Blanco County 03 - Flat Crazy

by Rehder, Ben

  Crap. Now was not the time for one of his episodes.

  The cops were at the door, knocking again, but Gus could feel himself fading out. He sat on the couch.

  Ocelot.

  Chimichanga.

  Deputy Ernie Turpin knocked again. There was no answer, no sound from within the home, even though the porch light was on and a Ford Expedition sat in the driveway.

  “What do you think?” Turpin asked. “Leave another card?”

  Garza tried to peek between two curtains, but all he could see was a sliver of carpet. “Yeah, and then let’s try their office again.”

  Back in the cruiser, Turpin said, “I thought you wanted to talk to Kyle Dawson next.”

  “I’ve been thinking. I want to send Marlin out there, go at this from a different angle.”

  “The Waldrip brothers? Hell, yeah, I remember them.” The man on the other end of the line was Howell Rogers, Burnet County’s game warden since the early seventies. He was one of the old-timers and could tell some good stories about Marlin’s dad. “You need to keep an eye on Duke,” Rogers said.

  “You ever write him up?” Marlin asked.

  “Dadgummit, no, but I sure as hell tried. Man’s smart, I give him credit for that.”

  “And his brother?”

  “What, is he smart?”

  “No, was he trouble, like Duke?”

  “Well, he was always hanging around, but Duke was the ringleader, that’s for sure.”

  “But you never nailed them for anything?”

  “The closest I came … one time some lowlife broke into a shed behind my house. Stole a bunch of my supplies, a few power tools, even an old carbine I kept out there. I heard it was Waldrip who done it, so I started asking around. One of the locals told me they’d seen him with a rifle just like mine. So I got a warrant and checked his place out. No luck.” Marlin could hear the regret in the older man’s voice.

  “You ever see him get violent? Get into a fight maybe, stuff like that?”

  “Not me, no. You should check with the sheriff.”

  Rogers’s cell phone crackled. Even old Howell had joined the mobile crowd. Marlin was aware that he himself was in danger of becoming the last game warden in Texas without one of those gadgets.

  “Now he’s back in your part of the country?” Rogers asked.

  “’Fraid so.”

  “Do me a favor. Send that son of a bitch to jail, will ya?”

  9

  DRIVING THROUGH JOHNSON City early Thursday morning, John Marlin noticed a sign in the window of Big Joe’s Restaurant: ASK FOR THE CHUPACABRA SPECIAL! ONLY $3.99!

  Great. Sure, some people would get a laugh out of it, but others would take this chupacabra business seriously and the calls would start to come in. “I just saw the chupacabra running through my backyard!” Or “I think the chupacabra is hiding in the crawl space under my house!”

  Marlin remembered when a mountain lion was allegedly on the loose in the area four years ago. The whole county was nervous, keeping their children and pets in sight at all times. Late one night, Marlin was awakened by a call from an elderly man living up near Round Mountain. “I got the cougar trapped in my henhouse!” he said. Of course, when Marlin arrived on the scene, he had to be cautious—even though he was sure it would be another false alarm. He swung the door of the henhouse open slowly, a spotlight in one hand and a shotgun in the other.

  That’s when the house cat—granted, a damn big house cat—streaked right between Marlin’s legs.

  The cougar was never seen. But it showed how easily things can be blown out of proportion.

  Marlin put those thoughts aside and concentrated on what Bobby Garza had told him last night. The sheriff had done some digging, and it turned out Gus Waldrip’s brother, Richard—aka Duke—had done some time for armed robbery. Gus’s record was clean. Now Garza wanted Marlin to drop by Kyle Dawson’s place, like it was just a casual hunting check, and see what he could find out about the Waldrip brothers, especially Gus. Marlin had only run into Gus on a couple of occasions and didn’t know him well. His general impression, though, was that the guy was sort of odd. Kind of spacey.

  Dawson’s place, the Macho Bueno Ranch, didn’t have a gate at the entrance—just two ornate stone columns on either side of a cattle guard, a holdover from the days when Dawson’s father, Floyd, raised a large herd of Angus on the place. Marlin remembered the elder Dawson: a quiet, hardworking man who had managed to assemble a sizable fortune in the oil and gas industries. His son, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have any sort of occupation at all, other than squandering the assets his daddy had left behind. Nothing more than white trash with money.

