The Burial Place

by Larry Enmon

  “You know, Brother John didn’t have much luck with his disciples,” Rob said. “One overdosed and died, one is in a prison for the criminally insane, and one is in jail for drunk and disorderly.”

  “I’m not concerned with them. I’m worried about the ones who’ll be in the house when we go in. How many, you think?”

  Rob ducked a limb. “Eddie said he chose six disciples from earthly sinners. That would leave three in the house, unless one goes with John to the sheriff’s.”

  “Think we can handle three guys without shooting a couple?”

  Rob hesitated a few seconds before answering. “Then there are the women.”

  Frank’s thoughts drifted to the girl he’d killed in the truck. The one with the dagger. The one who’d almost ended his life. “The odds just get better and better,” Frank grumbled.

  Ten minutes later, they found the perfect place. They lay on their bellies about sixty yards from the house in a shaded, hidden area.

  Rob put the binoculars on the screen door just as it opened. “We got movement. They’re on the porch.”

  “How many?” Frank asked.

  “I see three. Wait, they’re coming outside.”

  “Isn’t that John?” Frank pointed.

  “Yeah, looks like him. Shit.”

  The two tall men who resembled each other got in the truck and left. John remained on the porch, looking out over the lawn as if waiting for something.

  “Old John must be smarter than he looks,” Frank said.

  “What do we do?”

  Frank scratched his neck, thinking. “Stay with the plan. With two out of the way, we’ll have one less to deal with.”

  “Let’s give them a few minutes. Let them get closer to town,” Rob said before passing the binoculars to Frank. Rob rolled onto his back, staring into the tree branches. “This is pretty country. Nice place to retire. Yeah, Carmen and I could sell out, come here and buy a few acres, build a cabin. I’d have a place to hunt, plant a garden, raise a few cows.”

  “Then you could be a real cowboy—not just dress like one,” Frank remarked.

  Rob rolled back to his stomach. “I could live this kind of life, and so could Carmen—you know, when she gets better.” Rob pulled out his Copenhagen can and filled his lip. Probably to further prove his cowboyness.

  Frank swiveled his head toward him. “Yeah, you could live here if they’d accept you as friends and neighbors, but they won’t.”

  Rob’s brow crinkled. “Why, because we’re Mexican?”

  “No, because you guys still have all your teeth.”

  The sound of a four-wheeler floated through the trees from the direction of their truck.

  * * *

  Brother Luther pulled up to the white pickup and glanced inside. Two yellow hardhats lay on the seat. One of the gas service trucks? But where was the driver? The first gas well was another quarter mile down the road. Luther switched off the engine, slid off the four-wheeler, and walked around the truck. It looked okay. No flats or any reason it wouldn’t run. He touched the hood—still warm, but not hot. Must have been here a half hour or less.

  Luther craned his neck down the road for signs of the driver—nothing. If it had quit running, the guy had probably walked to the main road and called for a ride. Readjusting the string of catfish in the front basket, Luther cranked up the four-wheeler and drove toward the Farm to Market Road. If the gas guy was there waiting for a ride, that would be all right, but if not, then where was he? He’d have to tell John about this.

  * * *

  Frank kept the binoculars on the porch door and mentally worked through several scenarios. Only a couple seemed feasible, however. They’d either meet serious resistance or they wouldn’t. If it turned out to be the former, how much force was he willing to use to conduct the search? They certainly didn’t want to kill anyone, but what if they had no choice? If Trina was found safe and rescued, anything would be forgiven. If they came up dry and were forced to hurt someone in the process, they’d be the outlaws. All Frank knew for certain was he had to try. The thought of not trying ate at his heart. He would risk all he had or would ever have on the outcome.

  Frank glanced at Rob, who held out his hand for the binoculars. Frank handed them over. It wasn’t right that Rob would suffer the same punishment as he if things went tits up. He was just being the loyal partner of a nutcase, people would say. Frank could hear the comments now: An ill-conceived notion. A stupid idea. Foolish and dangerous. Best case would be to avoid the dogs, spy Trina through a window, and whisk her away with no one the wiser. What were the chances of that?

