by Sandra Brown
That from a second voice. Dredd didn't respond to it either. He had
arranged it so that Duvall's heavies saw an old man sitting with his
back to them on the end of the pier, feet dangling above the water,
fishing pole in his hand. His plan was for them to figure that the
geezer was hard of hearing.
They didn't venture into the store, where they doubtless thought Gregory
was cowering, waiting for the action to unfold. Instead, they came
toward him along the pier. One, Dredd discerned by his footsteps, was
significantly heavier than the other.
"You must be Dredd."
Dredd didn't move.
"What are you using for bait?"
He estimated they were ten feet away from the end of the pier now Close,
but not close enough.
"Is he deaf or what?" he heard one ask the other in an undertone.
"Hey, old man," the first voice said."We're going fishing. We need to
buy some supplies."
Still Dredd waited, motionless and silent.
"Son of a bitch must be deaf."
"Or else he's ignoring us just to be ornery. Hey, old man! I'm talking
to you."
During his police career, Dredd had frequently relied on human nature to
assist him in doing his job. Homo sapiens acted on ancient impulses,
which made them predictable. Dredd was counting on bullies being unable
to resist a chance to bully.
"Maybe he needs a little prodding," suggested one.
"Yeah," the heavier one chuckled."Maybe he needs prodding."
With the toe of his boot, he nudged the old, deaf fisherman in the spine
just below his ponytail. It wasn't a hard kick, but to his
consternation, the fisherman toppled into the water.
His fishing hat fell off. And so did the gray wig. The Spanishmoss beard
floated away. A Halloween mask stared up at him, except that the slits
for the eyes were empty.
Leaning down for a closer look, he exclaimed, "What the " Dredd reached
from beneath the pier where he'd been hiding and grabbed the guy by the
ankle. Unbalanced, he grabbed at air, but fell into the water.
Dredd's knife cut a clean arc beneath his chin. He was dead before he
got completely wet.
Dredd's outlook was that some people just weren't fit to live among
decent folk. He'd had his fill of the chronic wife beater that night he
answered the domestic violence call. He saw on the guy's wife and kids
the bloody evidence of his violent temper. The bastard hadn't kept his
repeated promises to reform. He was an expensive drain on the system
that routinely jailed him and then released him to abuse his family
again. He was an emotional and physical blight on society and everyone
around him.
Do everybody a favor and pop this son of a bitch now had been Dredd's
thought when he pulled his weapon. For all the grief the incident had
caused him, he didn't regret snuffing the guy. Given the same set of
circumstances, he would do it again.
This guy, now lying limp in his arms, had killed before, and he would
have killed him and Gregory after they had served their purpose.
Dredd had no compunction against striking first. It wouldn't cost him a
second's sleep tonight.
If he lived until tonight.
Taking a deep breath, he dragged the body beneath the surface of the
water with him and secured it to one of the pilings with a grappling
hook. He resurfaced only far enough to breathe through his
"Charlie?
Charlie?"
That's right, dimwit, give away your position with your voice.
Dredd stealthily moved through the water beneath the pier toward the
voice.
"Charlie?" Then, "Oh, Jesus."
Dredd didn't have to guess what had caused the assassin's switch in tone
from mystification to horror. Dredd had been around them long enough to
sense their movements even when they were submerged and unseen. He'd
studied their patterns, observed them in their natural habitat. Hell, he
shared their natural habitat.
Gators.
His pets had spent the winter in semicatatonia, out of sight, not
eating, not doing much of anything except waiting around for the first
day that was sunny enough and warm enough to get their systems
jump-started after months of lethargy. Today was the day. He sensed them
moving with predatory intent through the water toward Charlie's fresh
blood.
Dredd didn't panic. He waited. Waited. Waited.
"Charlie?"
Sheer panic was in the man's voice now. Dredd could read his mind. He
wanted to bolt, to get the fuck out of this spooky place and to hell
with Duvall and finding his wife. But he and Charlie had worked together
for a long time. Next to himself, Charlie was the meanest sumbitch he
knew. And ol' Charlie had practically disappeared before his very eyes.
It was human nature to want to know what had happened to his buddy.
Human nature.
When the guy leaned over to inspect the underside of the pier, Dredd put
all his strength behind a scissors kick that launched him out of the
water with the impetus of a sea monster. The guy outweighed him by
seventy pounds, but surprise gave Dredd a huge advantage He hooked his
hand around the back of the guy's neck and pulled him into the water.
