by Ang Pompano
“So, Keller found out the kidnapping was a hoax. How could he connect you to it? Granville died when his racer crashed years ago. He couldn’t finger you,” I said.
“Keller found Granville had transferred a large amount of property to a certain corporation. It was Hicks who figured out the company was in my wife’s name. Hicks wanted money or he would tell Keller the meaning of what he found.”
Hicks had claimed that Jill had hoped to be sitting pretty when it was all over. Someone was bending the truth.
“Did you pay him?”
Johnson laughed and grabbed a mosquito out of the air with his free hand. He threw the insect’s body onto the deck.
“Does that answer your question? That’s what I told him I’d do to him. When I took care of Keller, Hicks took off because he knew he would be next. I didn’t know where he was until you tipped me off about Hilton Head.”
Without warning, Johnson swung the oar. I ducked and could feel the whoosh of air a little above my head. Again whoosh/duck, whoosh/duck, whoosh/duck like we were doing some sort of perverted Cossack dance.
Finally, I lost the rhythm and the paddle caught me square on my upper arm. I went down, landing against the gunwale. He came at me with the paddle as if he were wielding a harpoon. The stinging and throbbing in my arm reminded me that I couldn’t write him off because of his age. I grabbed the paddle when he swung it again and whipped it overboard. Then I launched at him like a pit bull going after a raw steak.
51
I HIT HIM A LITTLE TOO HARD and before I knew it, we were both in the murky water. Below the surface, I grabbed on to Johnson who was doing his best to get away. When we broke back to the top, I could hear yelling from the shore. Max stood at the boat ramp, waving her arms. I didn’t have enough time to wonder why she was there.
“Alligator!” she screamed.
On the opposite shore, I could see the bull who was still keeping an eye on his territory. Attracted by the commotion in the water, it rose on all fours keeping its belly high and began an awkward flat-footed walk to the water. I let go my grip on Johnson and dove, remembering what the cop had said about attracting a gator. I swam below the surface until I saw the hull of the boat. I came up behind the motor.
Johnson seemed to be following his own advice. It was too late for him to dive without disturbing the water, so he floated on his back as still as if he were a corpse. The old guy was ballsy as hell. The image of Psycho getting taken out by the truck popped into my head and I didn’t dare breathe.
When the alligator got to within ten feet of Johnson, it stopped. The beast turned around and headed back toward the bank. Had something else caught its attention? Johnson still floated unmoving, and I wondered if maybe he had had a heart attack and died, until I spotted the slightest flap of his feet to propel him toward the boat.
I was still in the water behind the motor as I coaxed him on silently in my mind.
Come on. You can make it. Take it nice and slow.
He was maybe ten feet from the boat now. I planned to hop into the craft at the last minute to haul him in. Any sooner and I’d chance alerting the beast. Johnson got bolder and moved his feet and arms a little more to get to the boat quicker. The gator snapped around and raced toward him again.
I watched the beast’s powerful jaws clamp down on Johnson’s leg, then release it. It snapped again and held on this time. In spite of his injuries, my father’s old friend fought for his life, going for the monster’s eyes with his fingers. I remembered what he had said about the death roll. If Johnson went under the surface, there would be no chance.
I scanned the shore. Where was Max? I know I wasn’t imagining that she had been on the shore when this all went down. She was nowhere in sight. I was going to have to do this myself.
What had Johnson said? Stick your hand down the alligator’s throat and pull the flap that keeps it from drowning.
No freaking way. Instinct told me to get in the boat. Peering over the side, I saw the paddle that had gone overboard between the boat and the battle royale. Johnson’s only hope was if I could beat the monster about the eyes and snout with it. With any luck, the animal would lose interest and swim off for a meal that took less effort. I leaned over the side, but the paddle stayed inches from my reach.
Instinct is just another word for smarts and I never had much of those. I couldn’t watch the guy get eaten. So, with no time to waste, I threw myself over the side hoping that the bull wouldn’t decide that I was tastier than the crusty old cop. Its powerful jaws remained clamped on Johnson’s leg as the water reddened from shredded muscle. For the time being, the beast seemed content to hold on to its prize instead of gnawing the limb off. Meanwhile, Johnson screamed bloody hell.
I got close enough to use the paddle to pound at the alligator’s bony head. No easy achievement while in the water. It withdrew its eyes into its skull and acted like I was nothing more than an annoying fly interrupting lunch.
I thought of climbing on its back and riding it like a mechanical bull, but decided I wasn’t a superhero and scuttled that idea. I whacked it on the head again and it opened its jaws. Johnson was now free and the gator channeled its anger toward the paddle. It snapped down on it several times until the blade splintered. With open jaws, it lunged at me, when—with more luck than I’d ever experienced in my life—I was able to ram the business end of the paddle into the creature’s mouth.
The reptile’s teeth scratched my arm as I shoved the paddle down its throat. If this didn’t work, my future kids were going to be calling me Lefty. Assuming that I lived.
The alligator coughed and sputtered.
Eventually, the beast decided neither one of us was tasty enough to drown for.