  Marlin’s tires thrummed over the cattle guard, and then he was on the quarter-mile driveway up to the large house, pavement all the way, a luxury in these parts. He parked in the circular drive, walked to the door, and rang the doorbell.

  In the living room, Cheri was snorting a fat line off a small mirror. Her first bump of the day, just a little pick-me-up to get her blood flowing. Not that she needed it or anything. She could take it or leave it, no big deal. If it ever got to be a problem, she’d just quit cold turkey. No sense in turning into some kind of coke slut. The slut part is okay, though, Cheri thought, giggling, feeling the warm buzz of the drugs.

  Kyle was still crashed in the bedroom, and she could hear him snoring hard. Maybe she’d sneak back in there in a minute and see if his dick was awake yet. She didn’t need the rest of him.

  She had just finished a second line when the doorbell rang.

  Damn it. Probably Duke again. She licked the remaining coke residue off the mirror and stuck it in a drawer behind the bar. Dropped the coke vial in there, too. No sense in sharing it with the whole world.

  Marlin rang the bell again.

  He would have called first, but that would have been unusual. Landowners on ranches where people hunted were used to the game warden dropping by unannounced, no big deal. After a full minute, he was turning to leave when he heard the door being unlocked.

  The door swung open, revealing a young woman in a short red robe, kind of a kimono thing, loosely tied around her waist. She had that semicheap look, with long bleached hair, lots of makeup that was a little rough around the edges, maybe slept in. The robe was open to her navel, plenty of cleavage on display. Marlin wouldn’t have been surprised if Hef had suddenly appeared in his pajamas. Just another morning after at the Playboy mansion.

  The woman appeared startled, her eyes wide. “Oh!”

  “Morning,” Marlin said. “I, uh, I’m sorry if I woke you.”

  “No, I was just … No, I wasn’t sleeping. You looking for Kyle?”

  “Yes, ma’am, if he’s here.”

  “Yeah, hold on.” There was a moment of hesitation, as if she wasn’t sure whether to invite him in or leave him standing on the front porch. “Here, come on in,” she finally said. Marlin stepped into a foyer that was as large as the living room in his own house.

  The woman closed the door and said, “Can I tell him, like, who you are?”

  “Yes, ma’am. John Marlin. I’m the game warden of Blanco County. He’ll recognize the name.”

  “Oh, a game warden.” She smiled. “I thought you were a deputy.”

  Marlin shrugged. “Well, the uniform and everything …”

  “Wait right here,” she said, and disappeared down a hallway.

  Half a minute later, Marlin could hear voices murmuring deep within the house. Finally, the woman reappeared. “He’ll be right out.” She offered a hand. “I’m Cheri, by the way.”

  Marlin shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Cheri.”

  “Why don’t we go in here,” she said, leading him into a large living room with a huge stone fireplace. “Have a seat. You want some coffee?”

  “I don’t want to trouble you.”

  “No, I’ve already got it perking in there. How do you like it? Have a seat.”

  “Black’s fine,” Marlin said, s
ettling down into a leather couch.

  “Coming right up.”

  She sashayed through a swinging door, the robe barely covering her butt as she walked out, then came back thirty seconds later with a coffee cup on a small saucer. “It’s just Folgers,” she said, leaning over to set the coffee on the table in front of him. The front of her robe was hanging free now, both breasts clearly exposed, her nipples large and brown.

  “Thank you,” Marlin said.

  “Nice rack, huh?” It was Kyle Dawson, coming into the room, still buttoning his shirt.

  “Excuse me?”

  “That six-by-six,” Kyle said, pointing to an elk mount hanging above the fireplace mantel. “Got it last year up in Colorado. Big sumbitch. Took me all day to cut it up and pack it out.” Kyle extended a hand now. “How you doin’, John?”

  “Real good, Kyle. I didn’t mean to barge in this morning, but I was out this way and thought I’d stop in and see how it’s going this year.”

