by S. L. Hebert
“Why?”
“You really are a slow learner, aren’t you? Like I’ve already told you, down here on the bayou we take care of our own. We may not always be right, proper, or perfect, but we stick together when it counts. Besides, I owe a debt to your father, but that’s for a later day.”
Pausing for a moment, allowing myself time to grasp ahold of all that was just said, I bluntly ask, “Okay then, how do you know where Mr. Yates’ camp is? And did you know Mr. Yates?”
As we slowly continue to drift on the water, he patiently says, “I’ve worked at the landing all my life. There isn’t one person who comes on this bayou I don’t know, but before you get all carried away, I only knew his name and have only seen him come down here once with someone. I didn’t realize who it was until I saw the news and put two and two together.”
“The last person you saw him with was John Broussard?”
“Yes, but I didn’t know any of the other stuff. At least not until you told me tonight. Down here, we tend to keep our nose out of other’s business. If you ask me, I just thought they were two guys going on a fishing trip.”
Instantly, my mind screams with delight over the fact that I have an eyewitness who puts John with Anthony Yates right before his murder. Knowing Mr. Billiot will be reluctant to come forward with the information, I must push it aside. What’s important now is finding Grasso before it’s too late.
Changing the subject to the matter at hand, I quickly ask, “So, which camp is it?”
“We’re about half a mile away. I’ll cut the engine when we get a little closer.”
“Is it directly over the water, or does it sit on the edge of the bank where I can reach it by foot?”
“I’ll be able to dock on the marsh bank, and if you go to the back side of the camp, there’s a run-down ramp leading to the water tank. I only gave you false directions earlier; the camp looks the way I described it. I always thought it looked creepy, sitting nestled to the back in the middle of cypress trees. Most of the camps around here are further up on the water.”
“Once we arrive, I need you to stay with the boat. If for some reason I don’t come back with my partner, I’ll need you to get out of here and go for help, understood?”
“I’m not sure if that’s a clever idea. You really think you can rescue your partner all by yourself?”
“Don’t let my size fool you, I’m stronger than I look.”
After he cuts off the engine, I watch as he passes me and grabs two paddles out of the deck box at the front of the boat. As he turns towards me, he extends one of the ores and says, “Time to do it the old-fashioned way.”
Without hesitation, I take the ore and kneel on my knees, placing myself on the side of the boat. I vaguely remember doing this once or twice in my younger days, but if my memory is correct, I was in a canoe and the bayou was much smaller. Thankfully, we have the current on our side as we paddle to the bank. As we drift closer to the shore, I can’t help looking over my shoulder. I keep expecting to see flashing blue lights coming from around the bend, but there’s nothing; only the sound of the crickets and frogs aloft in the night air. Suddenly, I’m thankful for the light of an almost full moon hanging overhead; otherwise, we’d be destined to travel in total darkness.
Looking now, I can see the camp is as creepy as Mr. Billiot said it was. The moss from the old cypress trees gives it just the right touch of evil that any stone-cold killer would admire. As the boat creeps up on the bank, I whisper, “Stay with the boat” as I hop out in to the marsh. Taking every step with caution, I absorb my surroundings, letting it all soak in me like a sponge.
With my weapon now in hand, I feel a sense of calm run through me. I allow my mind to travel back to when I was a child and roamed through the marshes with my father, remembering all the ins and outs he taught me. Besides his teachings on how to make sure not to run up on an alligator or any other wild creatures, I also learned how to glide over the slippery mud, making sure not to sink into a mush pit. Navigating through the area is turning out to be simpler than I thought it would be. With my eyes on the camp, I can see a dim light shining through the window and recognize it to be the shadowy glimmer of a candle.
Approaching the cypress located on the back side of the camp, I check to see where the abductor stashed the boat. I vaguely can see the image underneath the camp tied up to the pylon of the wharf. It appears to be a small aluminum haul, one any child could handle driving, if need be. Slowly inching my way up to the camp, I take extreme caution, knowing I very well could be walking straight into a trap. Continuing forward, I make sure to always check my backside, almost as if I’m waiting for someone to jump out at any moment.
