Big Hungry: A Novel

by John Clausen

  Hornsby was sitting at his desk staring at the door when Guthrie entered.

  “Morning, Gene. You ready for a proper grilling?”

  “Take a seat, Jerry. How can I help?”

  Guthrie slouched into one of the chairs across from Hornsby’s desk and brought out a micro-cassette recorder. “You mind if I tape this? Helps me get everything right.”

  Hornsby nodded and Guthrie set the tape recorder on the corner of the deputy’s cluttered desk. He mumbled the date and Hornsby’s name into the recorder to test it before settling back down in the chair.

  “You got any leads in the shooting?”

  “Which one you talking about?”

  “Well, I meant Harlen Ackerman. How many more you got?”

  “Just one. Somebody shot at Pooch and me while we were trying to find that floater that Pooch says he saw.”

  “I just figured that was Pooch Eye on a bad hangover or something. You actually saw the body?”

  “Nope, but another citizen did…somebody with a little more credibility than old Pooch Eye.”

  “Who was it? Anybody I know?”

  Hornsby considered keeping the name from Guthrie, but quickly decided that the reporter could get all of the details at Nolen’s in about two minutes. Maybe even quicker.

  “Charlie Taylor…him and his kids were after walleyes and they saw the damn thing in the water. Like I said, me and Pooch were trying to snag it but somebody shot at us. Right up there on the old Brekhus Bridge.”

  “Nobody hurt?”

  “Scared the shit outa both of us, but whoever did it missed. Close though. Found some 30/30 brass.”

  “Any idea who did it?”

  “Nope.”

  “How does our man Ben Mooney look?”

  “Mighta been his gun – he’s got that old 30/30 he uses…but it doesn’t seem like something he’d do. Not lookin’ forward to asking him, though. Hope he’s in a good mood.”

  “I just talked to him yesterday,” Guthrie said as if chatting with hard guys and criminals were all part of a day’s work for him. “Seemed okay. Don’t think you’ll have much trouble. I wouldn’t take anybody else, though. Could get ugly real quick.”

  “I don’t doubt that.”

  The two rambled on through the interview, with Guthrie pumping Hornsby for anything that might put him ahead of Claire in the news hunt and the deputy resisting the urge to spill everything he knew.

  Finally Guthrie asked him, “You been givin’ any other interviews, Gene? Maybe some TV stuff?”

  Hornsby grinned at Jerry and said, “She’s way ahead of you, man. Talked to her last week. Wanted to know about Boyd Cameron…if he had much connection to that Big Hungry rec project. I was you…I’d give the senator a call and see what’s up.”

  Hornsby enjoyed jabbing Guthrie a little. He liked the reporter and knew, just like everybody else in town, that Jerry was interested in Claire Norgard for more than her journalistic abilities. For a long time, Guthrie had been the only media star in the area and it pleased Hornsby to see him working under a little pressure.

  When Guthrie called the senator’s office ten minutes later, the administrative assistant told him he’d have to call back later because Senator Cameron had only just returned from an important television interview and could not be disturbed right now.

  “Who did the interview?” he asked, knowing who it would be.

  “Claire Norgard,” the assistant answered, happy to drop a media name.

  “You know what the interview was about?”

  “Can’t really say. They were taping out at the construction trailer at the Big Hungry project, though…so maybe it had something to do with that.”

  “Why out there? Not much out there but that old trailer.”

  “Well, I’m sure I don’t know…but she insisted on meeting him there.”

  “At the trailer?”

  “Yes,” she said, sounding a little annoyed. “At the trailer. Now I really have to go. You can call back later and talk to someone else if you need more information.”

  Chapter 28

  Gene Hornsby noticed somebody moving around in the cabin when he pulled up at Ben Mooney’s place. As he opened the car door and stepped out, he saw Mooney come out the front door carrying his old 30/30. Gene was tempted to pull his revolver, but Mooney didn’t look particularly hostile, so he forced himself to walk toward the house without touching the weapon. Mooney smiled slightly when he saw the deputy.

  “You lost?”

  “Nope.”

  “Just in the neighborhood, I guess.”

  “You beat my office door in and swipe that rifle back, Ben?” Gene asked, thinking that he might as well get right to business.

  “The fuck you talkin’ about?”

  “That rifle there. How’d you get it back?”

  “Found it leanin’ on my door yesterday afternoon when I came back from the river. Figured you’d returned it like you said you would.”

  “Somebody broke into the office and busted it out of my gun case…snatched a box of shells, too. That don’t sound familiar to you?”

  Ben didn’t answer. He squinted his eyes at the deputy and shifted the gun in his grasp.

  “You figure on arrestin’ me, Gene?”