  “Oh, hey, no problem. I was wondering when I’d see you.” Dawson dropped into a large stuffed chair. He looked over at Cheri but remained silent.

  She stood there for a moment, then said, “Okay, I’ll leave you two alone. Nice meeting you.”

  “You, too,” Marlin said, staring down at his coffee cup rather than at Cheri’s ass as she left.

  Kyle hiked one leg up over an arm of the chair, getting comfy. “Well, we’re doing some hunting out here this season, but not as much as last. It gets to be a hassle, you know—all the lease forms, the insurance, having to worry about rednecks wandering all over your property, tearing shit up. Can be a real pain in the ass. And the lease fees don’t really amount to much. Thousand a gun.”

  “So you’re not leasing it out this year?”

  “Nah. Kinda limiting it to friends only for now. A guided hunt every now and then.”

  “Yeah? Getting any good deer?”

  “So-so. Nothing too impressive.”

  Marlin said, “Hey, what about that friend of yours? Gus Waldrip? He still guiding?”

  “Gus? Well, kinda. It’s really his brother, Duke, that does the guiding, and Gus is sorta his helper.” An exaggerated expression of concern crossed Dawson’s face. “You know, because Gus is a little—I don’t mean to be an asshole—but Gus is kinda goofy. Got shocked a few years back, and he ain’t been all there since.”

  “That right?”

  Dawson nodded and began to sit up. “Listen, I’m gonna grab me some coffee. You need some more?”

  “No, I’m all set.”

  In the kitchen, Kyle paced for half a minute. Damn, am I telling this guy too much? he wondered. The game warden was being awfully nosy, and Kyle wondered if word had gotten out about some of the animals Duke had been bringing out lately. Kyle wished he hadn’t snorted a line in the bedroom before coming out to speak to the game warden. Cocaine always made him talk too damn much. And he could never keep his thoughts straight.

  He poured a cup, then went back into the living room, ready to wrap this up, get the warden out the door. He didn’t sit back down, but stood instead, drinking his joe, hoping the guy could take a hint.

  “So Duke does the guiding, then?” Marlin said, right back at it. “You usually go with him?”

  Kyle shrugged. “Not usually. You know, we’re such good friends, I more or less give him the run of the place.”

  “You ever meet any of his customers?”

  “Not this year I haven’t.” Kyle wondered what the hell this guy was getting at. He figured the warden would be more interested in the types of animals they were hunting, rather than who was doing the hunting.

  “You recall a man named Oliver Searcy?”

  The name sounded vaguely familiar to Kyle, but he honestly couldn’t recall where he’d heard it. “I don’t think so….”

  The warden’s tone had changed and he was starting to look serious now—and it made Kyle nervous. Somehow, this had become more than a casual discussion.

  Marlin sat forward on the couch, drilling Kyle with his eyes now. “You might have heard his name on the news. We found his body two days ago. He was murdered.”

  Kyle hadn’t seen the news in several days, and he damn sure didn’t know what to make of that information. “What’s that got to do with me? Or Duke?”

  “Searcy made some calls to Gus, or maybe Duke, and we want to talk to them both.”

  Jesus, Marlin wasn’t here about hunting; he was here for a murder investigation. Kyle knew Duke was a bit of a hothead, and he wasn’t one to back down from a fight. But killing a guy? Could Duke have done that?

  Marlin added, “We haven’t had much luck getting hold of them. I thought maybe you’d know where they are.”

  Now Kyle was really getting antsy, and he wanted the man out of his house as soon as possible. “I got Duke’s cell phone number,” he offered, thinking that would send the game warden on his way.

  “Great,” Marlin said. “Let’s give it a try.”

  10

  DUKE’S CALLER ID read DAWSON, KYLE, so he picked up after the second ring. The problem was, it wasn’t Kyle.

  “Hey, Duke, this is John Marlin. Remember me? The game warden?”

  “Yeah, hey, how’s it going? You surprised me there. I thought it was Kyle.”

  “Well, I’m calling from his place.”

  Yeah, I know that, you tricky son of a bitch. “Kyle ain’t been poaching again, has he?” Duke said, forcing a laugh. “Damn outlaw is what he is.”

