by Andrew Allan
It wasn’t over...but it was a good start. I didn’t have to worry about ornery Clovis any more.
That one’s for Ilsa. The next one will be for Ken.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
BACK IN TOWN. I found the Lake Butler Hospital and pulled up outside the emergency room entrance. I ran in, grabbed a wheelchair, and loaded the girl into it. I wheeled her back up to the reception desk.
“I found this girl being attacked by a man. She needs help, now,” I said.
They looked at her battered, naked body and started to ask questions but I dashed out of there. As I ran to the car, I wished the girl well.
I was exhausted but electrified, run down and revitalized. This night had almost done me in. My muscles were feeling the burn of excessive action. But, for the first time in many desperate days I was hopeful.
My mind raced as I drove back to Starke. If Teddy had any kind of breakthrough on the middleman, we’d be golden. We could trace the name Clovis Gagnon. Maybe find his home address and go there. He wouldn’t be coming home anytime soon. If he lived alone, we could go in and try to find clues about the men he works with. Maybe I could circle back to the Warden. Tell him I know Gagnon is one of the executioners. Who are the others? Tell me.
The Warden said they came from France. Teddy said they could be a family. That felt right. That meant find more Gagnon’s in the phone book. In search engines. Hunt their French asses down and make them pay.
Find the middleman. Stop them, turn them in, and clear my name. Ilsa’s, too. We needed the middleman to call off the press and the cops. He had to be the one with the power and the influence. Maybe it was Wingart. When he learns the executioners and the middleman are dead or headed to jail he might have the juice to clear us. He sure as hell owed me.
I couldn’t help but feel it was all coming together. Like we had done the high climbing and were now set to glide down and wrap this up. I slashed a man to death not even forty-five minutes ago and I couldn’t help but smile.
I thought about falling into the Rainbow River, letting the cool water wash over me. Sinking down below the surface and floating above the lilting river grass. As I floated, my muscles would untie from their clenched knots. My tendons and veins and arteries would relax back to normal posture. The stress would float out of me and catch the current down river.
I thought of Ilsa. A smile back on her face. Ilsa behind the bar, at the helm of her empire. Only now she’d be hobbling. She could pull it off. For others it might be a handicap. For her, the bum leg just added character on top of character.
I thought of writing again. It had been too long. When extreme circumstances strike, normalcy becomes the ultimate luxury. There is no desire for excess. No striving for more. Just a need for what you had when you had it good. That’s where I was now. I just wanted to see my woman, go home, and do normal things.
As I pulled into the motel, I felt that could happen soon.
A light was on in our room. I could hear the television through the door. I knocked.
“Teddy, it’s me. Walt.”
The door opened and I stepped in excited to tell the news.
Something big and solid smashed me from behind.
I fell onto the corner of one of the double beds and spilled onto the floor. My elbow smashed against the thick, oak leg of the desk. It hurt awful. I grabbed it and turned to get up but a massive boot stomped on my chest and pinned me to the ground.
I looked up and there he was. A big, brawny, brute of a man. Thick fists that looked like they could smash cinderblocks. A barrel chest that stretched the limits of his shirt’s cotton. Menacing arms that looked like they’d been cut by lifting raw steel. A dusting of dark hair coated each arm up to the biceps. These weren’t mirror jock steroid arms. This dude was the real deal. Thick neck, a grooved, stubbled jaw, and impersonal eyes that gleamed like hot dimes in sunshine.
His facial features resembled Clovis’. But, he was older. Family, for sure. Maybe father?
Brain click.
Clovis has used the word ‘père’ in the corpse forest. Fourth grade French class snap back reminded me ‘père’ meant ‘father’. Clovis had been saying something about his daddy. And now, daddy was staring down at me while his scuffed work boot crushed my rib cage and forced air from my lungs.
I hadn’t seen him before, but I recognized the other one slinking into the room behind him. He was one of the men from Ilsa’s house. Same rough exterior, but leaner and meaner. Similar age as Daddy Big Boot. They looked like brothers.
They sneered down at me. Papa put more weight on his foot, on my chest. I grabbed the desk leg with one hand and clutched a bed comforter with the other and waited for my rib cage to crack at any moment.
Where was Teddy?
“Teddy?” I said. It hurt to turn my neck and scan the room.
Papa leaned forward and rested his elbow on his knees. I could barely breathe from the pressure.
“Nous avons quelque chose de spécial pour vous, oiseau insaisissable.” He didn’t say it so much as the words seethed out through his yellow, crooked teeth. His breath was doused with garlic and brine.
He reached down and wrapped his hand around my face. The thumb pressed my right ear while the web of his hand covered my jaw and his long fingers went past my left ear and up into my hair. Massive hands. He squeezed and I had to tense the muscles in my jaw to keep him from snapping it off.
Then he gave me a hard slap that felt more like a punch. I had to shake it off.
“Remy!” he roared as he stood straight again.
Remy, the brother, stepped forward and held out what looked like a pre-twentieth century axe. I’m no expert. But it, like the blade in Clovis’ hand and the tiny hatchet I’d pulled out of his car trunk, looked crafted by a master and deadly beyond belief.