As he fell forward, Dredd's knife pierced his Adam's apple.
When Gregory regained consciousness, he was lying eyeball to eyeball
with a twelve-foot alligator.
Screaming, he scrambled to his feet, banging his head on the iron bed
frame. Pulse pounding, gasping for breath, in a near state of cardiac
arrest, he crawled across the bed on which Dredd had nursed Remy Duvall
only a few days ago.
Once he was on the far side of the room, he peeped beneath the bed to
make certain that the gator he'd seen was a stuffed model and not a
living specimen. He wouldn't put anything past Dredd, even to keeping a
live alligator beneath his bed.
But the menacing eyes were glass. Moderately calmed, Gregory hastily
made his way through the macabre chambers of Dredd's Mercantile.
The table on which Dredd ate his meals was littered with alligator heads
sealed in shiny shellac, and they brought back a disturbing memory,
although it didn't crystallize. Outside, the old man was washing down
the pier with a garden hose.
When he heard Gregory's footfalls on the planks, he turned. His beard
was wet, as were his denim cutoffs."Get your nap out?" he asked
pleasantly.
"What happened? Why was I on the floor behind the bed? I can't remember
... No, wait. I do remember."
The fog inside Gregory's head gradually began to lift."You gave me a Dr.
Pepper. Did you drug me?" Then his memory slammed into him full force.
He spun around and saw the second car parked beside his.
"They're here?" he squealed in panic."Where are they? What did you tell
them?
Why'd you knock me out?"
"Relax, sonny. You didn't miss much. They're gone."
"How'd you get rid of them? What did you tell them?"
"Actually, I didn't have the pleasure of a meeting. Any dialogue they
had, t
hey had with my friend there."
Gregory turned in the direction Dredd indicated, and was startled to see
an effigy of Dredd sitting in a dilapidated rocking chair on the
galerie, wet fishing hat and wig slightly askew atop a Halloween mask
from which hung a Spanish-moss beard.
"I made him a couple years ago to bait a thief," Dredd explained.
"This asshole kept coming in and raiding my store every time I went out
to fish or hunt.
"So I rigged up the dummy and set him adrift in one of my boats.
Caught the guy red-handed and beat him within an inch of his life.
Never came back." He chuckled."I got sorta attached to my friend and
decided to keep him around. He listens when I want some company.
Damned ugly son of a bitch, but no uglier than me, I reckon. He sure
came in handy this morning."
Gregory came around slowly. He looked at the recently scrubbed pier,
looked into the water below it with repugnance, looked at the two
monstrous gators sunning themselves on the far bank, looked at Dredd who
stared back at him with satisfaction and calm defiance.
It was easy to guess the fate of the two men who had accompanied him
here. Gregory swallowed his revulsion, but he supposed he owed Dredd his
life. However, remembering Pinkie Duvall's determination, he knew the
reprieve would be temporary."Duvall will send somebody else."
"Most likely," Dredd replied with a philosophical shrug."That's why
you'd best be on your way."
"What about their car?"
"I'll take care of it."
He didn't elaborate on how he planned to take care of it, but Gregory
was confident that the vehicle was about to disappear permanently.
"I ... Thanks, Dredd."
Dredd expelled a gust of cigarette smoke."You did good, boy. When I see
Basile, I'll be sure and tell him that you made up for your past
mistakes."
Gregory was touched by the old man's commendation, to an embarrassing
degree. Tears came to his eyes, and Dredd must have noticed them because
he too became embarrassed, and that made him cantankerous.
"Well, don't just stand there. After surviving what you've been through
already, Basile would be pissed if I let you get dead or hurt or locked
behind bars. So go on now. Git."
Reflexively Burke reached for Mac Mccuen as he fell."Mac!"
But Mac wasn't going to answer, he was dead. Even knowing that, Burke
continued repeating his name as he lowered him to the floor.
Hearing approaching footsteps, he looked up to see Doug Pat running
along the pier toward the shack."Is he dead?"
"Goddamn it, Doug," Burke said angrily."He didn't have a prayer."
"You wouldn't have either if he'd shot you in the chest from pointblank
range."
Pat knelt down and felt Mac's carotid artery. After a moment, he stood,
moving as though he carried a thousand-pound burden on his back.
He swore softly and dragged his hand down his haggard features.