Slithering along, I stop just beneath the lit window. With my back against the wall, I silently stay crouched down, listening for the littlest sound, hoping for an indication as to where they’re located on the inside of the camp. After allowing a few moments to pass and hearing nothing, I instinctively know the clock’s running out of time. Deciding to try and peek in the window to see if I can see anything, I pray not to be noticed.
Slowly lifting my head, I peer in the window. The white curtain hanging is obstructing my view, leaving me able to see only two shadows. One’s on the floor, and the other is pacing back and forth. Not willing to risk being seen, I quickly duck back down and force myself to think about my next move. Unless there’s someone else in the camp, it appears the abductor is alone, and Grasso must be the figure laid out on the floor. As I’m contemplating how to get into the camp, I notice a light flashing from off to the side. Not wanting to risk blowing my cover, I hesitate on seeing who it is, and a second later I hear the distinct sound of a shotgun slice through the thick night air. In one quick motion, I’m standing up right on my feet with my weapon drawn. I’m now at the corner of the camp, waiting on what’s to come next.
As I listen to the scurrying of footsteps from the inside, I quickly attempt to observe my surroundings, unsure of who fired off the shotgun. Was it Mr. Billiot, or does our abductor have an accomplice?
Before I can give it another thought, the door to the cabin swings open and I take two steps around the corner. Using the butt of my weapon, I methodically land a swift blow to the side of the female’s head, knocking her unconscious on the floor. With my adrenaline flowing and no time to waste, I drag her into the camp.
Once I have my mystery woman through the doorway, I allow her limp body to collapse on the ground and instinctively run to Grasso, checking for a pulse. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, my two fingers fumblingly locate the soothing rhythm of life. Realizing he’s alive, I turn my attention back to the female I left right inside the doorway. Scurrying around, I manage to locate some duct tape on the counter and feverishly tape up her wrist. Knowing she’s now bonded, leaving me the upper hand, I resume dragging her towards the center of the floor.
As my nerves start to rise, I find myself vibrating with them. Leaving her to lie, I focus my efforts on waking Grasso. With my pulse racing, I rush to his side, nudging and shaking him, praying he awakens.
Kneeling beside him, I find myself taking in the sluggish heap of the once strong man I’ve come to depend on. Trickled blood that appears half-dried from a gash just above his temple, along with the line of bright red sliding down Michael’s cheekbone, was horrifying to observe. Quickly, I notice two strips of grey duct tape plastered over his mouth. I instantly know I need to think quick as I feel the panic tightening in my throat, doing my best to force it away.
The urgent feeling that time is running out begins to consume me as I glance over my shoulder to take a quick look at his capturer. Shaking Michael again, I hear the clanking of the smooth silver handcuffs on the wooden floor. Knowing I don’t have my keys to undo the locks, I attempt to move Michael to search his pockets.
While grabbing his hands, I see a bead of sweat forming on his forehead and upper lip. His hands are still warm as I notice his chest ever so slightly rise and fall. Taking another g
lance at his hands, I’m shocked to see how limp they are and losing their color all the way up to his nail beds.
“Michael, wake up!”
With panic rising to a fevered high, it takes everything in me to stay calm as the seconds seem like hours. Slowly, Michael’s eyes open. His pupils are dilated and strained, making his blue eyes look almost black. I watch as he blinks a few times, trying to regain his focus. It takes him a moment to regain awareness.
As he attempts to move, he makes a low grunting sound. The agitation is instantly noticeable. He begins twisting and turning, his hands trying to free, causing the handcuffs to clank on the wooden floor once more. Quickly glancing around again, I make sure we’re still alone. Michael takes notice of me, and the clanking sound goes silent. I knowingly find myself shaking my head in a no motion to mutely tell him to stop. Our eyes meet, and I can see he was clinging on to me, begging for me to get him loose. Knowing I need to be fast, I reach for the corner of the duct tape, rolling my finger over the edge to loosen it. With one swift tug, I rip it off.