Remy set the business end of the cool blade against my throat. It was so heavy it probably could have decapitated me if he just let go of the handle. No swinging required.
Blade in place, Papa stepped off me and walked towards the door.
Remy spoke in French tinged English, “Rise. You are coming with us.” He grabbed my shirt and pulled me up. Papa kept the blade pressed against my throat the entire time we walked out of the room. He didn’t seem to mind if anybody outside saw what was happening. In fact, a couple of bystanders did see us and did nothing about it. When I made eye contact with one of them, they just moseyed away as if recalling an oven they’d forgotten to turn off.
Remy pushed me over to the same truck in which they’d tried to lock Ilsa and I in back at Crystal River. I had the depressing feeling there were no bikers coming to save the day this time. They opened the doors.
Teddy lay battered inside.
“Teddy!” I said.
Remy and Papa picked me up by the waist of my pants and threw me in the back of the truck. I fell hard against the metal floor, but didn’t dwell on it. Maybe I was used to the beatings. The thick metal doors slammed shut, then locked. A moment later the truck started and began rolling.
“Teddy, you okay? Teddy,” I said.
He was out of it. But, not dead. I could hear him breathing.
I felt awful. Just a kid. And, another person I’d put in danger. If I got through this ordeal alive I was going to have some serious I.O.U.s to pay back.
Man.
Just when I thought I was back in control, everything changed. Instead of breaking the case with Teddy, I now felt like we were being transported to death row, where I would see the executioners do what they do best.
Send a man to his grave.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
I RELAXED AS much as I could during the drive. Why bother trying to break out of the truck? On the off chance that happened, I’d have to leap onto a road and kiss the pavement at sixty miles an hour. That guaranteed at least a few broken bones and a nightmare case of road rash. I’d also have to leave Teddy behind to fend for himself, which I couldn’t do. And, the last thing I wanted to do now tha
t I’d found Remy and Papa was run away from them. No, this was the inevitable conflict we’d spent the last week heading towards. This is what I wanted. And somehow, that emboldened me.
Do or die.
I was either going to stop or kill them.
Or, they were going to...
Let’s think positive. Let’s presume I still had a chance even though all signs read otherwise. Let’s ignore the dire state of my present predicament and think about what survival options may still remain. Imagine the possibilities. Pretty sure I had written that saccharine aspirational line a time or two for commercials. Now, it was time to take my own advice.
Features and benefits. That’s what I dealt in as infomercial scriptwriter. Let the features reveal the benefits...
Feature: They could have easily killed me at the motel with one of their pretty poison filled glass capsules. But, they didn’t. They let me live.
Benefit: I had been given more time. To plan, scheme, rest, and rejuvenate. How any of that would be put to my advantage was still unknown. But, at least I had it. I wasn’t done yet.
Feature: By letting me survive, I might see more of their operation.
Benefit: That will be handy if I escape later on and can’t stop them right away.
The truck hit a pothole and jostled me into the hard metal bench. Teddy rolled over and groaned.
Question – How did they find Teddy? What hive did he stumble into that sent these killer bees into a frenzy? Unanswerable. He’d have to give me the scoop when he woke up.
Back to features and benefits.
Feature: I knew about Clovis. I could lie to them and say we made a deal. I could tell them Clovis was in jail. And, ready to talk. That didn’t seem like much. I’d mention Clovis’ corpse forest as proof. But, I had the terrible feeling they approved of it. Like it was a hobby to keep his killing skills sharp. Instead of collecting baseball cards, little Clovis played with dolls. And, he loved to put them on display. Sickening.
If worse came to worse, I could let them know where to find Clovis’ body if they would let Teddy go.
Benefit: It wouldn’t save my life. But, it would help Teddy. And, my conscience. It was something.
Feature: I had a belt.
Benefit: I could use it to climb, tie someone up, or strangle. Better than nothing.
Feature: My body may be beat to shit, but my mind was still sharp.
Benefit: Sticks and stones may have broken a few of my bones. But, I could still charm and bullshit my way free. Maybe.
It was all about making a connection. They tried to kill me because they were hired to. They didn’t know me. They didn’t care. It was impersonal. It was business. Unfortunately, their business is killing. But if I could forge a common bond with them, then there was a chance I could persuade them into a different deal.
One that let me live.
Lord knows how I’d bond with a pair of psycho French ex-pat killers. But, we’re all human, right? Seemed like a stretch with these guys. But, it was my only chance.
What the hell. I’d spent the last decade plus talking the money out of complete strangers wallets. Maybe I could talk my way out of these strangers murder plans.
The truck slowed, turned, and started to bump around. We had turned off the pavement and onto a dirt road. We were getting close.
No sound from the boys up front. Not surprising. They didn’t seem like the chatty type.
I laid flat and stretched my body, head to toe. My injuries nagged at me, but weren’t debilitating. The stretching loosened me up for any action to come. I might need to act the second they opened that door. In fact, that might be my best bet.
