AHMM, January-February 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  "That should be easy to find. All that open land with so few subdivisions.” She sat at her desk and clicked quickly on the keyboard. “That would be in Range 30, Township 32, I imagine. Yes, there it is. Let me show you on the map."

  She led Bubba to a long row of maps spindled on rods. She indicated one. Bubba spread it on the counter. “There it is. Dirt road created to specifications last month. It leads off of a new paved road the Department of Defense built for a research facility at the edge of the bombing range. Half mile road leading to a forty acre block belonging to Timothy Francis Behane."

  "Did he buy the land?"

  "Let me look at the tax records just to be sure, but I don't think so. Seems like it was a family transfer.” Miss Hazel returned to her desk and made the keys clatter. She nodded and said, “As I recollected. It was owned by a Mrs. Mary Deane Behane since 1938, then transferred to Timothy and Michael Behane two years ago. Then to Timothy alone six months ago. Inheritance."

  "Where does it say it was an inheritance?"

  "It doesn't. He did. Mr. Behane's a nice young man, about your age. Dropped in last year to find out what he had to do about the taxes and so forth. He had just retired from the state road department back home."

  "And where would that be, Miss Hazel?"

  "Massachusetts. Here is the old address we used for tax purposes. Here is the new address, county road. Will you be able to find it? I can draw you a map."

  "I think I can find it. I surely thank you for your fine help, as always."

  "You tell that Charles Baird to drop by himself. Not that it isn't always nice to see you, Bubba."

  It was too late to drop in on Timothy Behane, so that would be tomorrow morning's project. He drove back to the office to make some phone calls up North, see what he could find out about the possibility of actual horse consumption in the past.

  The information operator had an M. Behane at the address Miss Hazel had given him. He called and reached a woman who told him quickly that Mickey was at O'Malley's, where he was every day before supper, regardless of what time supper was prepared. A bartender managed to get Mickey away from the dartboard and to the phone.

  "Who is this?"

  "My name is Bubba Simms. I'd like to ask you about Timothy Behane. Is he your brother?"

  "Sure is. What is this about?"

  "I'm a private detective in Florida. I've been asked to find out if your brother ever hurt animals?"

  "Timmy? Never. He worked for the state for thirty years, then he retired. Moved to Florida."

  "Was he a regular hunter, outdoorsman?"

  "Timmy? He used to go paintballing with us sometimes. That's about all the woods he knows. What is this all about?"

  "There is a dispute about a horse trespassing on his land, and he has threatened to eat it.” Bubba could hear the guffaws even as he held the phone away from his ear. He heard Mickey yelling to the bar that Timmy was going to eat a horse.

  Mickey could barely speak when he returned to Bubba. “No way, man. Timmy's pulling someone's leg. He's a retired road grader operator who moved to Florida to live a quiet life. Eat a horse!” He started laughing again.

  "Seriously, Mr. Behane, listen up. Your brother is living in the middle of the woods, carrying a gun. He apparently doesn't look like a nice guy improving his land."

  "Impossible. He calls me every Saturday. When he does, I'll find out what is going on. This is crazy."

  "If you hear from him, call me. Here is my number. I'm going out to see him tomorrow, try to resolve this without the law being involved."

  "Call me tomorrow. I'm here from four till seven or so. Now you have me worried."

  * * * *

  It was before nine when Bubba turned onto the new county road that he'd had no idea existed. The paving was deep black and the stripes bright and clear. No one used this road very much. He found the dirt road that should lead to Timothy Behane's land, but he continued on the paved road. He just had to see where it went. Once he had known where every road in the county went. Now they were everywhere, like grass rhizomes. Just as he passed through a sharp S-curve, there was a chain-link gate across the road, with a small guardhouse behind and to the side. Chain-link fencing, at least ten feet high, topped with razor wire, stretched away from the gate on both sides of the road, deep into the woods. Attached to the gate was a wooden sign with white letters on a blue background: DOD WILDLIFE REFUGE RESEARCH. NO ADMITTANCE.