Through his gasping for air, I hear him say, “We need to get out of here, Logan. She thinks…” As his eyes grow big and he suddenly turns pale, I look to see who he’s staring at. To my surprise and relief, I see Sheriff Trahan standing in the doorway. In an instant, I notice he’s covered in mud up to his waste. Promptly, I state, “Sir, I’m so glad to see you. I have the kidnapper out on the floor, but I need your help with Detective Grasso. He’s a little banged up and appears to still be suffering from the effects of whatever drug she used on him. I just need to find his keys to uncuff him.”
“That won’t be necessary, Logan.”
Looking up from Michael, I now find myself in the crosshairs of the sheriff’s nine-millimeter. “What the fuck are you doing, sir?”
“Something I should have done a long time ago. You see, it wasn’t supposed to get this far. Everything was fine, up until your partner’s brother walked into town and started stirring up the bayous. I’m afraid this is where it’s all going to have to end.”
My mind begins to race as to how the sheriff ties in with all of this, and I quickly remember the lieutenant telling me he’s been doing some investigating on his own since he came back from Franklin. He told me not to trust anyone, and I didn’t listen. My only hope is to try and buy time, but for what, I’m not even sure.
“You know what happened in my past, don’t you?”
“I’m surprised your memory hasn’t surfaced yet, Logan. I thought for sure when you saw little Miss Susan Verdin, our vigilante, your memory would have come rushing back to you.”
Glancing at Michael, I then try to focus on the Sheriff. With a hint of defiance in my tone, I basically challenge him on what he knows. “Since that doesn’t seem to be the case, why don’t you enlighten me? It’s the least you can do if you’re planning on killing us all tonight. I think I have a right to know why I’m going to die, don’t you?”
With a light chuckle, he answers, “Oh Logan, always the spitfire. You know, that’s one of the qualities I’ve always liked about you. If I had to guess, I would say you get it from your mother.”
“Don’t talk about my mother. You don’t know shit about her.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve known your parents since high school. Then after we graduated, your father and I used to run these bayous. Hell, I still do. To make a long story short, before I got into politics, I had to get a little dirty and do a few underhanded things to make my money. It was the only way I could earn enough cash to buy my influence on these waters.”
Listening as he tells his version of the story, I find myself looking at Susan, who’s lying on the floor, still not moving. I can hear the echoing sound of a little girl’s voice begin to fill my head as she keeps saying, “No, Daddy, I can’t do it, I don’t want to.”
As I continue to eye Susan, she slowly begins to stir. Before she even has her eyes all the way open, with a raspy voice she says, “You’re lying.”
No sooner than the words leave her mouth, my vision becomes obscured and my nightmares begin to mix with reality. I can see her still lying on the floor, with her hands duct taped together, but my vision has turned her to black and white, and instead of seeing the gravel covered in blood, the redness is now spewing red all over the wooden floor. As if a camera is flashing over and over in front of me, I see the pictures from my past unfold. I can hear my father’s voice telling me to shoot the man who’s begging on his knees, telling me it’s all going to be okay. I then see a younger version of the sheriff demanding him to make me, informing him that it must be done or they’re both going to go down on drug charges. The man on his knees is pleading with them, saying he’s not a rat, and if he’s allowed to live, he’ll leave town.
Trying to shake the vision, I find myself rapidly blinking my eyes. As everything comes back into, clarity I can see I wasn’t imagining the blood oozing on the wooden floor. It appears the sheriff has placed a bullet in Susan before she could utter another word. Before I can even question how I didn’t hear the shot being fired, I take notice of the silencer on his weapon. Looking down towards Michael, I can see his fists are balled, and I then notice it. Somehow, he’s managed to get ahold of his keys during all the commotion and has them balled up in his fist.
As I’m turning my attention back to the sheriff, the door to the cabin swings open and Detective Babin walks in. He’s unable to look towards Grasso and I as he speaks to the sheriff, quickly stating, “We need to get out of here. I just heard on the radio that the search party’s heading our way. The lieutenant and the others have made it down the bayou and are about to be joining in on the search. It won’t take them long to figure out where the camp is located, you need to finish this.”
