How misguided and brainwashed can a person be? Minnie had all the characteristics of a woman in the clutches of a traumatic bond. There was nothing that sounded healthy about her marriage relationship. Nothing. She’d made herself the scapegoat for Duke’s violent acts and controlling behaviors. He’d belittled her in public, trashed her accomplishments, intimidated her with threats, beat her physically, and ignored her emotional needs. Duke’s jealousy was a ruse, unfounded and without reason. Maybe she’d convinced herself that she was at fault for everything and Duke her hero, but I saw it differently.
“I went to the hospital. The doctor said I had a nervous breakdown. It was then I realized how much Duke had done for me. I’m so thankful for Duke. He is my whole world.”
I’d become tone deaf to Minnie’s verbiage. I’d been mistaken in my judgment. I’d given Minnie the opportunity to bare her soul, thinking she’d come clean. Instead, she’d elevated Duke’s abusiveness to savior status. In my book, that made Minnie dangerous to Joyce and me.
It was a day of mistaken judgment. I’d hoped Joyce was the key to unlocking Minnie, but I was wrong. Whatever Minnie had confided in Joyce before I arrived back at the house, she was no longer willing to admit. Was it fear? Was it because of my background as a reporter? I’d picked up mixed signals from her. I couldn’t put my finger on what I sensed, but I was sure other dynamics were in play. Rapidly, I became suspicious of her motives. Had Minnie put on the show for Joyce’s benefit? Did Minnie feel threatened by Joyce returning to Shell Knob? There was more trouble at the root of the issue. I motioned to Joyce to cut it short. I needed to go.
I waved good-bye and walked. Joyce being polite hugged and shed another tear with Minnie. As we traveled back to the resort, my thoughts slipped out of my mouth. “There’s no saving that girl from herself. All her health problems, depression, lack of self-esteem and self-confidence, are a result of Duke’s abusive behaviors. It’s just like Minnie said, Duke, Duke, everything is Duke. If she believes that, she doesn’t stand a chance. I overheard her say the word love a few times, but I never saw it in anything she said. Someday. Maybe. She’ll come to her senses and realize it’s been Duke all along who was at fault. In my opinion, she’ll never leave him.” Joyce looked out the passenger window. I couldn’t see her face, and I sensed she wanted it that way. I saw her brush tears away.
I’ve played my part well in Shell Knob. I’ve enjoyed living the life of a reporter without any responsibility. I’d entertained the notion of reforming my ways and setting aside my passion for killing, but that’s not me. I don’t belong in Shell Knob. However, leaving was impossible until police caught the young girl’s murderer. If I skipped town prior to the capture, the manhunt would be on for me as a person of interest.
Late in the afternoon, Jay Landers pulled into the resort driveway.
“What’s up Jay?”
“Where’s the beer?”
A legitimate question for a friendly chat, I thought. There was nothing suspicious about Jay stopping by for a social visit. Except, it was the first time he’d stopped by to see me. “Around back on the porch in a cooler. I hope you like Harp Lager.”
“Is it beer?”
“Irish import.”
We walked to the lake side of the cabin. “Grab a chair.” I pointed to a plastic lawn chair while I pulled up the porch rocker. Being the hospitable type, I would never make a man drink alone. Besides I wanted to hear what he had to say and what better way than over a beer or two. I grabbed a couple beers, cracked the top on one, and passed it to him. “So what’s on your mind? You didn’t come all this way for a free beer?”
“No.” Landers chugged his beer empty. “I have an ulterior motive.”
I cracked a smile and the tops on two fresh brews. “Does it have something to do with a murdered girl?”
Landers took a swig from his beer then said, “You’re good.”
“Elementary. You see, I suspect you have something you want to share, and you don’t have anyone else you can do that with?”
“You forgot, “My dear Watson,” after “Elementary.”
“Interesting point my dear Landers, except Sherlock Holmes never said those words.”
