by Ben Rehder
Another mile went by.
“These are really hurting my wrists.” The woman shifted in her seat, arching her back to relieve the pressure of the handcuffs behind her. Marlin tried not to notice the way her breasts strained against the front of her turtleneck. He hadn’t wanted to cuff her, but after the coffee, he’d wanted to make sure she was restrained, at least until he had a bead on her companion, Mr. Scruffy. That guy had turned out to be the placid one, merely sneering—apparently a trademark of his—while Marlin read the woman, one Inga Karin Mueller from Minnesota, her rights.
Marlin pulled to the shoulder of the highway and put the cruiser in neutral. He held the handcuff key up for Inga to see. “Gonna behave?”
She snorted and rolled her eyes.
Marlin started to put the key back on his belt.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “Can’t you take a joke?”
She twisted toward the window and Marlin removed the cuffs. She rubbed her wrists as Marlin pulled the cruiser back onto the road.
“Thank you,” she said.
“No problem.”
They crossed over Miller Creek, which was barely more than a slow-moving mud puddle despite last night’s brief rain.
“What’s the deal with your friend, anyway? Did he take a mail-order course on the fine art of sneering?”
Inga laughed. “Oh, that’s just Tommy. Not a real happy guy, but he’s pretty harmless.”
Marlin wasn’t sure he agreed. Thomas Collin Peabody had been arrested three times for destruction of property and twice for trespassing. A typical rap sheet for an aggressive activist. Unfortunately, when Marlin had radioed him in, there were no warrants. He had to watch the mousy little guy get back in the Volvo and drive away.
“He’s a very intelligent man, actually,” Inga continued. “Has a bunch of degrees. Philosophy. Government. History. Went to Harvard for about a zillion years. And now he wants me to marry him.” She gave Marlin a sidelong glance, but he just nodded.
“So you’re not going to share your secret with me,” Marlin said, “tell me why you wanted to get busted?”
Inga gave him a hard stare for several seconds, as if sizing him up. Finally, she said, “Unlike some people, I love nature. When I see people shooting animals, dumping sewage in creeks, destroying forests, I do something about it.”
Marlin was tempted to chastise her for putting hunting in the same league with polluting and deforestation, but he held his tongue.
She went on: “When I see a guy like Rodney Bauer blasting away at beautiful, defenseless birds, it just makes me so angry—” She shook her head in frustration.
He gave her a few moments to continue, but she stared out the window at the passing countryside instead.
Marlin said, “Surely you didn’t drive two thousand miles to get Rodney Bauer all hot and bothered and then vandalize his truck.” He was hoping to make her grin, but had no luck. He was certain she had a wonderful smile.
“Nope. We drove down here for a different reason entirely.”
“And that would be—?”
She paused, seeming reluctant to let Marlin into her confidence. But he must have passed some sort of test. “Let me ask you something. Have you ever heard of the red-necked sapsucker?”
The sapsucker again.
“Sure,” Marlin replied. “Endangered species.”
“And obviously you know about all the brush-clearing that’s going on around here. But I don’t think most people even realize the effect it’s having, that they’re wiping out the last of a species. If all the cedars are removed, that’s it, end of story, the red-necked sapsucker is gone. I’m here to change that.”
“Meaning what?” Marlin had already admitted to himself that he liked the woman, despite the coffee stain on his chest. But if she was going to get out of hand, he knew he’d have to do something about it.
“I’m going to do my damnedest to make sure everyone knows exactly what they’re doing. I just can’t believe that these ranchers will continue clearing land if they know they’re removing an animal from the face of the Earth forever.”
Thinking of Thomas Peabody, Marlin said, “Maybe you know birds better than you know men.” Marlin hadn’t meant it as an insult, but the woman got red in the face. Marlin could tell that Inga had a temper.
“Oh, I see. You probably agree with them, right? That they can do whatever is best for man regardless of the consequences. Just cut all the trees down, who the hell cares. What’s one less bird, anyway?”
Marlin let her finish, then handed her a copy of the Blanco County Record that had been resting on his dashboard. It was opened to Susannah Branson’s article. The reporter had captured Marlin’s thoughts accurately, stating that “our local game warden encourages area residents to consider the impact of brush-clearing on native wildlife.”
Inga read it through, then looked at Marlin sheepishly. “Sorry. Guess you’re not one of the bad guys. My mistake.” Marlin decided now was not the time to mention that he was an avid hunter. That would surely set off some fireworks. “Guess this Susannah Branson has the hots for you, huh?” Inga said in a teasing voice.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, God, it’s obvious. Listen to her opening line: ‘Beneath John Marlin’s rugged good looks lies the sensitive soul of a nature lover.’ See that? She managed to get ‘Beneath John Marlin,’ ‘rugged good looks,’ and ‘lover’ all in one sentence. The woman is shameless.”