  Bubba stopped his Bronco a couple of feet from the gate. A soldier in camos, helmet, and rifle stepped out of the guardhouse. Bubba could hear the swoosh of the AC and an oldies rock station before the door shut.

  "Hi there. What is this place?” Bubba said as he climbed out of the Bronco.

  "Please return to your vehicle. No one is allowed entrance."

  "What if I had an appointment?"

  "I would have been notified in advance."

  "Who's in charge of the place?"

  "I am not at liberty to disclose that or anything. Please return to your vehicle and leave."

  "What if I don't want to leave?"

  "You are trespassing on a government facility. Leave or you will be arrested.” The soldier unslung his rifle, then he spoke into a shoulder mic. Bubba shook his head.

  "I don't think so, soldier. I think if your property went all the way to here, then so would your fence. You're on your property, and I'm on county land here. Now, I'm gonna walk over to your fence and stick my business card in it. You give that to whoever your boss is and ask him to call me. I'm just a curious citizen.” Bubba stuck his card in a diamond of the fence, then returned to the Bronco. The soldier took the card while Bubba backed and turned.

  As he drove to Behane's land, Bubba wondered what in the world was going on. A new road in the middle of nowhere and a Department of Defense facility on it. And he had never heard a word about it. What else had happened in the county he didn't know about?

  Bubba stopped the Bronco at the edge of a clearing at the end of the dirt road. An ancient live oak hammock dominated the view. The nearest tree was not the biggest, only four feet in diameter, but it still had a shade cover of over a hundred feet across. This hammock contained over fifteen mature oaks intertwined over the entire knoll. A man would be able to walk for a couple of hundred yards without ever feeling sunlight. Even at the worst of the summer heat, this place would feel cool and comfortable. A brown horse, with a rope around her neck and tied to a branch, was eating grass out in the sun. She looked at Bubba and returned to eating. A bright aluminum trailer was up on blocks. An older pickup was parked under an oak tree. There was a wooden deck with a shower nozzle on a pole next to it. A pump house sat out in the open about fifty feet away from the trailer and the trees. An old fifty-five gallon drum, standing on end, had a wisp of smoke drifting away from it. A cooler sat on a picnic table in the shade beyond the trailer. A plate with food and a fork lay next to it.

  Bubba sat in the truck for a few minutes to let Behane or whoever had been eating have a chance to relax. He finally left the Bronco and stretched.

  "Damn, aren't there any little people in these woods?” A man stepped out from behind one of the bigger oaks off to Bubba's left. He was carrying a rifle. He wore baggy camo pants, boots, and a nearly white T-shirt. A wild, scraggly beard covered most of his lower face.

  "Well, Timothy Behane, you might know more about the little people than us rednecks."

  "That's true, if me dear mother was correct. But you are the second huge fellow to come trespassing on my land in the last two days. Can't be a coincidence, can it?"

  "I'm Bubba Simms. Charles Baird asked me to check on his horse and his new neighbor."

  "Are you a policeman or a lawyer?"

  "Retired from the Polk County Sheriff's Department. Used to look after all this part of the county. That's how I know Baird. I'm a private detective now."

  "A real live private eye. My first. How does the horse look to you?"

  "No bite marks that I can s
ee."

  Behane hung his head and laughed softly. He started walking over to the table, with his rifle tucked in his elbow. Bubba could see the ridges of his scapula through the shirt. He was bone skinny.

  "Baird, so that's his name, startled me so bad, riding up on the horse, that I kind of freaked out. Said the first stupid thing that came out of my mouth. The horse is way too big for me to eat alone. Though looking at you, we might just be able to grill it up together and have a go.” Baird reached the picnic table and sat. He waved Bubba over. “Care for a soda?"

  Bubba took a can and sat across from Behane, who waved the flies off his plate and returned to his potatoes and ham.

  "So Charles can collect his horse without a problem?"

  "Sure. Anytime. I was just being a feisty old coot. I'm still trying to figure out how I am supposed to live out here. I've never seen so many flying insects and crawling bugs in one place in my life. How did anyone ever settle this country?"