“Sorry about that,” I said as it swam off. And I meant it.
It wasn’t easy to hoist myself on to the side of the boat with my scraped arm stinging even worse than when the little fish had attacked me when I found Keller. Finally, I managed to get one leg, and then the other, over the side.
Johnson was sputtering by the side of the boat. I grabbed the back of his shirt with two hands. “Help yourself, man. I can’t do this alone.”
He managed to get his hands on the gunwale and I was able to haul Johnson over the side as if I were landing a big fish.
52
MAX WAS YELLING to me from the shore.
“I called 9-1-1!”
I flashed back to the day on the dock when she helped me haul Keller out of the water and she had said those same words.
I used his belt to make a tourniquet on Johnson’s leg. He was writhing and yelling in pain.
“I need a drink!” he pointed toward a cooler by the console.
As I scrambled over to the cooler, I could see the alligator entering the water from the shore and swimming toward the boat. Obviously, he didn’t consider us finished business. I suppose someone sticking a piece of wood down your throat isn’t something you let go of even if you’re a reptile. Now the gator was out for revenge.
A thud shook the boat as the alligator whacked the hull with its tail.
I’d heard of alligators tipping small fishing boats over, but Johnson’s vessel was built for the ocean and had a decent beam and a good amount of freeboard, so I wasn’t too worried.
“I need a drink!” Johnson said again. I flipped up the cooler lid and found a bottle of 100 proof Belvedere Intense. Johnson may have been an asshole, but he had good taste in vodka.
“Hold on,” I said as I opened it.
I turned and what I saw made me drop the bottle. The precious spirits created a winding stream down the deck toward Johnson, who had managed to get to his feet. He stood at port side with his arms outstretched, a mullet in each hand. The crazy bastard was taunting the alligator with the fishes by holding them a little out of reach of its snapping jaws as it launched itself from the wate
r.
“Sit down before you make us tip!” I didn’t have as much confidence in the stability of the boat as I had before.
He laughed and pretended he didn’t hear me.
“You’re going to get both of us killed,” I said.
Johnson got on top of the bait box and drew in a deep breath. How he managed to get up there with the muscle in his leg exposed and oozing blood was a testament to his determination and desperation.
“I’m not going to go to prison for something that happened all those years ago. I’ve put a lot of men in there over the years. They’d rip me apart like a gator on a house dog. I’d rather end it on my terms.”
Then with arms still outstretched by his side, he pitched himself into the river.
*****
I was already exhausted and bleeding. Johnson and I were both lucky to get away alive from the alligator once. Trying it again was pushing my luck beyond all reasonable limits. I wasn’t even sure if the old cop was worth saving if I could. It tore at me that I was put in the position of judging this man who did so much to help my father when he was shot. Although Johnson admitted to killing Keller and Hicks, it didn’t mean I should turn my back on him.
Johnson may have tried to scream but all that came out was a muffled sound as he took in water. I picked up the ice chest and flung it at the gator, who had the old cop’s arm firmly in its mouth.
To me, most animals are more trustworthy than people and I am totally against animal cruelty. But I knew the plastic chest would do nothing more than bounce off the beast’s bony head. On the other hand, it would be a different story if it hit Johnson. Even as hard-headed as he was, the cooler would knock him out and he’d be a goner.
Lucky for Johnson, my aim was good and the chest found its mark on the alligator’s noggin. The alligator shook it off, released Johnson, and disappeared.
Johnson spit off a stream of water and coughed until he could speak.
“Come back, you bastard!” he called to the beast as he pounded at the water with his good arm. He had to be the bravest, or craziest, dude I have ever come across.
The Belvedere bottle rolled under my feet pitching me toward the side. I grabbed the gunwale to stop from going over. I noticed the bottle wasn’t completely empty. I picked it up and drained the vodka down my throat. No sense in wasting good booze, especially when I could use a little extra courage.
I stood and no sooner had I gotten to my feet than there was rocking as the alligator came up from below the boat. I almost fell to the deck again.
“Dive, Johnson,” I yelled. Either he didn’t hear or he chose to ignore me as the gator torpedoed toward him.
*****
“Watch yourself!” Max had reappeared and was yelling from the shore.
As I looked her way, the gator launched himself in the air inches from me. I hit it on the snout with the bottle hard enough to make it fall back into the water and swim away.
“Help me!”
Good God! Not only was Johnson still alive but he’d had a change of heart about dying. My training had instilled in me the duty to always do my best to preserve a human life. That included the life of a murderer. Against my better judgment, I dove into the water, hoping I could bring Johnson back to the boat before the monster returned.
Bad move, Al. The alligator I had driven off swam back. I found it circling me. I dove, hoping the same evasive action I tried before worked again. I felt a tug and then a violent yank as I was dragged through the water. Curiously I felt no pain. Was my leg gone? No, I would have felt that for sure.
It seemed that the cord that ran through the cuff of my pants was caught on the alligator’s tooth and he was dragging me through the water.
