by Cait Jarrod
Jake shook his head. “Beats me.”
The bright sun had Larry slipping on his sunglasses. “I hope a bull isn’t nearby.” Jake and Steve had been around farm animals, but not him. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but knew they’d charge when scared, hell, for any reason.
“You think the sunglasses will hide you?” Steve teased as a crow cawed overhead.
“Ass-wipe.”
Grinning, Steve set his shades on the bridge of his nose. “Watch the herd. If they get aggressive, duck behind a tree. They can’t turn well.” Steve took the lead, following a narrow path the cattle had made. “Have either of you two talked to Jed Bradley?”
“He’s out of town at a funeral. We keep missing each other.” Larry thought back to the message Jed left on his cell a few days before. Said he and Mr. Scott, the guy that owned the manor, were okay with whatever he needed to do and left both of their cell numbers. Larry thought it odd at first, but given Paul and Jed’s friendship, he understood. “I left him a voicemail that we’re checking on the lights and a suspicious tip,” Larry said. “Did the same with the owner, Orville Scott.”
“Son of a bitch.” Steve hopped around on one foot then slid his boot through tall grass. “You’d think the cows would crap where they don’t walk.”
“They’re not the smartest animals. Then again, they don’t care if they walk in manure.” Jake laughed.
Larry chuckled. “At least I know not to step in cow shit.”
Steve glared. They laughed harder.
“Glad I entertained.”
“I appreciate it.” Larry smirked and moved toward the trees, which put them in the open.
“As many times as I’ve visited this place with Paul, it amazes me the stuff I still haven’t seen,” Steve said, nodding toward a large sawdust pile with bones poking out.
“A cattle cemetery,” Jake said. “What’s the story with Jed? I’ve met the man a few times and Paul’s good friends with him, yet he’s a conundrum. He’s supposed to oversee this manor, yet he hires someone else to look after it. What’s up with that?”
Larry had asked the same questions when Paul called about the lights. “I can answer some of it. Jed Bradley runs another farm.”
“Yeah, the place where Paul keeps his horses,” Jake interrupted.
“That’s right. The owner of Greenwood Manor and Jed Bradley knew one another as kids. When Scott decided he wanted the manor to be operational again, he hired Bradley as the overseer with the condition that Bradley wouldn’t start full time for another six months. Hence, the reason Bradley hired this guy Mathews.”
“You received confirmation on Mathews’s employment?” Steve asked.
“I did,” Larry said.
Nearing the fence row where the trailer was located, Larry removed his sunglasses, hooked them on the front of his shirt and drew his weapon. Jake and Steve lifted their guns.
Fallen leaves and twigs covered the dirt. Through the sparse woodland, a rusty trailer butted a dirt slope, the front tires buried in the soil. Old, metal doors stood propped open by mounds of dirt. Faded signage covered the side.
Gun in one hand, elbow bent, Larry motioned with his other hand to Jake and Steve to advance. He progressed to the right, while Steve, gun at the ready, advanced to the left. Jake covered them.
Stepping closer to the opening, a pungent odor drifted toward him. Larry reached the door and peeked inside. Dirt and plants covered what once was the floor of the trailer.
Steve joined him, shoving his gun in the front waistband of his pants. “Weed.”
Jake walked inside and knelt. He nudged the greenery with the barrel of his gun. “Tops are gone.”
“Wonder what’s getting high,” Larry said as clattering echoed on the tin roof.
“There’s your answer.” Steve tugged out his gun. “Better make sure it’s not a decoy.”
Larry aimed his gun to toward the ceiling, twisted in a circle, and looked for indentations in the metal, judging the weight of the intruders. There were none.
“Just animals,” Jake muttered.
“On three,” Larry whispered to Steve across from him, Jake a foot behind. He held up one finger…two…they charged outside and turned.
“Baa-aa…”
They pointed their guns at two goats: one brown and the other black, both with horns.
“I can see the headlines: FBI takes down goat marijuana ring.” Steve chuckled, lowering his weapon.
“The uncatchable catch.” Larry grinned.
The goat shook its head, mocking them.
