Dick by Law

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Its message was simple. The thing they had in common, other than both being dinosaurs, was this:

  They were both meat eaters.

  The great monster belched like thunder. Grip danced in a circle on his fallen tree, chasing his tail with joy.

  Then, before the behemoth could gobble him up, too, Grip hopped from the tree and scurried off into the forest. Killing five of the killer dinosaurs was not enough.

  He still had work to do. He still had one more to destroy.

  Once Grip got clear of the overpowering scent of the behemoth, he picked up the trail. The scent of the last of the killers hung in the air like sweet perfume, pointing the way.

  *****

  Chapter 44

  130 Million Years Later

  Horseshoe Bay, Bermuda

  Simon Bellerophon fell back on the wet sand of the cave floor, chest burning from the impact of Horne Shaw's kick.

  As soon as Simon landed, he scrambled to his feet. "What are you doing?"

  "Saving my ass." Horne's pockmarked, bearded face was twisted in a sneer. "You're my ticket out of this!"

  "Working together's our only chance!" Simon backed away, getting ready to bolt. "Otherwise they'll kill you!"

  "Or," said Horne, "maybe they'll leave me alone if I leave you as a peace offering."

  "They want both of us." Simon tried to sound convincing, though he wasn't convinced himself.

  Horne shrugged. "We'll see." Snarling, he charged forward, eyes glinting in the shadows of the cave.

  Simon turned and ran as hard as he could. Horne was just a few steps behind.

  The two sprinted along the curved wall of the cave, footsteps smacking the wet sand. Their labored breathing echoed in the space, first alternating, then synchronizing.

  As they ran, two voices burst in from the mouth of the cave. Familiar voices, shouting in local accents.

  The gunmen had arrived.

  Before Simon could react, Horne closed the gap and tackled him. The hard-packed sand felt like concrete as Simon crashed down, his body pinned under Horne's greater weight.

  Seconds later, the weight shifted. Horne got to his knees, keeping one planted in the middle of Simon's back. He kept Simon's left arm twisted behind him, too, and cranked it till it hurt when Simon tried to buck him off.

  "Hey!" Horne hollered in the direction of the gunmen. "I'll give you him if you'll let me go!"

  The gunmen shouted something, then fell silent.

  "Does that mean it's a deal?" Horne said it like he was talking to himself. "I don't understand."

  At that exact moment, the gunmen opened fire. From his position underneath Horne, Simon saw muzzle flashes pop in the mouth of the cave. The sharp cracks of gunfire echoed like thunderbolts, and bullets zinged wildly off the walls.

  "So much for your deal!" said Simon. "Now get off me!"

  Horne got off and got up but didn't let go. He hauled Simon to his feet by one arm,then swung him around and clamped an arm across his throat.

  "How's this for irony?" Horne backed up, keeping Simon tight against him. "You get to be my human shield."

  "Won't...work." Even as Simon said it, he saw more muzzle flashes at the mouth of the cave.

  As the gunshots boomed, Simon snapped his eyes shut. He couldn't believe he was going to die like this, in a cave in Bermuda, protecting the dick who'd ruined his life.

  *****

  Chapter 45

  130 Million Years Ago

  China

  Bleeding and bone-tired, Grip limped out of the forest, plodding into a field of reeds in the icy moonlight. He'd been running hard since killing the two dinos back at the brook and leading the third to slaughter by the king of the dinosaurs.

  Another full day had passed with no rest since then. Exhaustion and his wounds had worn him down, slowing him from an all-out run to a hobble.

  But he'd never lost the trail. He'd followed the scent of the last killer dinosaur through the riot of smells and danger in the forest, dodging and fighting his way past every obstacle.

  The trail had taken many turns, fading and intensifying and fading again, disappearing in the fragrant cacophony of life in the forest...but Grip had always picked it up again. He had never let go.

  And now, at last, the scent was at its strongest. The creature he hunted was near.