  “Don’t have much choice. Somebody took a couple of shots at me and Pooch out on the Brekhus Bridge. Found some 30/30 brass in the bushes. Now here you are with the gun.”

  “You sayin’ you didn’t bring it back? It just walked home on its own?”

  “I’m saying that the damn thing was in my office, somebody busted in and took it, and now I see you carrying it around. What would you do in my place?”

  “Me…as the deputy sheriff. That’d be the day.”

  Mooney slowly handed the rifle butt-first to Hornsby. “You want the box of shells I found with it?”

  Hornsby nodded and Mooney reached through the cabin door and came out with the partially used box of shells. “Let’s go to jail, Gene. What’s for dinner tonight?”

  As Mooney climbed into the car, Deputy Eugene Hornsby realized that he’d been holding his breath, which he now exhaled. He put the gun and the box of shells in the back and climbed in beside Mooney, who had taken the front passenger seat.

  Hornsby looked at Mooney and nodded. Mooney dipped his own head slightly and then slouched down in his seat as if he intended to sleep all the way to jail.

  When Hornsby and Mooney arrived at the deputy’s office, they found Boyd Cameron and Jerry Guthrie waiting for them. By now, the senator’s damaged face was taking on a whole rainbow of attractive colors.

  Hornsby ignored the two new visitors as he went about locking Mooney in the crackerbox-sized cell. Mooney immediately hopped up on the top bunk and lay there staring at the ceiling with the air of a man who knew how to do jail time.

  Back in the office chairs, Guthrie and the senator waited quietly for the deputy to flop down at his desk. He looked at them silently for a moment before speaking.

  “There something I can do for you gentlemen?”

  “I’m here to report a kidnapping,” Cameron said in his best public official voice. “Claire Norgard’s been abducted. I’m a witness.”

  “You here to confess?” Hornsby asked Guthrie.

  “Nope. I’m here to help. The senator told me what happened and I brought him here.” Guthrie turned his gaze to Cameron, who squirmed a little and began his bogus account of the Norgard abduction. His story hadn’t changed much from the one he’d cooked up a few hours ago with the help of Jack Daniels and panic. He hadn’t intended to report anything, but Guthrie had come to his office determined to find out what Claire had interviewed him for. One thing led to another and almost without trying, Boyd began spinning his story to Guthrie, who had insisted that they come to the deputy for help.

  Cameron, unable to make himself admit that a girl had beaten him up, told Hornsby that he had been knocked out in the struggle to save Claire from the two bad guys. He stuck
with his allegations that the two bodyguards were friends of Odell Scrum and that he’d found a ransom note when he had recovered consciousness. He even produced a crumpled note that said, “Call the cops and the lady dies. We will call with instructions.”

  “That’s why I didn’t call you immediately,” the senator explained as he handed over the note. “I didn’t want to jeopardize the young lady. These appear to be desperate men.”

  Hornsby had smelled the whiskey on Boyd’s breath as soon as he and Mooney had walked in and found the reporter and the senator waiting in the office.

  The deputy looked into the senator’s eyes for a long moment. “So you took on your own two bodyguards to save Ms. Norgard. Is that it?”

  “It was quite a struggle, sheriff. I’m not sure who hit whom. I just know that when I came to, I had this broken nose and that note in my hand. I went back to my office to sort out what I should do…and then I met Mr. Guthrie, who insisted that we contact you. I tried to call you, but you were apparently away from your phone for quite some time.” He tried to make it sound as if the whole matter could have been easily taken care of if not for Hornsby’s absence from the office.

  “Any idea where they took her?”

  “None at all. As I said, I was unconscious when they took her. Maybe you should ask Mr. Scrum. They were in his employ.”

  Hornsby flipped open his Rolodex and dialed Scrum’s number. The lawyer was not at his office and his secretary said she didn’t know where he was.

  “So what’s the plan?” Guthrie asked, his agitation visible on his face.

  “If I had the manpower,” Hornsby said, “I’d do a major search of the county. Plenty of places to hide….”

  “I’ll get you the manpower,” Guthrie muttered and left the office. Five minutes later he cornered Darrell Johnson in Nolen’s Bar.

  “Get your pals together, Darrell, we got some River Rat work to do.”

  “Jeez, Jerry, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ to me for. I don’t know nothin’ about them River Rats, eh. Maybe some of the other fellas could help you.”

  Guthrie seized Darrell by the throat.

  “Listen to me carefully, Darrell. I know it was you and Otto and those other cracker-mouthed assholes that grabbed me on the street. I know you’re in the River Rats and I need your help right now…no fucking around, no bullshit. You owe me and I’m here to collect.”

  It took about 30 minutes to summon all the River Rats to a meeting near the bridge where they had first taken Guthrie. Some of them still wore masks and other half-baked disguises. Jerry recognized all of them, but kept that information to himself.

