2 Dog River Blues

by Mike Jastrzebski

  Roy stepped back into the cabin. “Why don’t you two kids come in and I’ll fix us some coffee, 'less of course you’d rather have a stiff toddy, Wes?”

  “Coffee’s fine.” I waved my hand to indicate Jessica should lead the way and as she passed me I whispered, “He doesn’t seem surprised to see us.”

  “I called to let him know we were coming. Uncle Roy’s not the kind of guy you pop in on unexpectedly. Especially in the middle of the night. He’s a bit paranoid.”

  Great, I thought as I followed her through the door. Just what I need.

  Inside, the cabin was as neat and trim as the outside, and I began to suspect that along with being paranoid Roy was maybe a little obsessive compulsive too. I just hoped he wasn’t as whacko as my friend Elvis in Key West.

  While Jessica and my uncle made coffee and puttered around the kitchen area, I wandered around the cabin. There was one large room with a sleeping loft and a kitchen area set off by an L-shaped counter. An antique wood stove set in the middle of the room chased the February chill from the air. The oak table next to the stove was well used and scarred, and the leather sofa looked well worn and comfortable.

  A notebook computer and a printer sat on top of a beautiful antique desk. Alongside the desk stood an upright steel gun safe that appeared to be large enough to equip a regiment.

  Bookshelves lined every wall and held an eclectic collection of reading material ranging from Homer to John D. McDonald.

  Jessica appeared at my side. She reached out and ran her hand along a shelf next to the desk where about a dozen books were displayed facing outward. “Uncle Roy’s a writer,” she said with obvious pride.

  “What does he write?” I asked.

  “Mysteries.” Uncle Roy walked up to where we were standing and rested a hand on Jessica’s shoulder. “But my first book was a novel set in Vietnam during the final days of the war. I think it sold all of three copies.”

  Jessica patted the hand on her shoulder. “Uncle Roy is being modest,” she said. “Every one of his books has been optioned by Hollywood.”

  “Not a one made into a movie though,” Roy said as the background hiss of the coffeemaker sputtered into silence, filling the air with the dark aroma of coffee. Backing away from the books he added, “Come on. Let’s talk.”

  Roy led us into the kitchen and indicated the table with a casual wave. “Have a seat. I’ll get the coffee.”

  He filled three large ceramic mugs, set them before us and then went about laying out spoons, sugar and creamer before joining us.

  “I’m not quite sure why you’re here,” Uncle Roy said.

  Now that I was there, I wasn’t quite sure either. Fish was big and tough, but I’d handled tougher. If I thought I could convince Jessica to step back and let me work the way I worked best, by myself, Fish wouldn’t be a problem. And if she’d stay out of the way it would take care of our personal problems.

  Before I could think of a way to explain my predicament to Roy without getting Jessica all riled up at me, she jumped in. “You know Fish Conners, Uncle Roy?”

  Roy nodded. “I went to school with his daddy. Went and got himself shot dead a couple of years ago. Never could prove it, but the sheriff was convinced Fish did it. I don’t doubt it. Boy inherited that mean streak from his father. People 'round here were afraid to cross him even when he was a kid.”

  The room was beginning to cool and Roy got up, walked over to the wood stove and stocked it with a couple of chunks of wood, then he returned to his seat.

  The pleasant, fruity scent of burning apple wood filled the cabin as the logs caught and the cabin warmed almost instantly. I topped off my cup and leaned toward Roy. “So he must have been trouble before he hurt his leg?”

  Roy nodded. “When he was thirteen he caught himself a baby alligator. Had that gator for about three years I guess. Raised him like a pet. Small dogs and cats began to disappear around the area. Everyone around here sort of knew it was Fish, trapping them and feeding them to the gator, but no one ever caught him.”

  “That’s terrible,” Jessica said.

  Uncle Roy looked at her and twisted the hair on his beard. “Maybe, maybe not.” He held up his hand before Jessica could speak again. “I’m not condoning it. But maybe folks ought to keep a better eye on their pets, not let them roam around like they do. Where was I now, oh yeah, the gator.