  Grip sniffed the night air and plodded forward through the crackling reeds. The scent pulled him onward, reeling him in...talking to him. Telling him with all its myriad characteristics and fluctuations that it belonged to the exact enemy he sought. Telling him, because it smelled like his family, that he had found the last of the murderers.

  It was telling him something else, too, but he didn't understand. The killer's scent was mixed with something other than the scent of Grip's family, something oily and putrid that he didn't recognize...yet.

  Grip's heart pounded as he wound forward. He was tired and hurt, so he might not be a match for the enemy. He couldn't see over the high reeds, couldn't see what lay ahead, so he might be walking into a trap.

  But he kept going anyway. He didn't think about the odds or consequences, and he didn't care. He became one with the scent of his dead family, let it carry him like a feather down a stream.

  But it wasn't the scent of his family clinging to the killer dino. When Grip pushed through a thicket of reeds, he saw the true source of the scent, staring him right in the face.

  Dog-things like himself. Pups like his own.

  They blinked back at him, three sets of glittering eyes in the moonlight. Three pups, shivering and whimpering, clustered around a bloody, fur-covered body.

  It was the body of a dead female. From the interplay of scents, Grip could tell it was their mother. He also smelled another dog-thing nearby--their father.

  And the scent of the killer dinosaur billowed all around them, entwined with the oily, putrid smell of something unknown. It was so strong now, it burned Grip's nose.

  Grip looked around for the killer, saw nothing but the pups and a long, curving slope of banked earth behind them. Was the killer dino hiding behind that slope, waiting to leap out at him?

  The pups whined and snuffled as Grip limped past them and climbed the low slope. The killer dinosaur's scent grew stronger along the way, and so did the pups' father's. He'd left a trail of blood and fur all the way to the top of the slope.

  Grip reached the top and gazed out at the scene on the other side. His heart went wild, shooting white-hot adrenaline through his bloodstream.

  The dinosaur he'd been tracking was there, barely ten feet away. Ebon-skinned, bigger than any of the others in his pack, he roared with awesome fury when he spotted Grip, raking the air with his deadly claws.

  Grip barked defiantly, forgetting his wounds and weariness, instantly ready for battle. He hopped back and forth on the rim of the slope, taunting the killer, waiting for his first strike.

  But the killer didn't strike at all. He roared again, raked his claws through the air again, but he didn't come after Grip.

  Grip stopped hopping around and took a closer look. The killer lunged toward him and stopped, then lunged and stopped again.

  He was stuck. Sunk up to his waist in glistening darkness.

  In fact, there was a whole pit of the stuff, black as the killer's obsidian hide. At first glance, Grip had thought the substance was water, its surface gleaming in the moonlight. Now, after the way it had held back the lunging dino, he knew better.

  The black substance was giving off the oily, putrid smell that had mixed with the killer's scent. The substance clung to the dinosaur's arms and elbows, holding him in place. He was ten feet from the bank, and he couldn't get out.

  Something else was in the pit with him, something covered in brown and white fur and sinking fast. All that remained above the surface was the head, with its pointed white ears and lolling pink tongue.

  Grip caught its scent and knew it was the pups' father. He must have led the dinosaur away from his children an
d into the sticky pit, sacrificing himself to save his family.

  The pups' father sank a little farther as Grip watched, almost up to his eyes. But he didn't make a sound. He wouldn't die whining or wailing.

  Grip sat down on the bank, unsure what to do next. He had a decision to make, a choice between two futures. And whichever he picked, he would have to make a sacrifice.

  *****

  Chapter 46

  130 Million Years Later

  Horseshoe Bay, Bermuda

  Human shield Simon thrashed crazily in Horne's grip as bullets flew around them in the rocky cave. "Let go!" His panic had already passed the point of hysteria. "I told you this wouldn't work!"

  Horne wound his arm tighter around Simon's throat and cranked Simon's arm even more painfully behind his back. "Don't shoot!" Horne was still calling out to the gunmen as if they might cooperate. "We surrender!"

