Blanco County 03 - Flat Crazy

by Rehder, Ben

  “What, exactly, is so different?”

  “Man, it’s like he’s on speed, but without being so sloppy and spaced-out. He just doesn’t want to quit.” Marty was getting excited just thinking about the possibilities. “I know this sounds crazy, but I’m thinking of trying a one-hour take.”

  Marty could picture Drew sitting up straighter in his chair. “You serious?”

  “Drew, listen to me. He needs no extra time between each, uh, episode … you know what I mean? Can you imagine that? Like he’s eighteen years old. Yeah, plenty of guys can keep going after one, but I’m talking two or three times straight, with no downtime. See, we’d use one camera. No fades, cuts, dissolves, or anything. One long take. Can you picture the publicity that would generate?”

  “That’s never been done before, Mart.” Marty could tell Drew was getting caught up in it now, dollar signs dancing in his head.

  “I’m talking about a landmark film. Adult video history, and not just in our subgenre, either. Fortune Nookie—right up there with Bouncy Bonnie and Sluts from Hell. Now’s the time, Drew.”

  There was a pause, but a much shorter one than Marty had anticipated. “Go for it,” Drew said. “If it sets us back a few days, don’t worry about it. If we’re gonna do this, let’s do it right.”

  “Oh, we will,” Marty said, more confident than ever before. “I may need to bring in some extra female talent….”

  “Do it. We’re already seeing some revenue from Little China. I’ll cut you a check and send it on Monday.”

  Marty pumped his fist in the air.

  “One thing, Marty … these antlers … you know it’s all in his head, right?”

  “Hey, as long as it works.”

  “Yeah, yeah, but what I’m saying is, if you’re gonna expect him to tape the biggest money shot of his career, you’re gonna need the biggest damn antlers you can get your hands on. That’s my advice. Find the hugest deer in that whole damn county.”

  24

  IT TURNED OUT that Rudi’s story was a hell of a lot more interesting than the handful of tidbits Marlin had seen on Hard News Tonight. She had been born as Hortencia Villarreal (“Rudi” was a stage name) in Sasabe, Mexico, just south of the Arizona border. Her parents had come to the United States—without papers—when she was five years old. It was not a smooth trip.

  Like many illegal immigrants, the Villarreals had hired a “coyote,” a guide who specializes in smuggling people across the border. It was a small group—just Rudi, her parents, her two older brothers, and an uncle.

  The coyote was a U.S. citizen, and he managed to slip them across the river without incident. But the trip didn’t end there. The arrangement was that the Villarreals wouldn’t pay until the coyote had delivered them to a safe house.

  “What he didn’t tell us,” Rudi said, “was that we’d have to hike across forty miles of desert first.”

  Marlin had heard horror stories like that before. Every year, scores of hopeful immigrants died on ill-fated journeys into the United States. All they were looking for was a better life, and they were willing to risk everything to get it.

  Marlin placed his hamburger on the truck seat beside him. Neither of them had wanted to deal with the hordes of excited chupacabra hunters, so they had chosen the drive-through at Dairy Queen. They were parked at an overlook beside the Pedernales River.

  “Did you have enough water?”

  “A gallon apiece.”

  Not nearly enough, Marlin knew.

  He glanced over at her, unsure whether he should ask questions or let her tell it on her own. Dusk was beginning to cloak the hills, and he knew it was just a matter of time before the radio began squawking his name.

  “The first day was cloudy,” she said. “I remember that and a few other things. The rest my mother told me later. We made it about halfway across, our water was already running low, and then the coyote told my dad there was a misunderstanding about the price. He wanted three times the original amount. My dad knew it was a scam, of course. The guy had probably pulled that same trick a dozen times. They argued, and that turned into a fistfight. My dad was small, and not very strong, so my oldest brother, Miguel, jumped into it. He was only fifteen or sixteen then, but damn big for his age. Long story short, the coyote pulled a knife, and then Miguel took it away and beat the guy to death there in the desert.”

  Marlin could see the pain in Rudi’s eyes. Or maybe it was fear.