Marlin started to speak, but couldn’t come up with anything, just sat there with his mouth open. Inga responded with an impish smile. He saw that his guess was correct; it was a wonderful smile.
CHAPTER SEVEN
At four o’clock on Monday afternoon, a tall, muscular young man with a purple birthmark on his neck walked into the Save-Mart two miles north of Johnson City. He was browsing in the Lawn & Garden section when a clerk approached him.
“Can I help you find anything, sir?”
“Yeah, I need a shitload of rat poison,” the young man said with a pronounced East Coast accent.
An elderly woman in the same aisle gave the young man a glare and scurried away with her shopping cart.
“Well, let’s see…if you’ll follow me, I believe that’s in the next aisle over. How much do you need, exactly?”
“Enough to kill a small army of those fuckers. We got rats everywhere.”
“Indoors or out?”
The young man shrugged. “Some in, some out. What’s the diff?”
The clerk picked up a yellow box and read the label. “It’s just that some of these poisons are pretty strong, so you have to make sure other animals don’t get to it. Yeah, like right here, it says to keep it away from pets and livestock.”
“What, so, a cow could accidentally eat that stuff and croak?”
“I believe so, sir. You have to be very careful.”
“Gimme a box of that, then. That should do the trick.”
“I’m sure it will. Anything else I can help you with?”
The shopper glanced around and said, “Uh, yeah, can you tell me where the saws are at?”
The clerk pointed toward the rear of the store. “Those would be in Hardware. Aisle twelve, I believe.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
The customer strode away and the clerk thought: Rat poison and a saw. What a strange young man.
Marlin was in the kitchen, drinking a beer and eating some cold pizza for dinner, when the phone rang. He was tempted to let the machine get it, but during deer season duty called at all hours.
On the third ring, he grabbed the phone, his mouth full of cheese and pepperoni. “John Marlin.”
“Hey, John, it’s me.”
His heart thumped, as it always did lately when he heard her voice. It was Becky, calling from Dallas.
“Oh, hey, I was just thinking about you.” The truth was, he thought about her all the time. “How are you doing?”
“I’m doing okay. How are you? How’s deer se
ason so far?”
“Pretty quiet, really. Some bad weather yesterday....” He saw no need to tell her about the woman he had arrested this morning. “How’s your mom doing?” It was a question he hated to ask, but it needed asking.
“That’s kind of why I’m calling. She’s not doing real well and she’s back in the hospital. Her white count is sky-high and she has another infection. This one seems much worse and I’m afraid—”
Her voice broke and Marlin knew she was on the verge of tears.
After a moment, she said, “I don’t think she has much longer, John.”
Marlin wished he could reach out and hold her, wipe her tears away. He wasn’t very good over the phone. “Becky, I’m so sorry. Margaret is a tough woman….” His voice trailed off because he didn’t know what else to say. Both of them knew Margaret’s illness was terminal. It was just a question of how long. “I wish I could be there for you,” he finally said.
“I know you do, and I appreciate it. That’s sweet. But I’m doing all right, really.” She gave a little laugh. “It’s just that when I talk to you, my emotions tend to get out of hand a little. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Becky. You know I’m here to talk whenever you want. I just wish I could do more. Sometimes I feel like I’m letting you down.”
“Don’t say that, John. You could never let me down. If anything, it’s the other way around.”
Marlin assured her this wasn’t the case, even as a wave of melancholy washed over his heart. Sometimes, when he was upset, he felt that she was right, that she was letting him down. After all, she was the one who had left. Four months ago, when Becky had first learned of her mother’s illness, she had packed a few things and headed for Dallas. It was to be a temporary stay, just an extended visit to help her mother through the crisis. But when Becky had discovered the true condition of Margaret’s health, she had decided to remain with her until the end. Becky would come home on weekends and as the weeks went by, Marlin began to notice a change in her mood. She continued to be distraught about her mother—but professionally, she seemed to be elated.
She had taken a nursing position, a short-term contract, at a hospital in Dallas, one of the top facilities in the Southwest. It’s so exciting, John, he remembered her saying. This hospital is absolutely amazing. It’s making me remember why I became a nurse to begin with. Marlin had known that Becky hadn’t been happy with her job at Blanco County Hospital. It was a small, unimpressive facility, where the most challenging case might be a kid getting his tonsils removed, or an elderly person with the flu. The tougher cases went to Austin or San Antonio. Becky had considered returning to her old job in San Antonio, at the hospital where she was working when Marlin had met her. But it was more than an hour’s drive each way, a longer commute than she had wanted to make on a daily basis.
The last time Marlin and Becky talked, she’d told him the hospital had made her an offer. They wanted her on the permanent staff. The salary was outstanding, the benefits were excellent, and the career potential was enormous. She would be able to work on the kinds of cases she had always dreamed of. Have you accepted the offer? Marlin had asked. She hadn’t. She wanted time to think it over. Now, with this phone call, Marlin figured her thinking was done.
