The Rented Mule

by Bobby Cole

  Cooper didn’t have many options now, and he needed to find Grayson. If he could shine his flashlight, he could avoid the rattlesnakes, but first he needed to neutralize Mark.

  “Polo!” he yelled again loudly.

  Mark smiled as sweat dripped from his nose. He could tell Cooper was close and in a few more yards he would be able to see him. The soft dirt and bat dung muffled Mark’s steps.

  “Hey, Marco. I said Polo! What’s the matter? Don’t cha wanna play anymore?” yelled Cooper.

  Mark quickly moved past another large rock outcropping, and then he saw Cooper’s full silhouette standing on a rock twenty-five yards away. Perfect! He didn’t move for over a full minute as he methodically studied Cooper. He was confident that he could make the shot, and he was savoring the setup. The thermal goggles provided a near perfect image. His hatred and jealousy boiled.

  He raised the pistol and took aim at Cooper’s chest. The front and rear sight melted into one, hovering around the right side of Cooper’s chest. Mark badly wanted to mock Cooper one last time, but he realized that he had exactly what he wanted. It was time to act. Cooper’s upright stance told Mark that he had no idea he was so near. Mark slowly thumb-cocked the pistol.

  Cooper heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol hammer locking back, and he wheeled to face Mark, clicking on his flashlight with one hand and aiming his pistol with the other. The moment Mark was illuminated, Cooper fired his weapon and dove to the ground.

  Mark was too far into his trigger pull to stop and duck behind the rock. Cooper’s Hi-Power flashed fire, the cave amplifying with the percussion of the shot. Simultaneously, Mark’s .38, trained squarely on Cooper’s chest, barked and exploded from the back pressure created by the plugged barrel.

  Mark screamed in anguish as pieces of the destroyed pistol slashed his face and hands. Quickly dropping behind cover, Mark saw white dots splashed everywhere on the cave wall and realized it was his own blood. He continued to scramble backward, out of Cooper’s line of site. Everything hurt. His face was warm with dripping blood. The goggles had protected his eyes, although the left lens was damaged badly. He was confused and furious.

  Cooper’s left wrist felt like it was on fire, but he ignored the pain as he carefully approached the rock he thought Mark was hiding behind. He was going to put a bullet into Mark’s skull, find Grayson, and then get the hell out of there. By the time Cooper reached the rock, his adrenalin was surging. With his pistol drawn, he quickly stepped around the huge boulder and clicked on his flashlight. Mark was gone. Damn it! he thought. Before he turned off the light, he noticed that the cave walls were blood-spattered and there was a small piece of the pistol laying on the floor.

  Cooper stood motionless, trying to listen over the ringing in his ears for any movement and struggling to quiet his breathing. After a long moment, the burning sensation in his left wrist and a warm feeling in his hand got his attention. He clicked on the flashlight and saw that his wrist was bleeding badly. Quickly cutting off a shirtsleeve, he bound the wound as tightly as he could. By the time he finished, the makeshift bandage was completely soaked.

  CHAPTER 107

  When Don Daniels arrived home Friday afternoon, he discovered his beloved female tabby curled up in his favorite chair. The frisky kitty typically would bound out from wherever she was hiding or sleeping outside to greet him at the door before he could open it.

  Suspicious of the cat being inside and concerned that she wasn’t moving when he called for her, Don eased over to the chair, knelt, and touched his limp companion. “Oh, God! No! No!” he wailed. “What happened?”

  Don never left her inside the house while away because he feared that he would be called away on business and she would be trapped. The little feline was like a burglar, though, constantly sneaking inside unnoticed. But Don specifically recalled feeding her on the back deck before leaving for work that morning, without her going back into the house.

  With shaking hands, Don gently checked her for injuries. As he lightly stroked her fur, he noticed something wedged into the crease of his old leather recliner. He tried to determine what it was without touching it. Leaning closer, he saw a needle sticking out of the fold. It was aimed straight at whoever sat down. He cautiously spread the seat cushion from the back of the chair to reveal a syringe that appeared to be glued to the leather. A piece of wood the size of a mousetrap was attached to the plunger. He carefully pulled it free. The barrel of the syringe still contained some liquid, presumably a drug. There was a single orange cat hair clinging to the tip of the tiny needle.