  Frank took the binoculars again and scanned the yard for the mutts. They’d seen them the other day, but not this morning. In a locked kennel, perhaps? The song of a bird preceded a splat and warm feeling on the back of Frank’s right hand. He wiped the poop off and stared at Rob. A smirk spread across his partner’s face.

  “Ain’t nature great, cracker?”

  “Yeah, great. How much time?”

  Rob checked his watch. “They should just about be at the sheriff’s office by now.” Rob grabbed the paper bag he got from the bait shop and emptied it on the ground.

  “What are those?”

  Rob grinned. “Bait casting nets.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  Rob stood and unfolded each one. “See if I can catch me a dog.”

  Frank rose and Rob handed him the open net.

  “Hold it like this as we approach the house,” Rob said, “I’ll have the other. If the dogs come at us, I’ll snare them. Give us a few extra seconds to make it to the door.”

  “I don’t know how to use this thing,” Frank said.

  “Don’t worry about it. Just hand it to me the way you’re holding it now and I’ll do the casting.”

  “You sure about this?”

  Rob got his net ready, got a fresh dip of Copenhagen, and lifted an eyebrow. “Who do you think caught all the bait for my dad, brothers, and uncles growing up in Port Aransas?”

  Frank spread his feet and shifted his weight forward. “Okay, Captain Ahab, it’s all yours.”

  Rob shook the wrinkles from his net and nodded.

  “On three,” Frank said, his earlier thoughts echoing in his head again. A stupid idea. Foolish and dangerous.

  Rob spit and flexed his knees.

  “One—two—three.”

  36

  Katrina pushed the sheets and pillow cases into the washer and added detergent. It didn’t take that long to straighten up her room, and she had a few minutes to kill waiting for the sheets to wash. Better make herself scarce if she didn’t want another job. Sisters Ruth and Judy had been their bitchy selves today—as usual. At least they were busy upstairs and not yelling at her to do something. All the men had drifted off somewhere, except the Freak. He’d moped around all morning from room to room, giving her a stare she didn’t like. He’d looked at her with his creepy eyes since she’d arrived, but today seemed different. More threatening somehow. He and Sister Karen had disappeared upstairs a while ago.

  She set the water level and temperature and spun the dial for the wash cycle. As she closed the lid, some movement outside caught her eye. She leaned closer to the window and squinted. Two men ran from the woods toward the screened porch, carrying some kind of large white cloth in their hands. A dog bounded straight at them as the short stocky one whirled the cloth once and released it on the dog. It collapsed and rolled forward, kicking and biting at the cloth.

  A net—it was a net, and the dog was tangled in it. The larger dog charged. The tall guy handed his net to the short one, and he again whirled it at the animal. This dog appeared smarter, and ducked its head. The net slid off its back. The beast made a beeline for the short guy. When it hit him, they both toppled to the ground as the tall man kicked the dog. A shot rang out from the melee, and the one on the ground pushed the dead dog off. The men raced the last few yards to the porch.

  What the hell? Katrina r
an into the kitchen.

  * * *

  Luther rode up and down the Farm to Market Road for a half mile in each direction before he headed home. He couldn’t figure it out. The fella having truck trouble must’ve called for a ride. No sign of him walking on the road.

  The sound of a gun going off from the direction of the house didn’t particularity alarm Luther. Someone shooting a snake or armadillo, most likely. He tootled down the gravel road on the four-wheeler. Needed to get these fish somewhere cooler. He’d rather clean them than be with John when he took Katrina out back, anyway. Of all the girls, she remained his favorite. He didn’t know why. She wasn’t a particularity pleasant person. Had a smart mouth most of the time, but she had a quality he admired—spunk. Shame she had to go so soon. Could have produced a better-than-average baby.

  * * *

  Frank hit the screen door like an offensive lineman. He jumped on the porch and held it for Rob, who was one second behind him. Frank pushed opened the kitchen door in a run and came face to face with Katrina, the girl who looked like the love of his life twenty years ago. The straight hair draped over her shoulders, and the old-maid dress hid her figure, but he was pretty sure.