  “Seems that one day when he was feeding that gator it up and lunged at him. There wasn’t any harm done, but Fish went stomping off into the house, got his daddy’s twelve gauge down off the wall and shot the critter dead.

  “Not too long after that he got involved in football. I think maybe he took out all his aggressions on the other players. Then he messed up his knee and came back home meaner than ever. Heard some bad things about him, but so far he’s stayed a step ahead of the cops. What’s Fish got to do with getting Daddy’s book back?”

  I waved my hand toward my cousin. “Go ahead, Jessica.”

  “We think Fish might have something to do with stealing the manuscript. The other night Wes was attacked on the docks where he keeps his boat. Daddy was there and he thought it might be Fish. Then tonight we tracked him down to try talking to him. Fish attacked the both of us.” Jessica tugged at a stained area of her shirt to accentuate her point.

  “I was thinking I might have to go Fishing,” I added. “Track the asshole down and confront him on my terms. Thought you might like to come along as backup.”

  Roy pushed himself away from the table. “Might be fun. But before we go any further do you even know what you’re looking for, Wes?”

  “I know what an illuminated manuscript is, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen one.”

  “Wait here,” Roy ordered, then he quick-stepped across the cabin to the desk. He opened the bottom drawer, dug around for a minute, then pulled out a file folder and brought it back to the table. He opened it, drew out a thin stack of photographs and tossed them onto the table.

  Chapter 10

  The photos spread apart as they slid across the table, giving me a view of half-a-dozen ornate pages.

  Jessica reached across the table and placed a finger on one. “That’s my favorite.”

  It was a masterfully painted picture of the nativity with Mary dressed in a long blue robe. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders and an illuminated gold halo surrounded her head. The brown, green and red colors were as vivid as if they had been painted yesterday. The margins were decorated with hundreds of flowers and birds.

  The other pages were text. Two of the pages began with large decorated letters. The calligraphy was precise and had I not known better could have been printed instead of drawn. Like the portrait page, the margins were wide and filled with flowers, birds and small animals. One page showed four humans among the flowers. They looked like little hobbits, each wearing a different color robe.

  I looked up. “Any idea what it’s worth?”

  Roy sat back down. “I was wondering the same thing. When Daddy died I took these pictures and sent them to an antiquarian book dealer who once answered some questions for me on rare books for a novel I was working on. Guy by the name of Chet Winters.

  He called me back within a day. Said it was French, probably twelfth century. I could practically hear him drooling. He demanded to know where I got the book. Wouldn’t tell me what he thought it was worth at first, but Winters was willing to hop in his car and drive down from Birmingham that day.”

  “And what happened after he saw the book?” I asked.

  “He didn’t,” Roy said. “I told him it belonged to a friend who wanted to know what it was worth before he sold it. He told me the value depended on the condition of the book, if it was complete, and whether we could determine the artist and who commissioned the book. Finally he said that if all the pages were as nice looking as the ones in the photos and if the book was complete it would probably bring a couple hundred grand on up to a million bucks or better at auction. He made me promise to ca
ll him back after I talked to my friend. A week later the book was stolen.”

  “Could this Winters guy be behind the theft?” I asked. “It’s sort of a coincidence that the book disappeared right after you talked to him.”

  Roy shook his head. “I don’t think so. I never told him where the book was, and he’s called me almost every day since then asking if my friend was ready to let him see the book.”

  Jessica hadn’t spoken since Roy started his story, but I could tell she was dying to say something. She was fidgeting in her chair and every time Roy paused she started to lean forward. Roy must have noticed it too because he turned to her and said, “You have anything to add, Jess?” Her face clouded a little at the use of the nickname, but she ignored it.

  “You didn’t mention the part about why we’ve got to get the book back quick-like.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Roy jumped back in. “Daddy had a special case built for the book. It was air conditioned and humidity controlled. He once told me the book would fall apart if it was out of the case for too long.”

