The Dummy Line

by Bobby Cole

  They all agreed. Tillman hugged Mrs. Beasley. They felt each other’s pain. They didn’t really know what to say to each other. They didn’t have to say anything.

  Ollie started back down the Dummy Line.

  The cracking sound of the gunshot piercing the silence of the night made Reese jump. It was obviously very close. The screaming escalated after the shot. He took off running in the direction of the screams as fast as he could through the dark brush. Reese knew how to cover serious ground. He desperately wanted to be a part of whatever was going down. As he dodged limbs and jumped logs, he wondered who had answered Tiny’s phone. That bothered him. It was a mystery, and he hated mysteries.

  As Reese approached the scene of all the commotion, he stopped to listen. He thought he heard a girl’s muffled screams; he definitely could hear a familiar man’s voice, sobbing and mumbling. Reese was very confused and extremely careful as he began to slip forward. About a hundred yards ahead, Reese could see a faint flashlight beam. He crept closer, careful not to make a sound. Reese eased the Browning rifle off his shoulder and carried it in front of him with the safety off.

  “I told you…I warned you…why didn’t you listen to me?”

  Hearing Tiny’s ramblings added to Reese’s confusion. Reese silently worked his way closer. From the edge of the clearing, he could see a body lying in the field. Tiny was standing next to it holding a pistol. A small flashlight was lying next to the body, shining ominously through the grass. Reese couldn’t see anyone else.

  “Tiny. It’s Reese. What’s wrong? What the hell’s goin’ on?”

  Tiny, startled, jumped back a few feet and pointed the big stainless steel revolver at Reese.

  “Shit, Tiny! It’s me, Reese!” he exclaimed. “Put that damn cannon down!”

  Tiny dropped the pistol to his side and fell forward on his knees. The gun fell out of his hand into the grass.

  Reese approached cautiously. He was horrified to realize that it was Sweat who was dead. Apparently, Johnny Lee’s killer had also shot Sweat. Reese didn’t liked Sweat very much, but he hadn’t wanted him killed.

  “Tiny, what the hell happened?” Reese asked. He bent over to check Sweat. He could see a huge hole in the back of his head. “What the hell happened!”

  Tiny began to sob louder. His head hanging, he mumbled, “I told him not to…I told him I couldn’t let him hurt—”

  “Hurt who? The kid? Where’s the guy who killed Johnny Lee? What the hell’s goin’ on?” Reese asked, jumping to conclusions. He stared at Sweat’s body. It looked like a cold-blooded execution.

  “Tiny, what happened? Did he shoot Sweat? I don’t…where is he? Tiny! Tiny! Listen to me. Pull yourself together, man. Tell me what the hell happened!”

  Reese quickly looked up at the sound of someone running through the woods. He held up his hand for Tiny to be silent. Then he turned toward Tiny. “Tiny, where’s your phone?” Tiny was in another world, gazing at Sweat’s body. Reese knew he wasn’t going to get any answers.

  Reese was beyond pissed off. He really didn’t know what had just happened, but his best friend was dead, and now so was a member of their gang. He assumed the same guy was responsible for both. Revenge was all he could think about.

  “Tiny, where’s Johnny Lee’s killer? He didn’t get by you, did he?”

  “The Dummy Line’s blocked. He can’t get out,” Tiny mumbled finally.

  “So he’s still in here…that makes sense. I heard him driving east—twenty or thirty minutes ago,” Reese thought aloud. “How’d ya get down here?”

  “Four-wheeler.”

  Reese needed stealth to stalk his prey. But the four-wheeler would be helpful to get out later if he didn’t find the killer’s truck. What do I do with Tiny? He’s worthless now. What do I do with Sweat’s body? Shit. I got too much going on.

  “OK, get yourself together. I’m goin’ after the killer. Where’s your phone? Your radiophone that Johnny Lee bought you. Where is it?” Reese demanded, exasperated.

  “I think…it’s at home.” Tiny was finally coming around, and he began to realize that Reese didn’t know that he had killed Sweat. He knew he had done the right thing. He had a sister who had been raped, and had seen the trauma she endured. He revered women. Hearing Sweat joke about abusing women made him sick, but he had to keep Reese from knowing the truth about Sweat’s death.