“How’s the job?” he asked, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer.
“It’s great,” she said and took a deep breath. “And I’ve decided to take the offer.”
Both of them were silent for a moment. Marlin wanted to tell her she was doing the wrong thing, that he loved her and wanted her back by his side. He even considered—as he had in the past—asking her to marry him. But that would never resolve the problem at hand: Becky was an independent, career-minded woman, and Blanco County simply didn’t hold anything for her.
Marlin said quietly, “I know it’s what you wanted, Becky. Good for you. I’m proud of you.”
But Becky was choking up again. “This just isn’t fair,” she said. “I can’t live in Blanco County…and you wouldn’t be happy anywhere else.”
And, of course, she was right. Marlin had considered asking for a transfer to the next available game-warden position anywhere near Dallas. But it was a fleeting thought. There was no way he could ever leave his hometown. His roots were too deep.
“So I guess that’s it, then,” Marlin said. No sense in dragging this out, he thought. It would only make it more painful.
“You know I would do it differently if I could. I love you very much, John.”
“I love you, too. Good luck with everything.”
“Thanks.”
“You take care of yourself. I’m sure I’ll see you again sometime....”
“I know you will, John. Oh, what are we saying? I’ve still got to come back down there and pick up the last of my things. I’ll try to do that in the next few weeks.”
“That sounds fine.” Marlin said. They each said a sad goodbye, and he cradled the phone. The house seemed so quiet and empty. Hell, it’s no big deal, Marlin thought. He had lived alone for years. It was nice to have a woman like Becky around, but he knew he’d be able to handle her leaving. Just had to get back in the groove of being single again.
He sat in the quiet house for a moment, and then his eye wandered to the bottle of Wild Turkey perched on top of the refrigerator. It had been weeks since he’d had a good stiff drink.
And right now he could use one.
Make people fear you.
Vinnie Mameli could remember his dad telling him that as if it were yesterday.
Actually, though, it was three years ago, when his father took Vinnie out to dinner one night, ordered linguini and clams for the both of them, then calmly revealed what he did for a living. Vinnie always suspected there was more to his dad than the concrete business. But for his dad to take him into his confidence—to lay all the cards on the table—was quite a rush for a seventeen-year-old already buzzing from too much wine. You’re a man now, Vinnie, Sal Mameli told him. And a man needs to know certain things to get by in this world.
On that night, and on many nights since, Sal had done his best to share his wisdom with the boy.
A bribe will almost always get the job done. And if a bribe don’t work, a threat will.
Surround yourself with people you can trust. But never completely trust anyone but yourself.
No matter how much you hated the guy, always go to his funeral.
And Vinnie’s favorite: Respect may work for the Pope, but not for you and me. Fear is better. Make people fear you.
And that’s exactly what Vinnie had in mind Monday night when he drove toward Emmett Slaton’s house, dressed head to toe in black. He would show the old douche bag that you don’t fuck around with the Mamelis. Before Vinnie was done, the old geezer would be begging to sell his business.
Vinnie spotted the entrance to Buckhorn Creek Ranch and slowly idled past. Two hundred yards farther down the road, he found another ranch entrance. He knew the place was a deer lease, not a residence, so nobody would be coming or going at this hour. He pulled into the entrance and killed the engine.
Five minutes later, Vinnie was positioned in a grove of cedar trees a hundred yards from Emmett Slaton’s front door. The porch light was on, and the interior lights said Slaton hadn’t gone to bed yet. Now it was a waiting game. Vinnie had no problem with that. He’d wait out here all night if it would make his dad happy. Vinnie was proud to be in charge of such an important mission, and equally proud that his dad had left the specifics up to him. Just do whatever you gotta do to get that bastard to make a deal. But watch your ass. We don’t need any heat on us. And let me know when you’re gonna pull somethin’, so’s I can have an alibi.
Vinnie was enjoying these thoughts when the front door of the home opened and Slaton’s Doberman pinscher trotted out. From his hiding spot, Vinnie caught a glimpse of Slaton before the door swung shut.
Vinnie had chosen his location carefully: The wind was in his face to prevent the d
og from scenting him.
The dog pranced away from the house, found a small sapling, and took a long leak. Then, nose to the ground, he sniffed a path through the grass, coming in Vinnie’s direction.
When the dog was about thirty yards away, Vinnie opened a Ziploc bag, removed the contents, and tossed it toward the mutt. When the projectile hit the ground, the dog stopped abruptly and let out a small, surprised bark. Vinnie shrunk back into the trees.
Vinnie knew this was the moment of truth. In the next few minutes, his plan would either unfold smoothly—or it would fall to pieces.
Finally, after staring intently into the darkness, the dog cautiously approached the interesting object on the ground.