  It was obvious to Don that this setup was meant to impale him. The needle would have stuck him in the small of his back, instantly surging the drug into his body. Apparently, the cat slunk in unnoticed with the intruder, and later, when she jumped onto the chair for a nap, the needle gave her the lethal dose intended for him. Don studied the syringe and then turned to his lifeless friend and screamed, “Damn it!”

  Don had begun sweating profusely from the knowledge that he had been so very near death. He also knew who was responsible. There was one person who would want him out of the way. The thought of Mark Wright, his own kin, trying to murder him made his blood boil.

  Fearful of Mark and more deadly traps around his house, and also likely at his lake cabin, he decided to check into the Renaissance Montgomery Hotel for a few days to think through the situation and his options. Calling the police wasn’t a choice because Mark knew too much. Don realized that he had to handle this himself. He was never quick to react, but rather cold and methodical. His plans almost always worked, unlike Mark’s. Don smiled at the thought of Mark assuming that he was dead and the added element of surprise that mistake would afford Don.

  Don retrieved a small Ruger 9 mm semiautomatic pistol from his briefcase and checked the chamber and the magazine. Satisfied, he left it on the kitchen island while he retrieved a second gun, an old .32 caliber revolver, from his bedside table drawer. He palmed it thoughtfully as he walked quickly into the bathroom. A moment later he strode resolutely back into the kitchen, carrying a bag of cotton balls and the revolver. He laid both on the island and opened the refrigerator, taking out a half-full one-liter bottle of Diet Pepsi. He emptied the soda into the sink and then set the empty bottle next to the revolver. He opened a drawer and pulled out a roll of duct tape. Then he stuffed all of the cotton balls, as many as he could at a time, into the empty plastic bottle. Fitting the bottle opening over the barrel of the revolver, he ran several strips of duct tape around the bottleneck and gun barrel to secure the bottle to the weapon. The setup looked awkward, but he surmised that it would somewhat muffle the sound of the weapon should he need it.

  The tired, old banker took a deep puff of his hand-rolled cigar, admiring his handiwork. He now had weapons for whatever situations he encountered. Don cursed under his breath as he loaded the weapons into a paper grocery sack. He knew what he had to do. Obviously, Mark was off his medications. Don had tried to help him in so many ways, but he knew that Mark had the genetic—and fatal—family flaw. He finished his cigar and then checked his watch.

  One last time he punched a number into his cell and muttered, “Shit,” when there was no answer.

  Don’s whole world was in jeopardy. He couldn’t trust anyone, and after Mark’s attempt on his life, he suddenly felt vulnerable, an emotion he had never experienced. He had to punish Mark and then kill him.

  Grabbing his keys and the grocery bag, he walked out, slamming the door.

  Don Daniels, bank president and CEO, looked every bit the part that night by the hotel’s pool. He was enjoying an authentic Cohiba Coronas Especiales and two fingers of Macallan 18, neat, when he took the phone call from the Coosa County Sheriff’s Department, informing him of the situation at his family estate. He stood stock-still in a controlled anger that matched his Cuban’s slow, hot burn. Don gave the deputy his quick assurance that he would get there as fast as possible.

  After hanging up the phone, he st
ared at the city lights, trying to envision what might possibly be happening. He hoped that this wasn’t the loose thread that would result in the unraveling of his world. He now wished that he had confronted and killed his nephew earlier that evening.

  With resignation, Don snuffed out his cigar, drained his scotch with a single swallow, and headed to his room to retrieve the paper sack.

  CHAPTER 108

  Cooper knew that Mark was injured, and he assumed badly because when he illuminated Mark with the flashlight beam, he saw Mark’s damaged goggles and the blood splattered on them.

  Trying not to think about being shot himself, Cooper concentrated on what he needed to do to stay alive. He had to assume that Mark was still armed. Cooper decided he had to find his way back to the main cavern and get Grayson. He knew there was another route because Mark had circled back with the boy. From there, he could force something to happen, or he and Grayson could wait for the police to dig through.