Jay gulped his beer. “I’ll check that out.” Landers finished his beer and snagged a third round offering me one as well. “I told Deputy Delford about the anonymous call I’d received. He ran with it.” He paused to wet his lips.
“And.”
“Delford met me at Carole’s today for lunch. He was probing for further information. He asked if I had any other contact with the caller. Of course, I haven’t.”
Jay took another swig, followed by an “Ahh,” then continued. “Delford asked me to keep a lid on what he picked up. He passed on to an investigator by the name Parker the anonymous tip I had given him.”
“Sounds like y’all are playing a game.”
“So far it’s a good game. This Parker guy acted on the lead, and they picked up a possible missing girl from Alaska. Delford said she fit the description. The facts are sketchy. But Delford believes the results will be positive.”
“That’s great.”
Jay looked me square in the eyes, “The caller knew. There is nothing coincidental about what she had said. I find it hard to believe whoever was involved, lives right here amongst us.” Landers shook his head. “It’s hard for me to fathom.”
“If Delford confirms the identification, you’ll have solved the first equation within the puzzle.”
“Delford said the missing girl was from Palmer, Alaska. The abduction took place while on her way home from school. One classmate witnessed the girl struggling with a man before she was shoved into a car.” Landers sat back and gazed across the lake.
Resort guests, a man and woman, led a small procession of children to the water’s edge, where they waded into the shallows. Soon the sounds of frolic echoed across the lake. Jay watched them intently. “How could she be abducted in Alaska and end up in Missouri? What kind of monster are we dealing with?”
The first question was answerable, but I didn’t have one. I assumed the second question had been rhetorical. There was no rational answer.
“Jay, have you heard of a group around here called the Missouri Alliance? They’re some doomsday survivalist group; best I can tell.”
Landers shook his head.
“I want to know if they’re legit. I’m thinking about doing a story, I find them kind of quirky.”
“Can’t say that I have.” Jay’s bloodhound nose kicked in at my question. “What are you thinking, Walter? You think they had something to do with what happened to the girl, don’t you?”
“No, no, no, I’d run across some of their literature, and I was wondering if you’d heard of them. That’s all.”
“I can ask around.”
I nodded. Landers was a relative newcomer to Barry County. I would’ve been surprised if he was aware of the preppers, but it was worth a chance.
In the Palatini line of work, less attention was better. People get the wrong idea about a guy if he asks too many sensitive questions. And I wasn’t interested in people having the wrong idea about me. In fact, I didn’t want people to have ideas about me at all. Yet, I had to ask questions. The wrong person asked the wrong question, and a lot of heat could come down on a guy in a small community where half the people are related by blood or marriage, or maybe both.
“What’s the scoop on this so-called Vigilance Committee?”
Landers pondered for a moment, “I would call them a neighborhood watch program. They’ve helped the police locate meth labs, break up a local theft ring and chop shop. Rumor has it they’ve engaged in some alleged violence.”
“Like what?”
“They’ve been in hot water with the Sheriff’s Department. A few months ago they allegedly assisted an unsavory ethnic family to reconsider their decision to move into Cassville. Nothing has come from the investigation.”
I reached in and grabbed another co
ld one of the cooler, “Some all-around good guys, huh?”
“They may have good intentions, but good intentions get carried away sometimes.”
“No doubt.” I took a long, refreshing drink. “If you pick up any more trivia, I’d like to know, okay?”
“I’ll get back to you.”
“Thanks buddy.” I remained on the porch after Landers left. I pulled out the handful of Alliance brochures that I’d stuffed in my back jeans pocket and thumbed through them. I’d fallen prey to my prompts. My focus belonged on the dead girl’s investigation, not on Duke. Finding the killer was my key out of Shell Knob. Strange, I thought, I vaguely remembered Minnie saying something to the effect the girl being eleven-years-old. If my recall was correct, how could she have known? The age hadn’t been released yet.
Chapter 5
“The cat is obeying its blood instinct when it plays with the mouse.”