  “Now you can see why we need to find the book as fast as we can,” Jessica said.

  Roy stood and glared down at Jessica. “When I originally told you to let this whole thing go, you promised to drop it. You never should have brought Wes into this.”

  Jessica jumped to her feet. “That’s because after I talked to you I went to see Gran. She was afraid you’d shoot someone first and ask questions later, Uncle Roy. You know she couldn’t handle you going to jail. By the way, Wes, Gran’s dying to meet you. She was hurt bad when your daddy disappeared. We got to get you out there to meet her.”

  I felt like I was seasick and my left eye began to twitch. It wasn’t bad enough that I had to contend with Jessica’s advances toward me, now I had to worry about interacting with a grandmother I hadn’t even known existed a few days earlier. What would I have to say to her? More importantly, how was she going to explain away the fact that she’d never tried to contact me in the past.

  I took a deep breath, thought calming thoughts about sailing away from Mobile, and stood to join my newfound family. “Now what?”

  “Now we go see your buddy Fish,” Roy said.

  “You know where we can find him?” I asked.

  “Last I heard he moved into his daddy’s house. It’s not far from here, over in Bayou La Batre. I haven’t been there in years but I don’t think I’ll have any trouble finding the place.”

  “When do you want to go see him?” I asked.

  “Now’s as good a time as any.” Roy turned and headed across the room.

  Jessica and I followed him to the gun safe. He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket, fit one into the case and opened it to reveal an extensive collection of weapons. I counted three hunting rifles, a military style rifle, a pair of Colt forty-five automatics, three smaller automatic pistols and four rather large revolvers, one of which I suspected dated back a century or more.

  “We aren’t playing his game though,” he said. “I’m too old for fist-fighting, but I pretty much always hit what I aim at.”

  I shot Jessica a questioning look and she shrugged. “This is why Gran didn’t want me asking Uncle Roy for help.” She turned to Roy and added, “We don’t want to kill Fish, Uncle Roy. We just want to talk to him.”

  Ignoring Jessica, Roy grabbed one of the forty-fives and handed it to me.

  “You know how to use one of these?” he asked.

  I ejected the clip, checked the load, and slid it back in place. “I learned to shoot on one of these. Haven’t shot one in years, though.”

  Roy grabbed its twin and tucked it into the back of his pants. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just like riding a bicycle. Once you learn, you never forget.”

  “Kind of a cliché for a writer, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “I’m full of them. Have to watch myself every time I sit down to write.” He started to swing the safe door shut and Jessica grabbed his arm.

  “Hey. What about me?”

  “You’re staying right here with Dwayne.” Roy slammed the door and turned the key to emphasize his point.

  “Like hell I am.” Jessica grabbed Roy’s arm and tugged on it until he turned to face her. “I’m going. With or without a gun, with or without your permission. You know I can shoot, Uncle Roy. You taught me.”

  “No.” Roy tried to stare her down, and then he wilted. He dropped his eyes to the floor, his huge shoulders slumped, and when Jessica held out her hand he handed over his keys.

  Jessica reopened the safe, took out one of the small automatics, closed it back up and handed the keys back to Roy. Without a word she stepped around us and strutted across the floor and out into the night.

  I followed Jessica, and when I got to the door I looked back at Roy. He hadn’t moved from in front of the safe and seemed to be trying to figure out what had just happened. “You coming?” I asked.

  Roy slid the keys into his pocket and hurried across the room to join me. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, she is,” I said. I just hoped she didn’t get that cocky with Fish Conners.

  Chapter 11

  We drove along Highway 188 for about twenty minutes before Roy ordered Jessica to slow down. He rolled down his window and leaned into the wind and there was something feral about the way he shifted his head back and forth as he studied the terrain, as if he were sniffing out a trail. We crossed a railroad track and he pulled his head back inside the car and said, “Make a right at the next turnoff and turn off your lights, then pull over.”