I was towed like a barge behind a tug, but underwater. I tried spinning around to get free but that only made the animal swim faster. I felt abandoned and frightened, but I didn’t give up hope. I tried to rip the pants off; too tight around the waist. I tugged at the cord around the waistband but I had tied it too tight. I was holding my breath as best I could when I remembered the knife strapped on my other leg. I managed to get it out of the sheath and cut the waist cord. I slipped out of the pants and the alligator was swimming away with them still hooked in its teeth.
I heard a gurgling sound like water going down a bathtub drain. It reminded me of the underwater sound effect you hear in submarine movies. Did Johnson get away and back to his boat? I broke the surface.
“Hey, don’t leave me,” I shouted.
But the motor on Johnson’s craft was not running. I didn’t see Johnson or the alligator. If I didn’t do something soon, the gator would return and they were going to find whatever was left of my body floating downstream in my underwear.
“Watch out! Watch out!” It was Max’s voice. She was speeding in a small outboard toward the center of the river between me and the angry alligator who still had my pants. The old bull took off and she cut back the engine. She gave me a hand as I almost swamped the small boat trying to haul myself over the side.
*****
A half dozen emergency vehicles pulled into the boat launching area. She caught the puzzled look on my face as she revved up the engine.
“I told you I called 9-1-1 before I ran down to the park ranger’s office.”
“And this boat?”
“I spotted it tied up at their dock. I hot-wired it.”
“A skill you just happened to have?”
“I have a lot of skills you don’t know about.”
I left the comment at that, but I intended to explore the subject further at the first chance I got. At the moment, I was trying to spot what must have been left of Johnson.
“I don’t see him.” I tried to control my voice to disguise the sick feeling in my gut.
“That was so terrible,” Max said. “What could have been going through his mind to make him do that?”
“He worked with Martin Granville to pull off a kidnapping hoax. Twenty-five years later, he finds himself a respected police major. Maybe he didn’t want to face the shame of people learning of his past mistake.”
Max was a little more sympathetic. “Or maybe it was that guilt had been eating away at him for all of those years.”
“Only Johnson knows the answer.” Whatever it was, I couldn’t fathom how desperate Johnson must have been to torment the gator like that and then fling himself into the water with it. I continued to try to spot him but I saw nothing, not even the alligator. I wondered if there would be anything to find.
I didn’t have time to wonder about it any further. Our stolen boat was surrounded by three white skiffs and a rubber dinghy all lettered D.N.R.
“I take it that doesn’t stand for do not resuscitate.”
Max scoffed. “Do you take anything seriously? They’re Georgia Department of Natural Resources officers.”
Four divers went in to look for Johnson before she could even finish the sentence. That was a heck of lot more response than when I found Keller and they only sent out one boat and a diver.
“Where’s Major Johnson?” A uniform on one of the boats called out. I couldn’t help but notice that he had his hand on his gun.
“I told them a cop was in trouble. I knew that would get their attention.” Max said.
I pointed to the bloodied water. “I don’t see him anymore,” I said.
“My friend is injured,” Max said to the officer. “I’m taking him to the shore.”
“No. Cut your engine. I’m tossing you a line.”
It was only then that I had a chance to look at my injuries. My right arm was bleeding as well as my left leg. I put pressure on the leg wound. Did they think we would run off? I wouldn’t get far in my wet underwear with these injuries.
“Then give me the damn rope and let’s get moving,” Max yelled to him.
Someone from on
e of the boats tossed us a line and towed us in.
53
THE WOUND ON MY LEG was more of a puncture than a bite. I was shivering in spite of the heat and the blanket I was wrapped in. One of the EMTs speculated that when the alligator hooked onto my pants, its tooth pierced my leg. He dressed that wound and the scrapes on my arm.
“The bleeding is stopped, but you’re in for a round of some potent antibiotics. Their mouths are a breeding ground for filth,” he said. “You’re probably going to have a nasty scar on that leg.”
“I may get a bullet hole tat to cover it.”
Max rolled her eyes.
He wanted me to go to the hospital in the ambulance. I refused and Max said she would drive me.
A D.N.R. officer came over. He looked out to the river where divers and deputies in boats searched the water.
“Is Major Johnson out there? What happened?” His tone was accusatorial.
“He jumped overboard,” I said.
He looked skeptical. “Your name?”
“Al DeSantis.”
“Where were you at the time?”
“On the boat with Johnson.”
“You didn’t try to stop him?”
“He jumped into the water twice to save the man,” Max said. “What more would you expect him to do? Listen, he needs stitches and antibiotics.”
The deputy didn’t seem moved by my plight. “Your name?”
“Max Brophy.”
“So, you were on the boat as well?”
“I was on the shore for most of it.”
“This is your boat?”
“Listen, this man is injured. Are you going to let him get fixed up or are you going to keep up this nonsense?”
Good for you Max, avoid the question about the boat.
“I wish I had been able to save him,” I said.
“You saved him once. That’s more than any other dude would have done. Why the hell did you jump in again? He obviously wanted to die.” Max’s voice was a mixture of anger and relief.