  All Cooper had to do was locate Mark’s tracks. He flashed his light briefly and set a course. The bat dung covering the cave floor was a double-edged sword for Cooper. It provided stealth for moving and easy tracking, and it contained deadly bacteria that could contaminate his injury. Inside the cave, Cooper’s internal compass was spinning wildly, but he sensed that he was headed in the right direction and picked up the pace. As he padded softly through the dark, his mind was awhirl with worries—about Kelly, the police, and the quality of the oxygen levels in the cave. He knew that the police would arrive at some point, but it wasn’t right now. Which meant that he was going to be the one who either killed or subdued Mark, and then he would have to find a way out for himself and Grayson. Feeling the blood drip from his hand, he knew he needed medical attention. His primary fear switched to bleeding out in the cave.

  Mark saw fading heat signatures, and his pulse accelerated at the thought of Cooper hiding so close. Mark knew that about twenty yards ahead was an elevated ledge where he would be able to look down on Cooper. He climbed silently to the top and then slowly peeked over the ledge until he could almost see the rock he expected Cooper was hiding behind. The rock, still warm, glowed with Cooper’s fading outline.

  Mark wanted to scream in furious frustration but uncharacteristically controlled himself. The night wasn’t going as planned, but he still had time to salvage it. He bounded down the rocks and resumed his soundless stalk.

  When Cooper arrived at the main cavern and saw that the tunnel was destroyed, his heart sank. He needed a serious miracle. This cavern would be his grave if he didn’t figure out something, and quick. Sweating and bleeding, he tried to estimate how long he’d been in there but couldn’t. He could tell that his motor skills were deteriorating, and the stress was wrecking his reasoning.

  Cooper sat down, put his head between his knees, and tried to think of his next move when he realized that Grayson must be near. He called out to him in a voice just above a whisper, “Grayson? Grayson? I’m here to help you.” In a little louder voice Cooper said, “Grayson, I’m a friend of your mom’s… I’m here to help ya.”

  “I wanna go home,” a tiny voice answered from across the space.

  Cooper clicked on his flashlight, quickly spotting the frightened little boy huddled underneath a table. Cooper went straight toward him. When he got near, he whispered, “I’m gonna take you straight to your mom, I promise. Okay?” Cooper grabbed him up with his good arm.

  Cooper could feel Grayson nodding and wiping a tear after he sniffed.

  “Do you know where your dad is?” Cooper asked as he clicked on the flashlight, shielding the beam to create only a small amount of illumination.

  Grayson pointed in the direction of a tunnel. Cooper realized that Mark could pop out at any moment.

  “Let’s get this collar off you.” Cooper sat Grayson on the table and then carefully cut off the zip ties with his pocketknife and unbuckled the collar. I wish I could attach it to that son of a bitch and give him a little taste of his own medicine. With disgust, Cooper tossed it to the floor.

  “You gotta trust me and do exactly what I say, okay?”

  Grayson nodded his agreement, with huge tears falling to the dirt floor as he whispered, “There’s a bunch of rattlesnakes in here.”

  Cooper hadn’t thought much about the snakes since killing the one but quickly shined his light around the immediate area. He saw dozens of old jars full of clear liquid. Some contained what appeared to be apples and some pears. Cooper assumed it was all moonshine. The sealed jars were stacked everywhere—on the ground, in vegetable and fruit crates, and on makeshift shelves along the walls.

  Knowing that Mark could see with his goggles, Cooper considered how to light up the place. Right now, Mark owned the darkness, but fire would level the playing field somewhat. Cooper decided that the cave’s volume was big enough to support his idea. Hopefully, the carbon monoxide doesn’t kill us all.

  “I don’t see any snakes around here. Go get in the corner behind that rock and close your eyes, okay?” Cooper shined his light for Grayson, who did exactly as he was told.

  Once Grayson was in place, Cooper worked as quickly as he could. A swift pan of the cavern with his flashlight revealed several more wooden structures than he remembered. All he had to do was get the moonshine to ignite, and then it should burn like jet fuel. Lighting up the cavern should bring Mark running.