  "Only the tough came here. That and the ones who were freezing every winter up north. What made you decide to move out here? There are lots of nice places in Florida being settled every day."

  "After I traded my brother my share of the family house for his share of this land that our Uncle Patrick bought back in the twenties, I got to thinking that it might be nice to return to nature. Find a purer way of life than the city. No pollution, no honking horns. Quiet evenings, lovely sunrises. No one told me about foot-long mosquitoes, fleas, and ticks everywhere. Or about red bugs."

  "You found the chiggers, did you? On the Spanish moss?"

  "Pulled a pile off that oak to make a mattress for my blanket the first night I was down here. Thought I was going to die. Red welts all over my back and legs. Drove to the emergency room thinking I was having an allergy to fresh air or something. They laughed at me. Pulled a few ticks off that I had missed and gave me calamine lotion."

  "At least you didn't wipe your butt with it, like most newcomers do when they're camping."

  Behane smiled and nodded while he chewed the last bite of food. “But I'm beginning to like it. I can't believe how many deer there are in these woods. I've learned their tracks and follow them. Bought me a genuine old-timey deer rifle. Browning single-shot .45-70.” He patted the stock lying on the table. “When does deer season start?"

  "In the fall sometime. Ask Baird, he knows that stuff like the Bible. He's a real neighbor when you need help. Mind if I call him and let him know to get the horse?"

  Behane waved his permission. Using the car phone, Bubba caught Charles at the first number. He said he'd have a trailer there in thirty minutes. Would he wait and make sure everything went smooth? Bubba agreed. He returned to the table and told Behane the horse would be gone soon.

  "I'll sort of miss her. I guess I ought to get a dog. It does get lonesome out here. Nearest town is about eight miles."

  "How about your friends down the road at DOD?"

  "Them soldier boys. Ran me off from their gate. Scared me a couple of times when I was walking along their fence. Jumped out of the bushes and told me to stay away from the fence. That I was trespassing. Did you know that fence runs in a two-mile square? Eight miles of ten-foot fencing. Can you imagine how much of our money the government spent for that?"

  "I had no idea there was anything out here at all. Makes me feel old and forgetful."

  Behane took his paper plate and the empty cans to the trash barrel. Bubba turned his body and leaned against the tree that butted the end of the table, put his legs on the bench on his side of the table. There was a breeze blowing in from the west. The oak's limb rustled and waved. Behane returned and stretched out on the other bench of the table. The day was beginning to warm, but the shade was cool. After a few minutes of quiet, two squirrels ran to the end of a branch and began to fuss. Then they began some complicated game of tag, producing no clear-cut winner.

  "It is nice out here,” Bubba said.

  "It's like this all the time, except when it rains. Or the mosquitoes come out. Or the deer flies find me. Or I want to hear a joke."

  "There are worse places."

  Behane agreed and fell silent. Bubba had nearly dozed off when the sound of a badly muffled engine came through the woods. They both sat up as the pickup and horse trailer came into view. The driver made a quick half circle in the clearing, then backed the trailer straight toward the horse, stopping about ten steps away. The horse perked her ears, lifted her head.

  The truck door opened and a lean man with boots, Levi's, and a straw Stetson stepped out. “Mr. Baird sent me to fetch Daisy Mae, excuse me, Martin's Daisy, out of Red Rock."

  Behane nodded and said, “There she is. Tell him I'm sorry for the misunderstanding."

  The cowboy nodded back. He opened the end of the horse trailer and propped the doors. Then he reached into the bed of the pickup and found a bridle. He walked over to the horse, said a few quiet words, untied the rope, and slipped the bridle onto her. She followed him to the trailer and entered quickly as he unsnapped the lead. He closed the trailer doors, set the latch. He nodded at Bubba and Behane, then drove carefully across the clearing and down the dirt road.

  "It is always enjoyable to watch an expert at work,” Behane said when the engine noise had disappeared. Bubba agreed.

  "This is a nice place. I could sit here in the shade, but I think I better get back to work. It's been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Behane."