Unable to stay silent, I demandingly ask, “Why didn’t you get rid of me long ago if you didn’t want your secret to be told?”
“Simply put, your father and I had you convinced all these years that you had fired the shot that killed Timothy Verdin. You were so sure of it that you managed to black out the entire block of time from your memory. After John Broussard came into town and stirred things back up, I decided to have you see the department shrink, who, if you care to know, is on my payroll. If one ounce of the truth had surfaced, I would have been the first to know. It is useless information to you now, being that the only thing the department is going to find tonight is a few dead bodies in a pile of ashes. It’s kind of fitting, don’t you think?”
Before I can utter another word, the sheriff turns his weapon towards Michael and fires a single shot. Unable to control my emotions, I find myself throwing my body over Michael’s as I scream out, “NO!”
A second or two later, a second loud gunshot rings through the air, bringing me to full attention, only to see Detective Babin lying face down on the floor in the doorway with blood oozing out of his back. Instinctively, I draw my weapon and at first point it towards the doorway. Looking up in shock, I see none other than Mr. Billiot now standing in my crosshairs. His right leg and upper body are soaked with blood as he manages to hold his pistol with his left hand, using his right wrist and lower arm to hold it steady. He swiftly takes aim at the sheriff as he asks, “Logan, are you okay? It’s me. Put your weapon down. I’m not going to hurt you, and neither will the sheriff; if he so much as breathes the wrong way, I’ll kill him.”
Turning my weapon on the sheriff, I scrabble to my feet and position myself on the other side of Michael. I take a second to try and observe the gunshot wound, but with all the blood seeping everywhere, it’s hard to tell exactly where the entry wound is located, forcing me to focus on the sheriff and Mr. Billiot. Listening in, I hear Sheriff Trahan rambling on, saying, “You’re an old geezer who never amounted to nothing, and look at you now, trying to play the hero. I guess I should’ve shot you twice earlier, for good measure. You better not stand there too long; from the looks of it, you’re bleeding out as we speak.”
“My time may be limited,
but then again so is yours. I’m only here to finish what you started many years ago. You see, I’ve made it my job to know everything that happens on this bayou, and on that terrible night out at the landing, I just so happened to be there working. I saw what happened. Logan didn’t pull the trigger and kill Verdin, that was all you. Susan was in the back of her dad’s truck and couldn’t see everything; she mistakenly thought it was Logan who killed her father. I, on the other hand, saw it all. I watched as you fired the shot, and then Billy, Logan’s dad, hurried and grabbed the pistol she dropped on the ground. I’ve stayed quiet all these years, but no more.”
Without realizing, I ask, “Why?”
“The sheriff here has risen up the political chain on the back of the good, hard-working people on the bayous. All these years, it’s always boiled down to the fact that it’s better to deal with the devil you know than the one you don’t know. He is right about one thing: it all ends tonight. I should have stepped in back then and helped you; all these years, it’s the one thing in my life I’ve lived regretting. Tonight, I’ll make it right. Your father knew I was at the marina that night, and he promised to keep my name out of it. For that, I owe him, and tonight I’ll repay the debt.”
Without hesitation, knowing I’ve heard all I needed to hear, I find myself commanding the sheriff to stand down. “Sir, put down your weapon. I will not repeat it again. Slowly put your weapon on the floor and place your hands behind your head.”
With a raise of his voice, I hear him say as he turns towards me, placing me directly in his sights, “I’m afraid that’s no longer an option, Detective. This is goodbye.”
For an instant, I freeze with a flashback of me as a little girl, standing with the weapon in hand, only this time I was able to pull trigger. As multiple shots ring out, slicing through the air, I can feel the pain and burning sensation running through my body, knowing deep down I’ve been shot. I find myself now lying next to Michael. I no longer can tell if there’s anyone left standing in the room.