  Panting, Frank asked, “Are you Katrina Wallace?”

  Rob bolted through the door, catching his breath, his left forearm bleeding. He swung the pistol left and right.

  “Clear,” Rob shouted. He moved to the side, keeping the pistol trained on the next room as the sound of footsteps approached.

  Katrina seemed frozen, unable to speak. Frank grabbed her arm and shook it. “I said, are you Katrina Wallace?” he yelled.

  She found her voice. “Yes … yes, yes. Who are you?”

  Before Rob could announce they were the police, Frank cut him off. “Two crazy guys your father sent to bring you home. Let’s get out of here.”

  Trina pulled away. “No, wait, my friend’s in the basement. We have to take—”

  “What’s going on here?” A tall woman with long, straight brown hair marched around the corner and met eyes with Frank. “Who are you?”

  Trina looked in her direction and said, “Get out of my way, Ruth. I’m letting Emilie out.”

  Ruth stood in front of the basement door and spread her arms. She defiantly raised her chin. “You’ll do no such thing.”

  Trina never missed a beat but wound up like a big-league pitcher and flattened the woman’s nose. Ruth didn’t let out a sound as she slid to the floor. Trina grabbed Ruth’s long hair and jerked her to one side.

  “That’s for Emilie and the rest, you old bitch,” Trina said. She dug in her pocket and produced a key, unlocking the door.

  Frank was dumbfounded by the little dynamo in his midst.

  “Nice cross punch,” Rob muttered.

  Trina swung the door open as another woman rushed around the corner. She was dark-haired and a little shorter than the woman who now lay sprawled limp on the floor, half unconscious, blood pouring from her nose.

  “Ruth!” The new woman’s hateful eyes scanned Frank and Rob. “What have you done?” She went to the injured woman and knelt to help her.

  Trina ignored her and yelled, “Emilie, come on, we’re leaving—hurry.”

  Footsteps pounded stairs, and a second later a pretty girl in her midtwenties with short blonde hair rushed out the door. Trina and she embraced for another second before the girl eyed Frank and Rob. The girl gave Frank a wide-eyed look, and her stare darted to Rob before coming back to Trina.

  “No time to explain,” Trina said. “They’re friends.”

  “Let’s go, now!” Rob said.

  Emilie grabbed a cast-iron skillet as she walked past the stove. Without a word she approached the woman who knelt by Ruth and slammed it down on her head. The woman collapsed on top of her friend.

  “Now I’m ready,” Emilie said, dusting her hands.

  Frank led the way out as the growl of an engine came around the house. Trina grabbed Frank’s arm. “That’s Brother Luther. He’s not going to let me go easily.”

  Frank took in the cherubic face and the dull expression of the man on the four-wheeler. Luther slowed the cycle and eyed Frank.

  “Come on … come on.” Frank motioned to the others.

  When Trina stepped out, Luther screamed, “No!” He pulled a pistol and pointed it at them. He cocked the hammer.

  Rob didn’t hesitate. Jumping off the porch, he aimed his pistol at Luther. Rob’s shot went wild. Luther didn’t hesitate either. He rolled off the machine and used it for cover. He fired, and everyone ducked. The ricochet whistled past Frank’s ear, and a cold dread ran through him. He forced himself to breathe and assessed the situation. The guy was between them and the truck. No way to get past without a major shootout.

  “This way,” Frank yelled. He sprinted for the corner of the house. They could use it for cover. The group ran around the house and flattened themselves against it. Frank peeked from the corner. The guy hadn’t moved or tried to shoot again. The four-wheeler idled, and he stayed behind the fortified engine block. Nothing showed but his head—a small target. There had been no loss of life yet, and Frank intended to keep it that way.

  “Whatcha think?” Rob eased beside him.

  Frank pointed at the thick underbrush. “If we work our way around to the truck, we’ll be okay.”

  “Not much of a plan, but it’s the best we’ve got.”