—Agatha Christie
I have a suspicious mind. Maybe it was me looking for something that wasn’t there, but I was puzzled by the Alliance. The Missouri Alliance had many common traits with 2nd Amendment patriot movements. I found the concept of a patriot militia appealing. Each brochure contained quasi-mission statements focused on the erosion of gun owners’ rights and government conspiring to convince the public that guns in the hands of law-abiding citizens were responsible for criminal behavior. These were popular topics and had not gone unnoticed by me. If these were the causes for their existence, I could easily support them.
The flyer’s primary purpose was to gain membership and buyers for their services. They had a large target audience and a useful tool to reach followers of their mindset. For those “believers” in coming catastrophic events, it was an easy sale.
Fringe elements of society, however, needed a hook to convince outsiders of their organization’s value and validity. To accomplish this, the far-flung had to emphasize common features that the masses accepted, such as gun rights. But the hook was delivered when they promoted their secondary pitch. It made them stand out from the other salesmen with similar wares.
The Alliance geared toward doomsday themes. They offered “how to” guides and prepper courses for what to expect after the collapse of civil order. In their promotion, it was already a done deal. Not if, but when, so to be saved, you had to hurry to get in the boat before it sailed. The Alliance outlined their enemies in the post-collapse environment as street gangs and wandering bands of urbanites they affectionately referred to as zombies.
Doomsday predictions had a myriad of possibilities for what might upset the apple cart of humanity. For those who “believed,” the event was imminent and already unfolding. The catastrophic events of biblical proportions outlined in the brochures were not as evident as they claimed. But such a compelling persuasion could be very lucrative. The Alliance had the snake oil and the passion for pushing it.
I found it interesting that in their core principles, there wasn’t any mention of God or religious rudiment. They had the usual rights, liberties, and freedoms, but no God. Down in the hills of Dixie, it was hard to believe they’d left God out by accident. What these Missouri boys did have in their literature was the same circular symbol that was on the flag at the back of the classroom. Maybe what I’d stumbled across was a ragtag Aryan army but, that didn’t jive with their affiliate Alliance brochures on display. Only one of the other advertisements showed the same circular symbol. Were they racists? Perhaps, but until I knew more, I concluded it was not a foundational element by which their movement had been allied.
My thoughts were interrupted by the clattering noise from a vehicle crossing the driveway ruts and potholes. Evidently it was another lead-foot who hadn’t taken the time to read the posted warning sign that read “SLOW” in big block letters. I walked to the front of my cabin. To my surprise, Duke’s unmistakable ‘69 Ford was parked cockeyed in the driveway. I took off running to the resort. As I rounded the front of the resort, Duke stood on the porch wagging his finger in Joyce’s face and raising a ruckus.
With a sharp tone I yelled, “Hey! What’s your problem?”
Duke glanced in my direction, but just as quickly, dismissed my presence as irrelevant. I saw the opportunity for an educational moment, and I had a lesson prepared.
I spun Duke around to gain his attention. His response was predictable. With his chest puffed up, and his finger in my face, he put forth a rambling series of threats. What I heard was blah, blah, blah.
Duke was used to people cowering in response to his intimidation. But I wasn’t a run-of-the-mill kind of guy. I had to show him he’d bitten off more than he could chew. He said something foul-mouthed and indecent as I went into action.
He was a big guy with a bigger ego. He squared off face-to-face and tried to sound tough. I wasn’t impressed; his mouth exceeded his ability. I sensed a lack of spine to back up his threats. In the seconds that followed, he made a futile attempt to back me off the porch with his size. Acting on a four-inch height advantage, he bumped his chest against my body. His ego wouldn’t let him play it smart. He pushed against me again. I stepped back and gave him the confidence to step forward again. Once he’d committed to continuous pushing with his body, he’d given up any advantage he possessed in reach. Duke’s tactics closed the distance between us. The element of surprise was in my favor, and I took the initiative. I snatched the finger he’d stuck in my face and gave it a quick wrenching twist. If it didn’t bring him to his knees in pain, it would make it sore for a day or two. Duke bent at the hip to keep up with where his finger took him. When I let go, he sprang up like a jack-in-the-box. I grabbed a handful of collar and drove him backward. When we reached a wall, I slammed him against it. My forearm crossed under his neck and pinned him against the wall.