  But the gunmen kept firing into the cave. One shot after another slashed past on either side of Simon and Horne. Simon knew it would be only a matter of time until a bullet finally made contact...and he, as human shield, would be the one to take the hit.

  "Let go of me!" said Simon. "We've got to run! You know they're not going to let either of us go!"

  "Shut up, pussy!" Horne tightened his grip on Simon's throat. "I'm sick of your whining."

  Another shot whizzed by, coming so close that Simon felt the vibration of its passing. He saw the two gunmen continue to advance with weapons raised, the whites of their eyes standing out against the backdrop of their dark skins.

  The end was in sight, the end of Simon and Horne's lives. This was what everything had been leading up to since the delivery of the wrecked pedestal for the front-loader washing machine from Strayer-Roland. Since the court case and Judge Bartlebaugh's ruling that Horne Shaw was legally a dick.

  Death in Bermuda.

  "Let go!" Simon clawed at Horne's arm around his throat. "We have to go!"

  "Fuck that and fuck you," said Horne.

  Just then there were more gunshots. Simon fought harder, fueled by fear of death...and anger that Horne had fooled him. For a little while, Horne had shown signs of not being a total dick...but he'd reverted so fully that now he was willing to sacrifice Simon's life for his own survival.

  The only question now was, how much longer did Simon have to live? The gunmen were getting closer; they weren't great shots, or they would have hit him by now, but it was only a matter of time until they reached point blank range and tagged him.

  Preferring to take his chances on the run rather than stand there waiting for a bullet, Simon struggled against Horne with everything he had. Horne only tightened his grip, choking Simon until he felt lightheaded.

  Then, suddenly, Horne let go.

  Simon stumbled away from him, coughing and gasping for air. He guessed Horne had released him to make a run for it, and he whipped around to see how far he'd gotten.

  That was when he realized how screwed he was. Running was no longer an option. Simon's escape route away from the gunmen was blocked.

  A monster of a man lumbered out of the shadows, dressed in an orange, red, and black dashiki and a leopard-skin hat and cape. He hoisted Horne--big, muscular Horne--off the ground with one hand and shook him like a rag doll.

  Simon's heart hammered as if it were about to explode. He was standing less than ten feet away from the very monster who had sent him and Horne running for their lives. The man whose soul was as dark as his skin was unnaturally pale. The man who'd strangled a man to death in front of Simon and Horne and ordered the both of them dead.

  General Mobai had caught up with them.

  "Hullo, Simon, old pal!" Mobai's voice rumbled like thunder over the crashing of the surf outside. "Thank you for the merry chase!"

  When Simon realized the gunmen had stopped firing, he looked in their direction...but they were still marching toward him. No escape that way, either.

  He was trapped. Once again, he and Horne were at Mobai's mercy.

  "So now I make my bones for sure, eh?" Mobai dropped Horne to his knees and cracked his knuckles with a sound like he was breaking a rack of billiards. "Now I take the crown."

  As usual, Mobai's fractured English belied his true level of menace. No one dared laugh or correct him. Not even the big mouth who stepped out of the shadows behind him--Poppa Free.

  Poppa Free, in his black button-down shirt with the sleeves torn off and black denim jeans, shouted at the two gunmen. "Don't let 'em outta your sights, my soldiers! Shoot 'em down dead if they try to run, y'hear?"

  "I dreamed of this moment in my head." Mobai smiled beatifically as he reached down to stroke Horne's pharaoh beard with his fat thumb. "Setting the stake for my ride to power."

  "This is where it starts." Poppa Free tugged a machete from his belt and handed it over to Mobai. "You the newest god on Earth, hey?"

  The blade of the machete flashed in the dim moonlight as Mobai took it. "Bringer of glory," he said. "Bringer of freedom to the heartlanders of Africa."

  "Freedom for us, too." Poppa Free grinned at the gunmen. "Freedom for the poor downtrodden Bermudians."

  "Freedom for all my pals," said Mobai. "And how do I make that happen? I need big respect."