  It made sense to Reese that Tiny’s phone was at his house. Some drunken idiot had probably answered his call. But why didn’t Tiny have the phone with him? Reese let the question slide for now.

  “Who was doin’ all that screamin’?”

  “It was a girl, maybe seventeen or eighteen,” Tiny weakly replied.

  “Really?” Reese said and thought, Could it have been the killer’s girlfriend? Wife? His daughter? What about the toys, the small sleeping bag. Nothin’s makin’ any sense. Reese’s head was beginning to ache. He wanted to avenge Johnny Lee’s death and, to a lesser degree, Sweat’s.

  “What was going on?” he calmly asked, hoping Tiny would open up and talk.

  “Sweat was tryin’ to…you know…have his way.”

  “That’s our boy. Sweat went out doin’ what he loved, huh? Was there a little kid?” Reese asked coldly, thinking about the books and toys.

  “I didn’t see one.” The less Reese knew right now, the better.

  “OK, Tiny…that’s OK. Which way did they go?”

  Tiny, with his head still down, simply pointed.

  Reese could do this by himself. In fact, it might be better if he did. Tiny couldn’t move silently through the woods, and based on his current mental state, he wasn’t going to be much help.

  “I’m goin’ after ‘em. There’s no way you can pick up Sweat’s body and get him in the back of your truck by yourself. Go get your four-wheeler and wait for me right here. Keep your eyes open. OK?” Reese said, bending down to look in Tiny’s eyes.

  “Hey, Tiny? Look at me,” Reese said and added when Tiny raised his eyes to him, “If I’m not back by daylight, get the hell outta here…and meet me at the trailer. Got it?” Reese snapped authoritatively.

  Tiny nodded. Reese slung his rifle over his shoulder and took off in the direction Tiny had pointed.

  Jake sprinted through the woods to catch the panicked girl. Getting close wasn’t easy. He was trying to be as quiet as possible. He didn’t want to shout and knew that the moment he touched her she would freak out. She was struggling to keep her balance and fell twice before Jake got to her. She was getting up from her last fall when Jake grabbed her arm. Elizabeth screamed and starting slapping at him, trying to get away.

  “Calm down, calm down, please! I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m here to help you,” he said in a hushed whisper. “I heard you screaming, and I came to help,” he said looking her straight in the eyes, while holding a hand over her mouth. He saw only raw fear.

  “Don’t scream. Don’t scream. I’m here to help you. I’m gonna let go. OK? Don’t scream.”

  Elizabeth nodded and immediately started trying to cover her breasts with her arms. She began sobbing.

  Jake laid down his gun and took off his hunting vest. He then took off his button-down shirt and gave it to her. She turned around and quickly pulled it on. Jake slipped his vest back on and noticed her hands were shaking too much to button the shirt.

  “Here, let me help,” he said. He gently pushed her hands away so he could button the shirt. Afterward, her arms immediately folded around herself. She was shaking uncontrollably.

  “I’m Jake Crosby. I’m here turkey huntin’, and those same guys raided my camp. I have my daughter hidden over there. We need to go get her, and then we’ll get outta here. OK? You’re safe now. I promise nothing will happen to you. Follow me and be as quiet as you can.” Jake paused, trying to read her expression. “Do you understand? Good. Come on.”

  Jake picked up his gun and started walking toward Katy. The girl followed silently right behind him. Once they were in sight of the
shooting house, Jake was relieved to see a small light moving around inside.

  “Katy…Katy, it’s me,” Jake said in a hushed voice as he approached the shooting house. Katy’s small face popped into the window, her eyes smiling in obvious relief. “Unlock the door, Katy.”

  “Dad, I heard a gunshot!”

  “I know, I know; it’s OK,” Jake reassured her.

  The door opened and Katy hugged him immediately, before she even noticed Elizabeth.

  “This is my daughter, Katy. She’s nine, but she acts fifteen,” Jake said, trying to put everyone at ease. Elizabeth was still shaking and crying. “Say hello, Katy.”

  “Hey. Are you OK?” Katy said barely above a whisper. Katy was eyeing her worriedly, instantly compassionate. Katy was a mother hen to any person or creature in distress, and she loved to hang around “big girls.” Jake didn’t think Elizabeth had been raped but knew she had been beaten badly. She was covered in blood, and Jake had seen the source of most of it.