  "Call me Tim. And the pleasure was all mine. Come back anytime."

  Bubba gave him one of his cards and told him that he would call Mickey and reassure him that his brother was fitting in nicely in Florida. They shook and Bubba drove away. When he arrived at his office, he found a message on the answering machine from a Colonel Hughes, the director of the DOD facility, apologizing for any inconvenience he might have had with the sentry. He left a phone number and an invitation for Bubba to call with any questions. Bubba wrote the number on his blotter for another day. Later in the day, he called O'Malley's and made Mickey laugh again over his brother, Grizzly Behane. But the elder Behane sounded relieved underneath the joking. Bubba thought that it had been an interesting way to make five hundred dollars. He'd write Charles a report tomorrow, and then maybe he'd find out more about four square miles of fenced-in deer woods.

  Two days later, he had a very informative conversation with Colonel Hughes. The colonel explained that the facility was designed to measure the impact of sonic booms and low-level aircraft noise on the gestation periods of mammals, including deer, raccoons, and opossums. The fencing, while not totally adequate for containing the raccoons, was decidedly effective for deer and opossums. The deer would be sampled for weight and health. The size and health of the young-of-the-year deer would be measured each fall. The DOD hoped that the study would show that the active use of the bombing range was having no ill effects on the native wildlife. The colonel also promised that the guards would be more sensitive to the needs of Mr. Behane and any other of the nearby landowners. It was a well-constructed and -delivered lecture designed to reassure everyone of the good intentions of the Department of Defense. Bubba felt reassured enough to immediately head to Big Al's and do heavy squats until his legs were trembling with exhaustion.

  The next day he called Charles Baird and relayed the gist of the informative lecture from Colonel Hughes. They both agreed that the last thing the DOD was doing was monitoring deer for sonic boom stress, but they further agreed that it was federal government business and not theirs. That decided, Charles said he'd take a ride around the fence and see what he could see. Bubba intended to talk to the county patrolmen working that sector.

  Life interfered. Bubba had to surveil a disabled slip-and-fall victim until she jumped sideways with her walker when the neighbor turned on his sprinkler, which had somehow become reoriented to soak her front porch. Soon the summer ended, and it was autumn before Charles and Bubba talked again. They met at Fatboy's Barbecue on Highway 27. It seemed appropriate.

  Charles
was holding court with the customers and waitresses when Bubba arrived. Bubba ordered a quart of iced tea unsweetened while he decided between ribs and a lot of ribs. Charles finished telling all about the ease and suitability of artificial insemination with the modern Brangus cattle herd.

  "Do you really wear a rubber glove all the way to your armpit?” Bubba asked after he ordered a slab of ribs. Charles had already ordered and was in need of a refill on his tea.

  "Of course. Otherwise it seems too personal.” The food arrived and slowed further conversation. After a time, Bubba wiped his face with a large paper napkin and said, “What are the Feds up to?"

  "They built an impressive fence. Supposedly they plan on a total kill every three years to see how the herd is progressing. Then they'll restock the site. They have cleared a path inside the fence wide enough for a Humvee to drive around on patrol. But it's nuts."

  "How so?"

  "The brush is so thick on the east side that there is no way they can ever find all the deer that are in that pen. With a couple of packs of dogs and some skilled hunters they might, in six months, kill them all. Besides, whoever told them that they could keep a clear path around that fence never lived in the Imperial Polk County paradise. The damn stuff is growing so fast that they're having to drive around brush thickets now, after only six months. They will never do what they say they're doing."

  "So it's typical government fubar?"

  "Maybe, but they seem so efficient and unconcerned about the actual land. I spoke to that same colonel. He assured me that they had taken all those parameters into account. Parameters, my ass."

  "Have you seen Behane?"

  "My boys see him once in a while. He's really getting into the woodsman routine. Last time they saw him, he was barefoot, no shirt, carrying that Browning."

  "I think I'll drop by after we eat. He's not so far away."

  "Good idea. Have you heard anything from your county mountie buddies?"

  "Not yet. I've been busy, working for State Wide on an insurance case."