  Cooper’s hands were shaking as he quickly searched by feel through his backpack for something that might help. He found a can of bug spray and a Bic lighter. He busted a jar of moonshine and bent down over the liquid. He sprayed the bug repellent toward the moonshine on the floor and then flicked his Bic under the stream. The spray ignited, and then the alcohol. Satisfied with his experiment, he started breaking jars on anything that would burn. With his makeshift torch, he easily set everything ablaze, working his way around to the cabinets and wooden tables. He poured moonshine all over them and kept going. By the time he finished, fire was everywhere except in the corner where Grayson was hiding and at one entrance into the main chamber.

  The main cavern was brightly glowing, thick black smoke pooling at the ceiling. Cooper prayed he had made the right decision.

  Mark listened to the peculiar resonance of the moonshine erupting in flames. Terror shot through him as he raced toward the odd sound. The moment he rounded the last corner leading into the main chamber, he lost all vision. The goggles blinded him with retina-searing white light from the fire’s heat. He had no idea what could be happening.

  Cooper grabbed three jars of moonshine, tossed them into the hottest part of the fire, and then jumped behind a limestone outcropping. Then he trained his pistol on the cave entrance. The resulting explosion seemed to suck out all of the oxygen in the cave, and the heat generated from 190-proof liquor burning was intense.

  Mark was knocked off his feet from the blast. Dazed and confused, he fought to get on his knees. He ripped off his goggles and fought to adjust his eyes to the intense light. He struggled to his feet and ran into the cavern just in time to witness the last tangible remains of his demented family history go up in flames. All he could do was stare.

  Cooper could clearly see Mark about ninety feet away. He centered the pistol’s sights on Mark’s forehead and held a breath. As he squeezed the trigger, he yelled, “Polo!”

  The muzzle kicked up slightly and a fresh round automatically cycled into the chamber. As Cooper tried to get back on target, he watched Mark spin and then fall to the cave floor. Mark quickly scrambled for cover behind some rocks before Cooper could get off another shot. Cooper knew that he had hit him. Anxiously looking at Grayson, who had his eyes tightly shut and his hands clamped over his ears, Cooper fervently hoped that the child had not just witnessed his father getting shot.

  Mark’s right shoulder felt like it had been hit full swing by a baseball bat. He lost almost all movement in his upper arm. His hand, face, and now his shoulder were in excruciating pain. His options were limited, but Mark knew wh
at he had in his pocket would kill Cooper. The fire was raging all around, the ceiling of black smoke was dropping, and it was becoming difficult to breathe. Mark needed to act fast. I gotta kill that son of a bitch right now and get the hell out of here.

  He quickly pulled out a stick of dynamite and pinched off the fuse. That oughta be about fifteen seconds of burn time. He got to his knees and peered over the rock. He saw Cooper kneeling in a corner, talking with Grayson and smiled.

  “Acceptable collateral damage!” Mark said quietly as he lit the fuse. “The little shit should have listened to me.”

  With his good arm, he lobbed the dynamite across the room toward the corner where Grayson and Cooper were huddled. As soon as Mark released the dynamite, something black raced past him toward the lit stick of dynamite. Mark was too shocked to move.

  Cooper turned to see Mark’s head pop up over the rock. He snapped off two poorly aimed rounds. While firing, Cooper saw that the object Mark had thrown had landed close to Grayson. His heart nearly stopped when he saw the sparkling fuse so near the blasting cap on the dynamite. With no time to think of options, he dove to grab it, but before he reached it, Dixie appeared out of nowhere running full speed. Cooper hesitated, stunned to see her. She acted as though she was going to retrieve the dynamite, but the burning fuse perplexed her, and she, too, hesitated. Cooper knew that they were all dead if the dynamite exploded. He grabbed it, and with all the strength and speed he could muster, threw it toward Mark.

  Dixie was reacting to Cooper’s throwing motion the moment he started, anticipating chasing the stick. Cooper couldn’t stop or change direction.