  “I’m Elizabeth Beasley…thank you so much for…” was all she could say.

  “Those guys that were chasing you tried to kill us. It’s all crazy. I’ll get us outta here, I promise. Let’s put some distance between us and them. You’re limping. Are you OK? Are you hurt anywhere else? Wipe your face on your sleeve…it’s clean.”

  “My ankle’s sprained,” she whispered, “but I can keep up.”

  “OK…I’ll take it easy. Come on, Katy…get on my back,” he ordered.

  Jake wondered what Elizabeth was doing out here. He’d ask questions later. Jake carried Katy and Elizabeth followed along right behind as they headed back to the field they had been going to before the ordeal with Elizabeth. Occasionally Jake heard Elizabeth grunt in pain, and he could feel Katy watching her. They had walked about four hundred yards when Jake needed a break. Carrying Katy in the woods was killing him. He set her on a stump and plopped down beside her. Elizabeth eased down on a log across from them. Katy smiled at her.

  Jake finally caught his breath after a minute and asked, “Elizabeth, what in the world are you doin’ out here?”

  “I was with my boyfriend, Tanner, on a date. They blocked the road and started beating him and I took off runnin’.” She was wringing her hands.

  “Where did all this happen?”

  “Tanner was unlocking a big yellow gate, and then they started trying to attack me, and I just ran and left him. I’m so worried about him.”

  “Wow, you’ve covered four or five miles. You did the right thing to run,” Jake replied.

  “They chased me the whole way,” she explained.

  “Those guys are trouble. I’m sorry all that happened to you. I got the whole thing started when they showed up at our camp. I had to shoot one of ‘em. It was really ugly.”

  “And you shot the guy who was attacking me!” she blurted out and saw Katy’s eyes grow wide with shock.

  “No, I was about to…but there was a big fat guy who walked up and shot him the second before I pulled the trigger. It was really strange.”

  Elizabeth began to realize what had happened. But why? It was all too much. She started crying again.

  Jake dug in his vest and pulled out a cotton camo face mask and gave it to her. “Here, wipe your face with this.”

  Katy was trying to understand. Jake stood and stretched. His back was aching. He stepped up on a stump to listen for anything out of the ordinary. Jake punched his watch. It softly glowed 3:02 a.m. He checked his phone again. No service.

  “All right, girls, let’s move,” he whispered to them.

  “Can you make it?” Katy asked softly.

  “Sure…I’ll do anything to get outta here,” Elizabeth replied as she stood. She winced as a pain shot up her leg.

  “Mr. Crosby, what about my boyfriend?” Elizabeth whispered after a few moments.

  Jake stopped and turned around. He paused. “I don’t know, Elizabeth. Let me get you girls someplace safe first, and then I’ll think of something.”

  “Get ready, old boy. This could be our big break,” Larson said to Shug, who momentarily stopped his ceaseless grooming and looked up with a cocked head. “If we find something significant at the camp, Sheriff Landrum might expand the K-9 program.”

  Deputy Larson Hodges and Mrs. Martha O’Brien had a fair working relationship. Although she didn’t care for the dog, she admired Larson’s attitude and seriousness. She just thought he needed to spend more time talking to humans. Radioing her, Larson gave her a quick update on the status of the investigation and where he was headed. Martha in turn filled him in on Tanner’s current condition since she was in constant contact with the hospital.

  The chief resident, Dr. Sarhan, a Vanderbilt grad from India, had come in to oversee Tanner’s case. The town folks could hardly understand Dr. Sarhan, but he was unquestionably the most talented physician they had ever had in the area. He was so well thought of that one restaurant had added curried chicken to its menu. Tanner was in good hands.

  The latest hospital report indicated that Tanner had multiple fractured ribs and a broken nose, had lost five teeth, and had a mysterious grazing wound on his right hand. There were too many bruises and cuts to list. Concerned about Tanner’s neck, Dr. Sarhan called in a special X-ray team. Tanner was heavily sedated and would be for a while. Dr. Sarhan was cautiously optimistic about his initial prognosis.