Feature: The metal truck doors. I could let them unlock the doors and kick that heavy metal into their unsuspecting teeth. It would stun at least one of them. Best if I hit smaller Remy. That could knock him back or out. And, despite Papa’s brawn and power, I suspected I could outrun him. That would buy me more time.
Or, would they expect something like that? Sometimes you just gotta go for it.
Teddy started to talk, “Where...what the...”
I crawled over and brought my face close to his.
“Teddy. It’s me, Walt,” I said. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
He looked in the direction of my voice. A few slow blinks and we made eye contact. A moment unsure. Then, recognition.
“Walt?’
“Yes.”
He took a deep breath, rubbed his face, and ran fingers through his hair.
“Man, I screwed up.”
“We’re not out of it yet, bud. We’re in van being driven by the guys who attacked you. They got me, too, when I returned to the motel.”
His clarity returned at an exponential rate. “Did you find anything out?”
“I found the guy in the photo. His name is Clovis Gagnon. And, he’s dead,” I said.
“You...you killed him?”
“It was him or me. And, if it had been me it also would have been a young girl he’d had strung to a tree,” I said.
He tried to process it, but instead looked off to another part of the rumbling truck. His face showed things still weren’t making much sense.
I nudged his shoulder. “Teddy.”
He looked at me.
“What did you find out? And, how did they find you?” I said.
“I’m trying to remember,” he said.
“Did you discover anything at the library? Speak with anyone? Remember, you were going to look for—“
He looked away and said, “What’s that smell?”
I smelled it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Something bitter. Too dark to see...
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
THEY SLAPPED ME awake. Words were spoken. But, emerging to consciousness I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Or who was saying it, or...
My eyes fluttered open to blurred vision. A few blinks and it started to clear. I wanted to rub my eyes but couldn’t move my arms. More blinking and I could start to make out a few of the surrounding details.
I was in a room. It was brown. Wood beams, wood floors, wood walls. All natural cuts. Nothing looked processed. Nothing smoothed down. It was like a hurricane had whipped a forest into the air, cracked everything apart, and it all landed in the shape of this room.
A cabin vibe but not cabin size. This room was much bigger. Like a mess hall or a church bingo facility. It smelled of wood and faintly of smoke. And, it looked more like a workshop than living quarters, with assorted workstations scattered throughout. Each station appeared to serve a different purpose. A massive wooden workbench sprawled through the middle of the room. Metal tools were laid across it. A pair of heavy duty clamping vices perched on the end of it.
I pinpointed the source of the smoke smell - a blast furnace at the side of the room. It showed signs of being used often and for a long time. Close to it stood a worn and scuffed anvil situated atop a thick tree stump that elevated it up to waist level.
I looked past the anvil and saw its output: The wood walls running out from the furnace were covered with swords, axes, hatchets, and blades of every conceivable variety. And, they all had the same professional flair I had seen on the daggers, knives, and sabers used against me over the past several days. So clean and precise were the sword maker’s skills that each gleam was a seductive invitation to butcher. My skin prickled and terror grew inside. Whoever made these was a master.
And the master walked into my line of sight.
It was the one called Remy. As ugly as before, but now clad in a dirty, leather apron and calfskin gloves and holding a large, heavy hammer. He sized me up as he walked over to and then leaned against the big workbench. He rested the hammer on his shoulder and kept staring.
I blinked first. To cover it, I looked around some more. That’s when I saw I was sitting in a wooden, straight back chair with flat armrests. Wide metal cuffs restrained my wrists and ankles. And, I felt something on my head.
�
��Is this...am I in an electric chair?”
I wasn’t sure what the unit of measurement was for a laugh. But, whatever it was, Remy emitted one “laugh” without smiling, then nodded and felt the need to say, “Zzzzap," in benign fashion. Like he was sick of his nagging girlfriend and had just said, “whatever."
I snapped to full consciousness at this revelation. My heart rate increased, my breathing accelerated, and sweat beaded on my brow. Worse had come to worse and I didn’t know how to get out of it. Time to start talking.
“I’m pretty sure there’s been a massive misunderstanding between us,” I said, grasping.
He shook his head.
“Look, Remy. Right? Your name is Remy?”
No response.
“I like what you’ve done with the place. You’re obviously very good at sword making.”
I nodded my head towards the sword wall. He followed my gaze with a casual glance. Like he’d seen it a thousand times before. Big whoop.
“You know, I’ve actually sold swords before. And, I have an eye for quality craftsmanship. I really do. And, never have I ever seen craftsmanship as good as yours. I mean it. I’m not just saying that. It’s truly superb.”
“I know this,” he said.
“I’m sure you do. My question is why haven’t you shared your work with the world,” I said. “You know how much money you could make? I could hook you up with the right people, get those things selling all across the country, like that.” I snapped my finger and raked my wrist against the jagged edge of the metal cuff.
“You can’t do no thing when you are dead,” he said in his French accent. “But, you will learn all about my craftsmanship on the way.”
What I would have done to wipe that shitty sneer off his face with the very hammer he was holding.
“Does that mean you’re not going to electrocute me?” I said, hopeful.