  “Okay, listen up,” he said to the group. “Here’s what’s happening. There’s been a kidnapping. Two guys grabbed Claire Norgard and her cameraman and are threatening to kill them. I want you guys to spread out over the county and see if you can find where they’re being kept…and for Christsakes be a little discreet. Don’t just drive up the driveway and ask if any kidnappers are home. Just drive around and see if there are any vehicles parked where they shouldn’t be or if there’s any strange activity in any of the old farms.

  Chapter 29

  The small room that held Claire Norgard and Peter Morten was dark and stuffy. Claire was sweating lightly and getting increasingly angry, especially now that the bump on her head had started throbbing painfully She was, however, unable to express her displeasure because of a rag stuffed into her mouth and held in place by a length of grey duct tape. More duct tape secured her arms and legs to the chair into which the kidnappers had shoved her. Peter Morten was held down by a similar arrangement. The kidnappers hadn’t blindfolded them, and Peter could see the rage building in Claire’s eyes.

  One of the two ex-highway patrolmen entered the room with two plates of food and a couple bottles of water.

  “You two going to behave yourselves long enough to eat?”

  Both captives nodded and he removed their gags. Claire looked at him with narrowed eyes as he held a peanut butter sandwich close to her mouth. She took a bite and washed it down with a swig from the bottle he offered.

  “You two morons are so totally screwed. You think the old senator is taking the fall for this? Major felony time? Not likely, boys. Right now he’s sitting somewhere sipping expensive liquor and trying to figure out how he can blame all this on you.”

  “Shut up and eat your sandwich.”

  “Maybe you better eat it, numb-nuts. I hear they don’t serve top-quality peanut butter in the joint.”

  The other kidnapper had entered the room and heard Claire.

  “You got a mouth on you, lady. That’s for damn sure. Now shut up and eat.”

  He peeled off Peter Morten’s gag and shoved a similar sandwich into his mouth. When Peter finished his sandwich and drained off half the bottle of water, he spoke quietly to the kidnappers.

  “Any chance you could leave that gag off me, sir? I’m kind of stuffed up with allergies and I’m having trouble breathing. I won’t holler or anything. Who’d hear me, right? Probably nobody around here for miles.”

  One of the men grunted and both left the room with the remains of lunch.

  “Smooth talk, Pete. I was about to tell the guy to shove his peanut butter sandwich up his big, fat kidnapper ass. Guess I could learn a thing or two from you.”

  “Here’s the deal, Claire. I don’t think anybody knows it, but I had a second camera set up at the shoot. I figured the senator would try to grab our interview tape and I wanted to get that in the piece. I set it up on zoom in that little bunch of trees north of the interview spot.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I set it up when you went to pee in the bushes. Didn’t want you looking at the camera and tipping them off.”

  “So the whole thing is on tape?”

  “Yep,” Pete said quietly, looking at the door. “If some raccoon doesn’t tear it up, you have a fine, wide-angle account of the whole thing. Award-winning stuff. ‘Course, if they cut our throats and bury us in the outhouse, fat lot of good an Emmy will do.”

  Chapter 30

  A thirsty crowd had invaded Nolen’s Bar.

  They had scoured the county looking for kidnappers and found exactly nothing. This fact did not deter them from enthusiastically toasting their efforts with the hundred-dollar tab Guthrie had left for them. He and Gene Hornsby had continued the search even after the intrepid River Rats had called it quits. As the assembled River Rats stood two deep at the bar, Hornsby and Guthrie were driving in wide, looping circles around the county checking every farmstead they saw for unexplained cars or activity.

  Jonas Johnston was seated in his usual booth, nursing his customary beer. He had not been invited to join the search. Furman Potter sat across from him eyeballing the crowd.

  “Didn’t find a thing,” Furman said disdainfully. “Couldn’t find their asses with both hands.”

  “Gorilla, gorilla, gorilla,” Jonas mumbled.

  “Bet I could find her in about two seconds.”

  “Winston tastes good like a cigarette should,” Jonas replied.

  “I’ll be back in a couple minutes,” Furman said.

  “Bill, Bill…to Bunker Hill.”

  Furman concentrated for a moment on a mental picture of Claire Norgard. He’d seen her around town during his little mental voyages. As soon as he had her image firmly in mind, he thought about her hair. In an instant he found himself sitting on top of Claire’s head. She, of course, didn’t notice him, but he felt uncomfortable nonetheless and transported himself to a chair on the other side of the room.

  Furman watched the kidnappers feed the captives and heard Claire and Pete talking about the hidden video camera. He took a few more moments to flit around outside the farmhouse so that he would know where it was. Then he zipped back to Jonas’ booth at Nolen’s Bar.