  “We all stood and watched. None of us had seen that kind of violence before, and we were all wondering if this was what we could expect of living in the States.”

  For a few moments, both of them listened to the river rushing over its shallow, rocky bed. The sun was just beginning to dip behind the hills to the southwest, painting flat-bottomed clouds a brilliant orange.

  “Where did you end up?” Marlin asked softly.

  “That night—and this was the luckiest thing that ever happened to any of us—it rained hard for a couple of hours. We used everything we had—hats, shirts, pants—to collect rainwater and fill our jugs. Then we took off walking again, all night long. When the storm broke, my dad used the stars to lead the way. We made it to a highway right at sunrise. A rancher stopped and gave us a ride.” She smiled. “I remember that part—all of us piled into the back of his truck, looking like we’d just come from some kind of hellish camping trip.”

  “Your brother?”

  She nodded. “My mother was worried that the police would be coming after him, so they decided he’d head further north and hook up with us later. We were working at the rancher’s place …. We lived there for about a year. We got one call from Miguel when he was in Tucson, and then we never heard from him again.”

  Marlin couldn’t even imagine the heartache that must have caused—the family wanting to believe that Miguel was okay, but never knowing for certain. Marlin had felt that way himself plenty of times, though to a lesser degree, when his father—a game warden before him—had stayed out all night chasing poachers. Even as a child, Marlin had understood the dangers that accompanied his dad’s job. Occasionally, a poacher would resist arrest, maybe fire a shot or two, but his father would always downplay it. Marlin would get the truth from articles in the newspaper, and he came to realize that his dad was putting his life on the line every time he ventured into the woods. It made him proud, but it also made him fearful. Unfortunately, those fears were realized in 1976 when a poacher decided he’d rather shoot it out than face a stint in jail.

  “I’m sorry,” Rudi said, as if she’d somehow breeched the bittersweet memories playing through his head. “In case I didn’t say it earlier, I’m sorry for the broadcast tonight. I didn’t know that—”

  Marlin shook his head. The incident seemed so unimportant now. “Not your fault.”

  “He’s done it before, you know,” she said. “Chad, I mean. He’s phonied up stories like that, taken quotes out of context.” She laughed, and Marlin was grateful for the change of mood. “One time, Anthony Hopkins had dinner with the queen of England. We’d interviewed him about it, and the reporter asked what it was like to be in the company of the queen. But Chad cut and pasted the answer from another question about some weird dessert they’d had. So the answer was, ‘Somewhat smelly, actually. Quite unpleasant.’”

  Marlin thought he remembered some kind of uproar about that a few years ago.

  “You can imagine how pissed Hopkins was,” Rudi said. “His attorney called and raised holy hell, and Chad had to air a complete retraction the next day. Blamed it on an editing error.”

  Marlin glared at her, trying to keep a straight face. “And this is the kind of thing you do for a living?”

  She reached over and gave him a light swat with her fingertips. “Hey, I didn’t do that one, either. And you gotta admit—it’s pretty funny.”

  Marlin shrugged. “Well, maybe, in a lowbrow, very juvenile sort of way.”

  Rudi rolled her eyes. She tried a British accent: “‘Somewhat smelly,
actually. Quite unpleasant.’”

  Now Marlin couldn’t help but smile.

  Rudi laughed with him. “Yeah, see, that’s what I thought.”

  He decided she was even more beautiful without her Hollywood facade. He found her eyes, and held them a few seconds longer than he’d planned to.

  “It’s easy to fake something like that,” she murmured.

  Marlin reached for his burger, then stopped, thinking about what she had just said. She was right. She was absolutely right. Just about anything could be faked if the illusion was good enough.

  Charlie pedaled faster than he had ever pedaled before. The convenience store on the outskirts of Johnson City was about three miles away, and he was already halfway there.

  He had seen the chupacabra! His plan had worked, and he had seen it!

  It sure was a funny-looking animal, unlike anything he’d ever spotted around Blanco County. It had come right up and eaten the leftovers, completely unaware of Charlie perched in a nearby oak tree.

