her head to clear it and jerked sharply when she felt restraints on her arms and feet. The fear grew into terror. She was not dreaming. The fear threatened to black out thought and she fought to control it. She stopped attempting to move and turned her head.

  She was in some kind of shack or log cabin, in a small bedroom. She flexed her arm muscles and then tried to pull her arms down. Nothing clanked. She must be tied by some kind of rope. She was on a bed. She could feel a pillow beneath her head but could not feel any covers. She tucked in her chin and looked down.

  Shanna sucked in her breath in shock. She was naked. How had she got here? What had happened on the way? Why couldn’t she remember? She closed her mouth and fought down the urge to scream. She closed her eyes and shut out this new reality. She started talking to herself in earnest. Get control. You must get control. Think. Right now you are alone. You must put it together while you can. Here it is, girl. You found life on the edge. Now we’ll see what kind of stuff you’re made of. You can handle this. Yin and Yang. What goes up must come down. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Cmn, girl. Work at it. You have a high IQ and I know you're not short of guts. Now you get the chance to prove it to yourself.