  Martha was chain-smoking menthol cigarettes and drinking black coffee. She was itching to find out what might have happened to Tanner. They must have driven up on a drug deal gone bad, she guessed. She immediately set out to determine the whereabouts of Ray-Ray Walker, who was at the heart of almost every crime in Sumter County. Without instruction, she called Ray-Ray’s house. His woman du jour answered. When Martha asked to speak to him, the woman said that he was in jail in Montgomery and that she was going to kill him when he got out. Martha verified Ray-Ray’s incarceration with the Montgomery Police Department and promptly forgot even hearing his girlfriend’s ranting. Martha O’Brien was back to square one.

  Larson pulled into the camp and turned off the ignition. He opened his door and stepped out, taking a moment to stretch and look around. Shug sat in the back seat licking. Opening the door, Larson called, “Achtung,” and the dog jumped out and heeled on the wrong side.

  “Finden!” Larson said in his best German accent, and the dog began searching the high grass. Larson reached back in the patrol car and looked for his long search leash.

  Shug barked excitedly several times as he ran around. Larson looked up curiously. What’s goin’ on? Shug never barks. Larson clicked on his flashlight and as he walked over to Shug, he stumbled on something, nearly falling.

  “Holy moly!” Larson exclaimed as he trained his light at his feet and saw a .44 Magnum revolver. It was huge. “This is our big break, Shug. Ollie’s gonna be thrilled. We might even get another K-9 officer for this find. Good boy, Shug!”

  Hearing himself praised, Shug trotted back to Larson.

  “Quit lickin’ the gun!” he scolded Shug, who ignored the command.

  Larson pulled Shug away and wondered what he could use to pick up the weapon. He finally stuck his pen through the trigger guard and carefully lifted it. He held it up to the car lights. It was a Ruger Blackhawk, a very powerful handgun. He smelled the end of the barrel like they do on TV.

  “It’s been fired!” Larson exclaimed; then he placed it in the Burger King bag he had on his front seat and hurried to radio the sheriff.

  Larson’s hands shook as he grabbed the mic. “Unit Five to Unit One!” Larson used his best radio voice. He was dying to tell someone.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Sheriff, you’ll never believe what I…what Shug found over here!” he said as fast as he could.

  “Hang on. I’ll be right there,” Ollie said matter-of-factly, hoping Larson understood what he was doing. In case the Beasleys were still at his office, Ollie didn’t want Elizabeth’s parents hearing an excited deputy describing wh
at might be their daughter. He was thinking the worst.

  “You don’t want me to tell you?” Larson was disappointed.

  “No. I’m on the way.” Ollie looked for a place to turn around.

  Twenty-five miles away at the sheriff’s office, Mrs. Martha O’Brien was on the edge of her seat. Her intuition kept her from saying anything.

  Ollie had hit the brakes immediately upon hearing Larson’s report. He backed up thirty feet, found a wide spot in the Dummy Line to turn around, then headed to the camp.

  Just past the reach of the Expedition’s headlights when Ollie stopped, in the center of the road, lay a black fleece jacket that was ripped almost in half. It smelled of perfume. Sheriff Ollie Landrum never saw it.

  Mick slowly pulled into the Bama Jama Night Club parking lot. He recognized a few of the redneck locals’ trucks. Those same guys always patronized this fine establishment. They were mainstays in the late-night pool hall scene. Mick didn’t see Jake’s truck, so he decided to ride through once more, looking for any Mississippi tags. Maybe he has a new truck. This is stupid. Jake’s not here. He doesn’t play high-stakes poker, and he certainly wouldn’t call me for money. A car flew by at eighty-five miles an hour just as Mick started to pull out onto the road. “Jeez um! That was close!” Mick yelled at the idiot driver.

  “This is crazy,” he said, then let out a deep breath. “Nothin’ makes sense.”

  Mick carefully looked both ways, pulled onto the road, and headed home. He wanted to sit down, clear his head. His wife could help sort it out.

  What had he heard? The words he remembered were Mick, Jake, club, and kill. He thought he had heard emergency. Maybe he had imagined that. The telephone connection had been awful, and he hadn’t been fully awake. Could it have been a hunting accident? Not that late at night. Mick smiled as he thought that, to Jake and any die-hard turkey hunter, killing a gobbler was an emergency.

  It was beginning to get foggy in the low areas. Mick noticed that the sky was clear and the stars were out as he pulled into his driveway and parked. He lowered the tailgate and allowed Beau to jump down.