  Charlie’s first thought was that he could tell the police now. Then he began to wonder, even now that he’d seen it, whether they’d believe him. He was just a kid, after all, and most kids had pretty wild imaginations. They might think he was making it all up, or that he was mistaken about what he had seen. That’s when he decided he should try to get a picture of it. Then he’d have proof. The problem was, he didn’t have a camera he could use. His stepdad owned some kind of fancy camera with a long lens, but Charlie wasn’t about to mess with that. But he knew he could buy a disposable camera at the convenience store. He didn’t know how much it would cost, but he had saved up about seventeen dollars from mowing neighbors’ lawns. Surely that would be enough.

  Charlie followed Flat Creek Road until it reached Highway 290. His mom would tan his hide if he rode his bike on the highway, so he stashed it behind some trees, then walked the remaining half mile to the store.

  “Evenin’, Charlie,” a voice called as he entered the store. “Ain’t you out kinda late?” It was Bernice, the old lady who worked nights. She was propped on a stool behind the cash register.

  Charlie shrugged. “I’m supposed to come up here and buy a camera,” he said, stretching the truth a little.

  “You mean one of these?” As Bernice reached back to pull a disposable camera off a rack, two men entered the store. One of the men was about the size of most regular men, maybe a little smaller. But the other man was huge, like a Dallas Cowboy lineman. Charlie didn’t know if he had ever seen a man that big in person. They walked down the candy aisle without even glancing Charlie’s way.

  “This here’s one of them Kodaks,” Bernice said, lowering her reading glasses. “Let’s see … twenty-four exposures. Waterproof, too.”

  She handed it to Charlie.

  “Bernice, you all outta pork rinds?” the smaller man called out.

  “Naw, Harry moved them to the next aisle. Next to the peanuts.”

  “How much is it?” Charlie asked.

  “Nine ninety-five,” Bernice said. “I got some of them Fujis, too, if you wanna look at those.”

  The directions on the camera looked pretty simple. All you had to do was point it and push the button. Then you turned the little knob to advance the film for the next shot.

  “If you need the flash,” Bernice said, pointing, “you just push that button there until that little light comes on. That means the flash is ready.”

  The two men approached the counter and plopped a large carton of beer down next to the cash register. They also had four bags of pork rinds, six different candy bars, and a box of doughnuts. “Gimme a coupla packs of Red Man, too,” the small one said.

  Charlie saw that Bernice seemed to study them, like a school-teacher eyeing a tardy student. “What kind of trouble y’all got planned tonight?”

  “Hell, Bernice, if I tole ya, ya wouldn’t believe me,” the small one said. The big man still hadn’t said anything, and Charlie was beginning to wonder if he could even speak.

  Bernice rolled her eyes, just like Charlie’s mom sometimes did when she was being playful.

  The man leaned in closer. “Don’t tell anyone, but we’re gonna catch the chupacabra,” he whispered.

  Charlie turned his head in surprise, and the small man frowned at him.

  Bernice laid two packages of chewing tobacco on the counter. “Yeah, you and everybody else in the county.”

  “No, see, there’s a difference. We actually know what the hell we’re doing.” Both of the men laughed, and Bernice shook her head, pushing buttons on the register.

  “What you want to catch that thing for, anyway?” she said.

  “For the good of the scientific community, what else?” Both men laughed again, but Charlie couldn’t figure out what was so funny.

  “Twenty-nine forty-four,” Bernice said, bagging everything up.

  The man handed her a couple of bills, told her to keep the change, and turned for the door. “Wish us luck,” he said.

  “You’re gonna need it,” she mumbled as the door closed.

  “I’ll take this one,” Charlie said, shoving the camera forward.

  Bernice rang the register again and said, “With tax, ten seventy-five.”

  Charlie handed her a ten and a one, got a quarter back, and darted out the door, saying, “Bye, Bernice” as he went.

  The two men were sitting in an old Ford truck, both doors still open, the engine running. The big man had already torn into a package of pork rinds.

  “Excuse me,” Charlie said, standing by the passenger’s side.

  Both men glared in his direction. “Yeah?” the big man said. He could speak after all.