Then he placed a hand on Burke's shoulder and looked at him with
concern.
"Are you okay?"
"Okay? Jesus, Doug. No, I'm not okay. I just had another of my men shot
before my eyes."
"Mac was going for his gun. It was him or you."
Indeed, Mac had fumbled his handgun from the holster at the small of his
back. It was lying inches from his supine right hand. Despite this
evidence to the contrary, it was hard for Burke to believe that Mccuen
would have shot him in cold blood.
Pat said, "He was dirty. He'd made a deal with Duvall."
"He admitted that much."
"Did he tell you the terms?"
"The cancellation of a fifty-thousand-dollar debt in exchange for
"That's partially right. Actually the deal was the cancellation of his
debt plus a larger share of the profit if he killed you."
"Profit?"
Pat nodded down at Mac."That's the guy you've wanted We've got
indisputable proof that Mccuen has been working for Duvall."
Burke looked at Pat with disbelief."Mac's a joker, a nuisance, a screw
up.
"Part of the act. He was smarter than he let on. He made himself
likable, he performed his duties reasonably well, but he didn't excel He
persisted until he was assigned to Narcotics and Vice. All part of their
plan. He's been Duvall's inside man since he signed on."
"There was always something a little off," Burke mused out loud.
"A cop's salary didn't jibe with Mac's standard of living. I had decided
he was either a damn good gambler or the luckiest bastard I ever met."
"His luck ran out today."
"You say you've got proof of his connection to Duvall's operation?"
"For months Internal Affairs has been conducting a covert investigation.
I'm the only one in the division who knew about it. I knew you were
frustrated by the seeming lack of interest to ferret out the traitor,
but I was sworn to secrecy and couldn't tell you.
Although," he added, "I was tempted to so you wouldn't quit on me.
"Anyway, after months of exhaustive investigation, I.A. traced the
thwarted busts back to Mccuen." Softly, he added, "Including the one
that went south the night Kev was killed."
Burke looked at him sharply.
Pat nodded."That's right. You've wanted the guy who tipped the dealers
of the raid that night and got Kev killed. There's your culprit."
Mistrusting what he'd heard, Burke stared hard into Pat's eyes.
When the words finally sank in, his knees went weak and he leaned
against the wall, then slowly slid down it until he was crouching.
Pat gave him a moment to reflect. Finally, he asked, "You all right?"
"Yeah. Fine." Burke had to clear his throat before he could continue.
"I thought ... I thought I would feel different when I found out who it
was."
"How do you feel?"
"Empty."
They were quiet for a time. Burke noticed that the pool of blood that
had formed beneath Mac's body had stagnated. Soon it would congeal.
So much blood. From Mac. From Kevin.
After a time, he looked up at Pat."If the information Mac supplied to
Duvall kept his drug trade thriving, wasn't he too valuable to squander
by sending after me?"
"Apparently getting you superseded everything else in Duvall's life.
Mac was close to you, someone you might trust to be bringing a message
of goodwill. And Mac was dispensable."
"Because Duvall's resources are unlimited. He's probably already got
another cop to replace Mac."
Pat nodded grimly."You're probably right."
Burke stared down into Mac's death mask and thought about the young
man's annoying habits but undeniable charm, thought about his pretty
young wife, thought about the waste of it all. It made him want to hit
something very hard.
He asked Pat, "How'd you know Mac was coming here this morning?"
"We've been closing in on him, watching his every move. We recently
learned he was in debt to a loan shark named Del Ray Jones."
"I know who he is."
"When Del Ray took Mac to a meeting with Duvall night before last, it
was easy to deduce what was going on."
Burke came to his feet."That's pretty flimsy evidence, Doug. How do you
know Mac wasn't coming here to warn me, or to deliver a message from
Duvall? That's what he told me he was doing."
"He was going for his gun, remember? Would you have rather I waited to
see if he shot you first?"
Burke conceded the point.
"Anyhow," Pat continued, "I knew what Mac had been sent out here to do,
because I spoke to Duvall. I called him this morning and told him that
Mac was blown. Using that cryptic lawyer language that's inadmissible in
court, he implied what Mac's errand would accomplish.
Then he boasted that whether Mac got you or not, he had a backup plan."
"He was bluffing. I spoke to him this morning myself. He's still hungry
for a taste of me. Whenever he comes, whatever form his backup plan
takes, I'll be ready for him."