  Jessica did what Roy asked and as we climbed out of the car the first tentative drops of rain splashed on the hood. The woods around us had a damp, earthy smell, like a graveyard after a storm, and the temperature had fallen twenty degrees. The hooded sweatshirt I wore provided little comfort against the night chill that surrounded me. As I drew the hood over my head and shoved my hands into my pockets I was filled with misgivings.

  Roy held up his right hand. “No talking,” he said. “Sound carries in these woods.” Drawing a flashlight from beneath his jacket he pointed it toward the ground in front of us. “Even a loud whisper could give us away.”

  Falling in line behind Jessica, I kept my eye on the bouncing flicker of Roy’s flashlight as we slipped through the woods. For a moment I lost the bobbing light, only to spot it several feet to my left.

  Around me I could hear the soft scrapings of animals I couldn’t see. Jessica jumped and let out a whimper when an owl screeched. Wood smoke drifted along the night breeze and my nose twitched as it picked up the offensive spoor of a skunk.

  The rain pelted us and the trees no longer offered protection. My clothes were soaked and the muscles in my neck and back took on a life of their own, twitching and tightening as they responded to the biting cold. Adding to my distress, the icy metal of the gun I’d earlier tucked into my belt rubbed against my hip. Overhead, a stunning lightning show jousted with the earth’s surface like a barrage of anti-aircraft fire.

  Preoccupied with my misery, I almost stumbled into Jessica before realizing that she and Roy had stopped at the edge of a small field. Jessica was shivering too, but Roy stood motionless, listening or waiting for a sign. I suspected that his jacket was better designed for this environment.

  Roy drew us into a huddle. “Looks like our boy is home,” he whispered. “There’s a pickup and a Caddy in the drive and lights on in the trailer.” He looked at his watch. “Nearly two a.m. I was hoping we’d catch him sleeping.”

  “What do we do now?” I asked. “It’s your show since you seem to know the place.”

  “Even if Fish is awake we have the advantage of surprise,” Roy whispered. “I don’t want to hurt the boy unless we have to, but if we catch him unawares maybe we can scare the bejesus out of him. If he doesn’t have the manuscript I’m guessing he knows where it is.

  “Wes, you and I will work our way along the line of trees to th
e trailer. When we get there you hang back and I’ll find a window to peek into—see if I can spot Fish. Jessica, you stay here as our reserve force.”

  “I’m not going to sit back and watch,” she said. “You keep trying to protect me and I don’t need protection.”

  “Not true, hon,” Roy said. “You said it yourself. You can shoot a pistol. Up close we may have to go hand-to-hand and you’re just too small to be much help. Fish is big and he’s strong. I don’t want to be watching out for you if it comes to a fight.”

  “Goddamn it Uncle Roy, I’m not going to stand out here all night waiting while you two have all of the fun. If I don’t hear from one of you in a half hour, I’m coming in.”

  Roy gave me a light slap on the back and started forward. “Let’s go. Jessica, honey, you be careful, you hear?”

  Roy and I jogged along the tree line toward the rear of the trailer. As we drew even with the side of the trailer Roy picked up his pace and ducked around the corner.

  I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Long, wavering clumps of grass dragged across my pant legs and the mud underneath sucked at my shoes and caused me to slow my pace.

  I stopped and looked around. Ahead of me Roy was crouched beneath a darkened window. To my left, a small decaying barn leaned towards the woods as if it were preparing to sprint away from its sordid surroundings. From inside the barn, a dim light cast its pale glow through a doorless entry and across the yard. Dozens of castoff tires, appliances and torn plastic garbage bags littered the landscape.

  I decided we needed to know if someone was in the barn. Reaching down I picked up a small stone and tossed it at Roy. He glanced back at me and I pointed to myself and then the barn. When he nodded, I made a quick dash across the junkyard obstacle course. With exaggerated care I slithered along the rough wood barn wall until I was standing alongside the doorway.