“How’d he get up on the roof?” Steve asked, sounding dumbfounded.
“Darn, if I know,” Jake said.
“The slope in the back.” Larry put the safety on and shoved his gun in his holster.
“More goats magically appeared, too?” Steve reached for a baby, a kid.
“Nah, Paul mentioned Bradley bought goats to clean up the brush,” Jake said. “Cute kid.”
Steve arched a brow. “I’ve never seen one up close.”
Jake crouched next to him and petted the silky hair. “Baby goats are called kids.”
Larry eyed the five goats surrounding them. The largest one’s dark eyes fixed on Steve. Long hair grew under its chin, simulating a beard. It was stained yellow against its white and black hair. Horns grew from his head at an angle, giving him a wicked presence.
“Think they ran over when they saw us?” Larry studied the area.
“They had to protect the marijuana investment,” Jake said, amused.
“Looks like the young’uns have gotten into the sauce.” Steve tilted his head to a medium-sized goat separated from the group. It kicked his heels and pranced.
Larry chuckled. “There’s a first.”
Steve grasped the kid around the neck and belly and lifted. “Wild plants?”
Larry stroked the kid behind the ear. “Cute.”
The brown goat clicked off the roof and down the mound of dirt, baaing.
“The mother’s getting pissed. Better drop the goat,” Jake warned.
Steve knelt and set the baby on the ground. It ran away, bucking. The rest followed.
“This was a waste of time.” Larry shuffled the dirt with the toe of his shoe. “There’s black stuff on the ground that looks like raisins.”
“More like chocolate-covered raisins, but I wouldn’t eat ‘em.” Steve chuckled. “They’re goat droppings.”
“Delicious.” Jake laughed.
“Come on. Let’s find Larry’s sparkles,” Steve jested.
“The lights came from the hilltop.” Larry motioned to the field bordering the road and replaced his sunglasses.
Steve slipped his sunglasses on and asked Jake, “Where’re your shades?”
“Left them at home, and don’t give me any shit.” Jake’s voice was tight, leaving no room for discussion.
Eyes peeled, senses on alert, they walked through the field in the direction Larry had seen the lights. They climbed over a stock fence, dividing the fields, and stopped in the shade of a tree line.
“What’s with the fence?” Steve asked.
“I don’t know.” Knowing nothing about cattle, he had heard horses should be careful where they stepped. Maybe the same conditions that could hurt a horse would injure a cow. He nodded toward the bottom of the hill. “Looks like uneven terrain around the creek. I guess the cattle could break a leg.”
“What’d they, shoot it, like a horse?” Steve asked with mischief in his voice.
Larry ignored him and faced Jake.
“At twelve o’clock, twenty yards up, a piece of metal.” Jake pointed to a reflection with the branches of the maple tree.
A flat piece of metal, nailed to a tree, had creases to divide it into thirds, giving a tri-fold appearance.
Larry scanned the tree line. “Yep. Two trees down is another. I saw three to four different lights sparkling at the same time.” He stepped backwards to see the trees on either side. “Do you see th
e…”
The earth disappeared. He dropped. “F-u-c-k!” His stomach fluttered. Darkness greeted him. Abrasive material hit his thrashing hands. Dirt jabbed under his fingernails. Panic clawed its way into the pit of Larry’s stomach.
He was falling…bouncing from side to side, the interior wall taking bits of his skin with each bump.
His body jolted to a stop.
Air escaped his lungs. Pain shot through his back, legs. His heartbeat boomed in his ears.
“Damn,” he groaned.
A coarse surface scraped his cheek. Dirt kissed his mouth. He twisted, spit, and looked toward the sky.
Two forms blocked the light. Faint garbled noises drifted toward him.
Larry sucked in a gulp in air filled with mold and mildew. He gagged.
Anxiety threatened to control his thoughts. Another fortified breath, and he slipped into survival mode, steadied his nerves and focused.
“Lar-ry!”
The thumping of his heart lessened. Words became clear. The owner of the voice did not.
“Ye-ah!” His voice was weak. He hoped they heard him respond.
Snakes…rats hid in wet, dark places.