  “You really gonna catch the chupacabra?” Charlie asked.

  “What’s it to you?” the smaller man said.

  “Uh, it’s just that, well … everybody has been talking about shooting it. You said you were gonna catch it instead.”

  “So?”

  Charlie shuffled his feet nervously. These men weren’t very nice. Maybe he was making a mistake. “I know where it is,” he said quietly. “I can help. We could catch it together.”

  The driver reached out and turned the engine of his truck off. “Where you live, boy?”

  Charlie gestured to the west. “Down Flat Creek Road.”

  The smaller man gave his friend a quick look, and Charlie wondered if they thought he was lying.

  “I’m Red O’Brien,” the smaller man said, finally smiling, being a little more friendly. “This here’s Billy Don Craddock. Billy Don, give the kid one of your candy bars.”

  “Do what?”

  “Give him a candy bar.”

  The big man—Billy Don—didn’t move.

  “Damn, don’t be so stingy,” Red said as he grabbed the sack.

  “A deer decoy?” Bill Tatum said. “Really?”

  “I’m checking on it,” Marlin replied. “I left a message with Howell to call me back. But it’s the only thing that makes sense. Searcy was an experienced hunter, so if he’d shot at a real live deer, chances are good he would’ve hit it—and that would’ve ruined the whole scam. But what about a decoy? I mean, Searcy’s fake deer mount had to be attached to something, right?”

  Game wardens across the country used roadside decoys to bait potential poachers. Marlin himself used one that featured a head, ears, and tail that could be moved by remote control. Poachers had shot at it from as close as thirty yards.

  The phone line buzzed as Tatum considered the possibility. “So Searcy shoots at a decoy. Then what? When he walks up on it, he’s gonna see it’s a fake.”

  “Yeah, I’m still working on that part.”

  Tatum paused for a moment. Like many of the deputies, he was a hunter, though Marlin knew he was in it for the venison, not the trophies. Still, though, Tatum was aware of the wild antics that took place in the world of high-dollar whitetail hunting. “I guess it’s worth checking into,” Tatum said. “One problem, though. We’ve already searche
d Dawson’s house, all the outbuildings….”

  “But you haven’t searched the entire ranch.”

  “Not hardly.”

  “If I wanted to hide a decoy, I think I’d leave it out in plain sight.”

  “Just stick it out somewhere in the woods.”

  “That’s what I’d do. Especially a decoy without any antlers on it. Nobody looks too hard at a doe.”

  “One other problem…”

  “What’s that?”

  “Even if it was a decoy,” Tatum said, “it doesn’t bring us any closer to knowing who killed Searcy.”

  25

  AS MARLIN HUNG up the pay phone, lightning danced in the sky to the west and the wind began to pick up. He ducked into his truck. “Sorry that took so long,” he said. “And actually, there are a couple more calls I need to make, so maybe I better drop you off back at the motel.”

  “I can’t believe you don’t have a cell phone,” Rudi said. “You want to use mine?”

  “Thanks, but—”

  “Or you could just use the phone in my room.”

  By now, despite his anger earlier, Marlin had decided he liked this woman. Plus, using her phone would be easier than going back to his house. “You don’t mind?”

  “Nope. Not like I have a lot on my schedule. I won’t be taping any new segments anytime soon, that’s for sure.”

  Marlin dropped it into DRIVE and pulled out. His first call—one he should have made right after the Hard News Tonight broadcast—would be to Gerald Klein, a producer with KHIL, a TV station that covered the Hill Country. Marlin wanted to get the word out that the broadcast had been faked, and Klein would be happy to have the scoop dropped in his lap.

  Next, Marlin would call Jacob Daughdril, a helicopter pilot who was frequently hired by area ranchers to conduct deer censuses. Marlin wanted to look for the possible decoy, and if there was a way to scan Kyle Dawson’s ranch quickly, it would be by air—assuming the weather cooperated. Marlin tuned his scanner to the National Weather Service. A front was moving their way, and temperatures were expected to drop by fifteen degrees. The front was dragging some thunderstorms with it.