  "Got to have respect, General." Poppa Free nodded and chuckled. "There's no other road to freedom."

  "Which is why you must die." Mobai pointed the tip of the machete at Horne. "If I kill the biggest dick, I will become the biggest dick."

  "Please, no." Horne's voice was on the verge of a whimper. Simon could hear the fear in it loud and clear. "You don't have to kill me."

  "You know I do." Mobai laid the flat of the machete's blade atop Horne's head. "Then you get yours." Mobai winked at Simon. "You're the man who started it all. You're the face, the heart, the judge. You'll declare me the biggest dick in the world, and then I'll turn out the lights on you forever."

  Simon took a step to one side, considering a last, desperate dash. His plan died when he felt the muzzle of a rifle jab his back. Looking over his shoulder, he saw one of the gunmen grinning back at him.

  "You'd better pray, children." Mobai slid the machete off the top of Horne's head and ran it down over his cheek. "Pray to all the gods, but mostly pray to me, who will be carving you.

  "Pray there is no Mobai in Hell."

  Then, Mobai grabbed a fistful of Horne's curly black hair. Horne howled as Mobai yanked him up to his feet by his hair, stretching out his bare neck for the blade.

  Simon shouted, too. "Stop!" And then he did what Mobai had told him. He prayed.

  He prayed that he would wake up from this nightmare.

  *****

  Chapter 47

  130 Million Years Ago

  China

  Grip knew he could make the jump. The killer ebon dinosaur was ten feet away, maybe less. Even injured and exhausted as Grip was, he knew he could leap that distance. He could reach the killer dinosaur and do what he'd come so far and fought so hard to do.

  He could kill the last of the murderers who'd slaughtered and eaten his family.

  Stuck up to his waist in the clinging black muck of the tar pit, the dinosaur was severely limited in his ability to fight back. His arms were already restrained by the black stuff, bound by straps of the rubbery, foul-smelling ooze. That left only his jaws completely free...and with a little quickness and agility, Grip could dodge them, too.

  He thought this dinosaur would be the easiest kill of all, the easiest of the six killers. He was helpless; it was as if someone had put him there as a gift for Grip.

  All Grip had to do was jump over, land on a shoulder, and tear open an artery. When he was done, he could make the leap back to shore and walk away.

  Unless he didn't. Unless he fell short and ended up sinking in the black muck like the pups' father. Unless the dinosaur made a lucky bite or slash of his claws and killed Grip before he could jump away.

  But that was the chance Grip would have to take if he chose that future. T
hat was the sacrifice he'd have to be ready to make if he decided to seize his chance at final, up-close-and-personal revenge.

  Or he could choose the other future at hand.

  Turning his head from the pit, Grip looked down the scrub-covered bank at the three pups huddled around their dead mother. When they saw him looking, the pups perked up their ears and yipped, hopping up and down on their forepaws.

  They reminded Grip of his own dead pups. His heart beat faster just from looking at them.

  Their father had already disappeared into the stinking black muck of the pit, never to return. Without someone new to take care of them, they probably wouldn't last long in the danger-filled forest.

  That was the other possible future Grip could choose. He could help those pups survive. He could raise them as his own. He could be a father again.

  But if he did that, he would have to sacrifice his personal revenge against the killer ebon dinosaur in the pit. Instead of dealing the final death blow, which he longed to do, he would have to walk away and be content that the pit would finish the job for him. He wouldn't get the satisfaction of taking the dinosaur's life with his own fangs and claws.

  It wasn't an easy decision. If Grip went after the dinosaur, he might get his full measure of revenge...but he might have to give up his life if something went wrong. On the other hand, if he took care of the pups, he might replace his dead family and find new purpose in life...but he would have to give up on the revenge he craved with every atom of his being.

  Perched atop the bank, Grip stared at the pups, then at the dinosaur. Everything had led him to this--the murder of his family, the hunt for revenge--and now he had to make up his mind.