Anxious to see his surroundings, he stuck his hand in his pocket, grabbed the penlight, and pressed the button. A small, yet bright beam lit the confined, clay space. He shifted to test his legs.
A rattle echoed.
He stilled. For a fraction of a second, his brain couldn’t decipher the sound.
Another rattle, hollow scales beat against each other.
The originator of the noise sunk in. He tensed.
Wishing twisted hope that he was wrong, he lowered the beam. Ice tendrils of dread snaked down his spine.
A snake’s head rose several inches from the dirt floor. A rattlesnake eyed him. Its tongue snapped out and in rapidly, ready to strike.
Oh, shit!
Larry reached for his gun and came up empty. Passing the light over the dirt, he spotted his gun halfway between him and the venomous reptile. Any sudden moves, the snake would strike.
“Larry!”
Jake’s voice reached him loud and clear. He didn’t answer. Gaining strength and courage was the only thing he could manage. Faced with this poisonous reptile, Larry landed on the outside of his comfort zone. He hated snakes. Give him a thug any day over one of these creatures.
“On the count of three,” he said to himself. “One…two…” He snatched the gun.
The snake lunged.
He shot.
Ringing boomed in his ears. Matter splattered in every direction. The snake, less than an inch from his arm, collapsed.
“What the hell? Are you okay?” Steve yelled.
Larry stuck his fingers in his ears to turn the damn noise off and gave up. He ran his hands over his arms and body, waited for the sting to scorch his skin. No pain, just ringing. “I’m all right. Snake’s not.”
“Larry,” Steve’s low tone warned what his friend said next Larry wouldn’t like. “If there’s one, there’re probably two.”
Larry rolled his eyes. Snake 101. He wiped his face on his shirt and checked his surroundings: the piece of grass he stepped on, the snake’s remains, and lots of dirt. He slid backwards to the wall, a gun in one hand, a flashlight in the other. The other snake lay motionless. He took the butt of his gun and hit it over the head before it could strike. Another shotgun blast would give him permanent hearing loss. “Only one. It’s dead.”
“You all right, buddy?” Jake asked.
Muscles ached, and he had the beginning of one hell of a headache coming. “I’m good.”
“Do you have rope in your truck?” Jake’s head loomed above him, blocking the light.
“Yes.”
“Throw up the keys,” Steve said from the opening. “Or I could break a window.”
“Nah.” With the wall’s support, Larry straightened. “You better catch them on the first go.” Larry slipped the light into the waistband of his pants and pulled out the keys. “Coming up.”
“Toss them.” Steve stretched out his hand.
Muscles strained, but Larry managed to get enough oomph into the throw.
Steve, the former baseball player, snatched them out of the air. “Got’em. Be back shortly.”
Larry slid down the wall until his butt hit the dirt.
“What do you see?” Jake asked.
Larry shined the light again at the ragged walls. Dirt, his broken sunglasses, and pieces of roots stuck out from the sides. The room looked like it had no purpose, except...oh, shit.
“Son of a bitch!” Jake disappeared from the edge of the hole.
“Except to keep people out.” Larry rested his head against the wall. “He fell in a fucking trap. Idiot!”
Jake returned. “Steve almost bit it.”
“Whatever the Impalers are involved in, they’re going to great lengths to stop people from finding it. Man-made holes…lethal snakes…” He didn’t know if Jake heard everything he said, but he was sure his friend thought the same.
“We need a team here,” Jake insisted.
“Can’t.” Larry stretched his achy legs, groaning. “Too many agents botch a case.”
“Hell, the Impalers will know we’ve been here.”
“Not if we cover it up…”
Steve dropped to a knee beside the hole, panting. “Are you up for this?”
“Have to be.” Larry straightened, holstered his gun and lifted the lump of grass, covered in Astroturf, which had caused his fall. The piece was different, like real grass, but had the thinness of a piece of carpet.
Steve tossed down the rope. It dangled a few feet above his head.
“Can’t reach.”
“Wait a sec. Steve’s tying it around his waist.”
The rope lowered. “You better walk up that wall,” Steve ordered.