  Frank glanced at him. A confident grin spread over Rob’s lips, and he spit out the wad of snuff. He motioned at the woods. “Let’s go.”

  37

  John and Karen stood at the kitchen window and watched. He wore only boxers, and she still had the sheet wrapped around her. “Put some clothes on,” he ordered.

  She scrambled away as he stepped onto the porch. He opened the screen door and motioned to Luther, who ran to him.

  “What happened?” Luther asked.

  “Ruth and Judy have been attacked. Katrina and the other one’s gone.”

  Luther pointed to the dog still struggling to get out of the net. “When I pulled up, Delilah was dead and Samson was tangled up. Saw them folks run out the door and shot at ’em with my snake pistol.”

  “Hit ’em?” John asked.

  “No, they cut around the house.” Luther motioned. “I saw bushes moving. Probably trying to get to their truck.”

  “What truck?”

  Luther pointed into the woods. “Found a gas service truck on the gravel road after I ran the trotline. Nobody around. Figured they must have had engine trouble.”

  John’s stomach soured. “If they came in a truck, they’ll use it to get out.” He glanced down the gravel drive. “Lock the front gate, untangle Samson, and put him on their trail. He’ll keep them distracted until we can cut ’em off. Meet me here in five minutes.”

  “Who are they? Can’t be gas folks,” Luther said.

  “No, they’re either police or private investigators. Don’t matter. Can’t let them get out of here.”

  “Reckon they’ll call for help?” Luther asked.

  John shook his head. “We barely get cell service here. In the woods there’s no signal at all. I’ll get us some better guns. Get going, Luther.”

  John swung through the kitchen door and found Karen wiping blood from Ruth’s face. Judy lay still beside them. “She dead?” he asked.

  Karen looked up. “Still breathing.”

  John ran upstairs and dressed. He unlocked the closet and got the double-barrel with a box of buckshot and grabbed the Colt from the nightstand. If only the brothers had had a cell. He’d call them to return. Too late for that. He and Luther would have to handle it. By the time he got outside, Luther stood waiting for orders. John tossed him the shotgun and shells.

  “You follow Samson,” John said. He pointed to the right. “I’ll head the other way and cut them off. Don’t let them get past you. If they make it to the truck, we’re screwed.”

  Luther’s head bobbed. “Okay.” He whirled around and raced toward
the woods.

  John stared back at the house. Everything they’d worked for, everything they’d planned, was on the line. What he and Luther did next would determine not just their future, but the future of all mankind. The intruders’ trail was easy to follow. He stuffed the Colt in the waistband of his jeans. They’d find them soon enough.

  38

  Frank brought up the rear as the four fought through the underbrush. Rob led the way, making a wide arc that kept them at least a quarter mile from the house. It would take longer to get to the truck, but this way there was less likelihood of running into somebody.

  “How many men are still at the house? We saw two leave earlier,” Frank said.

  Trina ducked under some vines and glanced over her shoulder. “There’s only four total. Who are you guys? Did my dad really hire you to find me?”

  Frank reached into his pocket and held out his badge. “Dallas Police.”

  Trina exhaled. “I’ll never complain about the cops again—promise.”

  As Katrina walked in front of Frank, he noted her movements. Her delicate gait and the way she swung her arms were exactly like Carly’s. Her voice even sounded the same. The way she pronounced certain words and her speech tempo sent trembles through him. Had his deceased wife been returned to him? Had his feelings about religion been misplaced all these years? Had his prayers been answered?

  Frank shook himself out of his daze and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “You have any signal?”

  Rob dug out his phone. “Nope. You?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Where are we going?” Emilie asked.

  “Got a truck over there.” Frank motioned in the general direction they were walking. “Shouldn’t be too much farther.” He really had no idea where they were in relation to the truck, but he trusted Rob’s Marine instincts to get them there.

  “Hey, check it out,” Rob called. He stared at a rise and a small hill to their left. “Might get some phone reception on top of that thing,” he said, walking toward it with his phone in the air.