“I asked you nice once, and this is the last time I’m going to be civil about it. What’s your problem?”
He momentarily struggled against my grip so I bounced him off the wall for a second time and for good measure slammed him against the same spot once more. Finally, Duke showed me the respect I deserved.
His deep-set eyes and piercing gaze displayed the intensity of his anger. But all he had to fight with were words. “You son-of-a—” He stopped in his tracks as I squeezed my free hand under his chin and pushed up until he was unable to form words or even breathe easily.
“I’ve had enough of your mouth. You either speak decently and learn to do it with respect or don’t come around here. Do I make myself clear?”
Duke had pegged me as a wimpy journalistic type who was afraid of my own shadow. My façade had worked, and I had caught him with his guard down. He never expected a physical response. It had given me the drop on him this time, but it would never be as easy again. He nodded as best he could with his head pressed against the wall.
“Now, what’s the problem?”
“Y’all don’t have no business talkin’ to my wife. Hear me?”
His body relaxed from the rigidness he had when he tried to free himself from my grasp. Slowly, I released his collar. I wasn’t worried he might go off again. In fact, I welcomed it. I’d polish the floor with him if he acted out again. I let go of my hold entirely and straightened his crumpled collar. With a dramatic push of my hand he said, “Leave it alone. I can do it myself.” It was a big show to save face, but otherwise meaningless. Any action he took was because I allowed it. I owned him.
Duke finished adjusting his clothing then piped up again, “I don’t never need y’alls help, not with nothin’.” His words had taken on a different tone and connotation. Joyce didn’t catch on and wasted her time explaining our side of the story. “Walter and I were out for a drive. We happened to be in your area and stopped by to say hello. We weren’t trying to start trouble.” She’d lied. She knew the plan. It was a good sign.
“It don’t sound nothin’ like that to me. Sounds more like y’all were stickin’ your nose in other people’s business.” Duke then turned his attention to me, “She never sai
d you were even there.”
I wanted to avoid Duke’s comment, but I knew it wasn’t going away. By Minnie not revealing I was with Joyce it might bring the wrath of Duke upon her. The only way forward was to be plain and simple, so Duke didn’t misunderstand.
“You know what,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“If I see something wrong, I make it my business—then I take care of it. And I’m seeing all sorts of wrongs.”
“Y’alls reporter crap don’t fly none ‘round here city boy. What goes on in my house is my business, not y’alls! I ain’t askin’, I’m tellin’ y’all to stay out of my business and stay away from my house!”
I prayed for a sign from Joyce, so I could thump this big monkey.
“I don’t understand,” Joyce said. “We’ve been friends for a long time.” Her statement was true, and Joyce’s sincerity struck a chord with Duke. He didn’t say a word, but stood motionless, and stared in her direction. Twice in a matter of minutes, he’d been bested. Manhandled by someone he thought was easily intimidated and then stymied by Joyce’s passionate plea.
Joyce still didn’t see the underlying behavior behind Jekyll’s cloak. Duke’s actions were the notorious Mister Hyde squirming to get free. He was a caged animal and didn’t like playing second fiddle to Jekyll. Duke’s day-to-day life had hidden his real personality. The good people of the community saw only the Jekyll façade. But under stress, and challenged, he lost his ability to control the face he preferred to show to others. I’d discovered his Achilles heel. I could push his buttons anytime I wished and watch him dance. Duke didn’t know it, but he’d handed over control of his life. It was mine whenever I wanted it.
Duke lit down off the porch without saying anything further. His long legs took rapid strides toward his pickup. Joyce called out to him, but he didn’t stop. When he reached the driver side door, he swung it open. His behavior was ratcheting up. It would take a little provocation to set Hyde free.
Blood Appeal: Vigilante--A Species of Common Law Page 8