“Yeah, yeah. Done it before.” Larry stuck the penlight in his pocket, tucked the grass in his flannel shirt, and tied the rope’s end around his waist. He needed another surge of energy to get out.
“Ready?” Jake asked.
He sucked in a deep breath. “As ever.”
Thoughts of Charlene and the kiss from this morning sent adrenaline surging through him. He gripped the rope with both hands. Steve and Jake pulled. With men, stout as mules, pulling him, he walked the sides easily. He reached the top, collapsed, and rolled onto his back. “Damn.”
“You’re one lucky SOB,” Steve puffed and sat beside him.
A momentary shocked silence settled between them.
“What held the grass in place?” Larry asked, huffing to regulate his breathing.
Jake flopped down on the ground beside him. “A spider web of sticks in each corner.”
“This is more than a small operation,” Larry groaned.
Chapter Eight
Jake’s car drove like a dream. The motor purred, lulling Charlene into ‘daydream-land’: dreams of Larry, her thoughts alternating between fantasy and reality.
The confrontation with Larry on the side of the road boggled her brain. Charlene wanted him, yet knew it was best to stay far away. Still, she couldn’t avoid him. The instant draw of her attraction to him wouldn’t let her.
She parked at the mall and headed to the lingerie store.
Tonight when he visited, perhaps maybe she and he could sort out the newbie relationship issues without having to date for months to learn about each other. The conversation would be a little unorthodox, yet the perfect plan. She’d didn’t want to waste time on another asshole.
After a quick intimate purchase, she headed back to Jake’s Chevelle.
Excitement from what possibly might happen later put a bounce in her step. She smiled at the words, ‘kick-off’, Larry had used: so different, yet poetic in its own way. She should talk to him about their relationship first before they resumed the kissing, but––she peeked into her lingerie bag at the black, silk nightie––maybe not.
Arriving home, she parked
in the driveway beside her mother’s gold Hyundai and grabbed her bag.
She unlocked the door and waited for the usual onslaught of questions and hugs from her son and mother.
Like earlier, they didn’t rush to her. This time, the silence raised goosebumps on her arms. The same type she experienced when she first met the treacherous Jameson at her restaurant in Colonial Beach. Back then, by ignoring instinct, she’d put her son’s life and hers in danger. Now the same unnerving awareness returned, smacking her between the shoulder blades and putting her on guard.
Gently, so as not to make a sound, she dropped her purchase and purse on the foyer table and snatched her weapon of choice from the umbrella stand. Gripping it the way she had as a teen hitting a homerun, she peeked into the living room.
Empty.
She tiptoed down the hall toward the kitchen.
A voice she’d hoped never to hear again burned her ears. A knot of anger swelled in her chest. She dug deep to steady her nerves and approached the threshold.
Mousey brown hair peeked from beneath a red cap with a darker red brim. An ‘I’ embroidered on the front with a halo. Dark eyes studied her. Sitting next to Henry, her ex- dipped a cookie she and her son had baked, in a glass of milk, as if he belonged there. Her mother sat at the end of the table, her eyes stern.
Doris sat, stiff-backed. The anxiousness in her gaze spoke volumes to how nervous she was. Henry dipped two cookies at once into the milk, leaned over the plate, and ate without looking at anyone. Liquid dripped down his chin.
Tears stung Charlene’s eyes. Henry hated having food on his face. She often thought he was obsessive with neatness. Only reason for him to ignore it, he was scared.
The atrocious, selfish behavior of her ex scorched her insides. He’d left them fighting for their livelihood, ultimately their lives, and now he thinks he can just show up?
Never again would he hurt her family.
She raised the bat, ready to knock Andrew across the head. Her son’s watery, questioning gaze landed on the bat and chipped at a piece of her soul.
He’s Henry’s father.
For that reason alone, she lowered her arm. “Came for a little visit, did ya?” The heat of her anger covered her face and body. The pulse in her neck ticked. Her eye twitched. The son of a bitch dared to come into her home with the illusion a visit was okay. She tapped the bat against her palm and waited for what lame brain excuse he had. This time, she wouldn’t recoil or cower.