  “Nothing like that. I was just talking to him about a few things. And I need to chat with you for a couple minutes, too. Where are you right now?”

  “My office, next to the feed store.” Damn! Why had he said that? Since he was on his cell phone, he could’ve lied, said he was out of town or something. He could have bought some time and found out from Kyle what the game warden wanted. He was worried it had something to do with the exotic animals. Maybe one of his hunters had gotten nailed and pointed the finger at him.

  “Good. Hang tight, will you? I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s this about?”

  No reply. The game warden had already hung up.

  Duke gave it five minutes, then called Kyle back.

  It rang ten times before Duke finally slammed his cell phone down on his desk.

  In his cruiser, Marlin radioed the sheriff’s office for Bobby Garza. He knew the sheriff kept a handheld unit in his office.

  After a few seconds, Marlin heard Garza’s voice: “Blanco County to seventy-five-oh-eight. Go ahead.”

  “Bobby, I got a line on Duke Waldrip. You want to talk to him?”

  Threesomes were always tricky. Not just the lighting and the sound and the camera angles, but, in this case, the personalities. This was the most important scene in Fortune Nookie—the climax, so to speak—and Marty didn’t know what to expect. Would Mike Hung, Wanda Ho, and Willie Wang recapture some of the magic from their earlier films? Or would their offscreen tensions put a damper on it all?

  Yesterday, Mike Hung had managed to complete his scene with Wanda Ho, but the results were hardly scintillating. Everyone on the crew noticed an obvious sense of uneasiness between the two actors, and it made for some fairly blasé adult entertainment. Certainly not up to the usual Marty Hoffenhauser standards.

  On the other hand, being realistic, not every scene could be an award winner. If Marty could just get the three performers to finish off with a flourish, this could still be another moneymaking picture. Marty had given Mike a little pep talk an hour ago, and now he was desperately hoping it would pay off.

  “You ready, Mike?” Marty called from behind the camera.

  Hung appeared lost in thought and didn’t respond. He was seated at a table on the set, which was supposed to resemble a Chinese restaurant. Wanda Ho was playing a slutty waitress, one who gave her favorite customers a special treat when the restaurant closed for the evening. Meanwhile, she was also a secret agent
for the U.S. Treasury, trying to nail the restaurant owner for money laundering. Marty had written it himself.

  The script called for Mike to hoist Wanda up onto the table, climb onto a chair, and go at it for seven or eight minutes, changing positions a couple of times. Eventually, Willie Wang would emerge from the kitchen, just a curious cook wanting to get in on the action.

  Marty called again: “How ’bout it, Mike? You good to go?”

  Hung glanced up and nodded. His expression didn’t give Marty a great deal of confidence.

  “All right, then, people. Everybody ready?”

  Tony, the sound guy, gave a thumbs-up. Blake, the lighting technician, had the set softly lit.

  Marty said, “Let’s roll it!”

  The scene began with Mike studying a menu. Wanda entered the frame, holding a pen and pad, ready to take his order.

  “Good evening,” she said. “Welcome to Fung Yu.” Big smile. Nice. Looked genuine. “What you have?”

  Mike pointed to the menu. “I like pork special,” he said, giving emphasis to the word pork, just like he was supposed to.

  “Ah, velly good choice,” Wanda replied. “You like peanut sauce on side, or … on top?” She raised an eyebrow suggestively. Nice touch.

  Mike looked up now, making good eye contact. “Supplise me.”

  “Coming right up,” Wanda said.

  “I’ll say it is,” Mike replied.

  Wanda winked and exited the frame.

  Perfect. This was all going well so far.

  Mike busied himself with unfolding his napkin and preparing his chopsticks, while Wanda, just off camera, stripped to a bra and panties and grabbed a plate of food. Marty would add a dissolve later to indicate a passage of time.

  Wanda walked back onto the set, now in her underwear, and placed the food on the table.

  Mike did a good job of appearing surprised by Wanda’s change of wardrobe. Excellent.

  Wanda also carried a small metal canister, supposedly filled with soy sauce or something. “You like it hot?” she asked.

  “The hotter the better,” Mike said, and swept everything, including the plate, off the table.