by Rehder, Ben
“That should put a damper on things tonight, huh?” Rudi said. “Maybe keep some of the nuts indoors.”
“If I’m lucky.”
“See, I’ve always had an interest in mammals and reptoids and whatnot,” Red said. The kid was sandwiched between Red and Billy Don. His bike was in the back of Red’s truck. “And now, to think we might be the first to discover something that’s sort of a half-breed between the two … well, that’s just plumb exciting.”
Almost as exciting as the speedboat I’m gonna buy when we catch him, Red thought.
“It’s reptile,” Charlie said.
“Do what?”
“The word is reptile.”
“That’s what I hear. Part reptile, part mammal. Could be damn dangerous, too, which is why you’re gonna have to leave everything to us. You just show us where you seen him, and we’ll take care of everything after that. When we catch him, you’ll be the first to know.”
Red knew the key was trust. If the kid was willing to trust him and Billy Don, they’d be home free. “Care for another candy bar?”
Billy Don glowered at Red over the kid’s head.
“Yeah, sure,” Charlie said.
Billy Don dug a Snickers out of the sack and grudgingly handed it over.
“Now…” Red said. “Where exactly on Flat Creek do ya live?”
Jimmy Earl Smithers popped a small pill into his mouth, gulped from a bottle of Mountain Dew, and shoved his truck into a lower gear as he approached the edge of Johnson City. He’d made damn good time on this trip—from New Orleans to El Paso in twenty hours flat—but there was some nasty weather biting him in the ass as he headed back to the east. His return trip was likely to be slower. Colder, too, according to the bursitis in his shoulder. Cold and wet—a trucker’s nightmare. He’d have to ease off some, maybe get back to New Orleans by this time tomorrow night. Then he could sleep again. But right now, what he needed was some grub to keep the pill from eating a hole in his stomach.
He backed the big rig down and stopped at the traffic light in front of the Kountry Kitchen. The parking lot was jam-packed, so he left his truck idling across the highway, halfway off the wide shoulder. He wouldn’t be inside for long. Shouldn’t be a problem. Cops never did give him trouble for parking like that.
He shut the door to his rig, began to cross 290, then turned around. He had almost forgotten the deer mount in his truck. It wasn’t any use to him, so he figured he might as well ask around in the café, see if anyone knew the man who owned it. Kyle Dawson—that was his name.
Inside, Jimmy Earl squeezed his way through the crowd—damn, he’d never seen the place this busy—and found a stool at the counter. He placed his order, then doctored his coffee just the way he liked it.
“That shore is a nice rack.” It was the guy to Jimmy Earl’s right. A younger guy, maybe mid-twenties, eyeballing the deer mount, which Jimmy Earl had placed on the countertop, drawing a frown from the waitress. There wasn’t anyplace else to put it. “You shoot that round here?”
“Naw, it ain’t mine. In fact, I’m looking for the guy who left it in my truck. Name’s Kyle Dawson.”
The young man shook his head. “Kyle’s on the run, what I heard. Some kinda murder investigation.”
“You’re kidding me. Murder?”
“Damn right.”
Jimmy Earl got the chills for a second. Had he had a killer right there in the cab of his truck?
Now the man to Jimmy Earl’s left spoke up. “Naw, he’s just a witness. Dale, don’t be spreading a buncha bullshit around.”
“That’s not the way I heard it. Cops’re after him.”
“Well, yeah, they’s after him, but as a witness. Don’t you read the paper?”
The younger man shrugged.
“Either of y’all want this mount, then?” Jimmy Earl held it up. “Good-looking drop tine right here. It’d look damn nice hanging on your wall. I’ll let it go for five hundred bucks.”
“Shee-yit,” said the man on the left.
“Don’t think so,” said the man on the right.
Now a third guy poked his head forward. Some kind of slick guy with round eyeglasses and a ponytail. He was sitting two stools down from Jimmy Earl, next to the young guy. “Excuse me, did you say you’re selling those antlers?”
“Ain’t no use to me.”
“May I ask where you got a deer that large?”
“Damn, boy, ain’t you been listening?” Jimmy Earl laughed, showing he was only being good-natured, and the men on either side of him joined in.
The waitress placed a plate in front of Jimmy Earl. Eggs, hash browns, and a side of Virginia ham. Just like home.
Jimmy Earl had the first forkful halfway to his mouth when the ponytailed guy said, “Will you take a check?”
“I’m seriously thinking about quitting,” Rudi said. “You think I ought to quit?” She was lying on top of the bedspread in her motel room, leaning back against the headboard, her shoes kicked off on the floor.
Marlin was sitting in a chair next to a small table against the wall. He’d finished his calls thirty minutes ago, and they had been talking ever since. He had a handheld radio with him, but no calls had come his way. The only action on the airwaves was about a traffic accident in the southbound section of 281. Somebody had probably lost control in the rain. It had started coming down, and coming down hard, just after they’d made it back to the motel. As far as Marlin was concerned, he was officially off the clock unless a call came in.
“Rudi, I barely know you. I don’t think I ought to be giving you life advice just yet,” he said.
“Aw, what a cop-out,” she said, slinging a pillow at him. “You’ve been listening to me babble all night, haven’t you?”
He tossed the pillow back at her gently. “I haven’t had much choice.”
She smiled. “Smart-ass. Anyway, you do know me now. A couple hours is all it takes. I truly am that superficial.”
He smiled back. “I don’t think so.”
She placed the pillow neatly in her lap. “Anyway, I’ve told you all about working on the show, about all the shit Chad has pulled … so basically you have all the facts. Damn it, I just need a fresh eye. If I told my friends back in L.A. what I was thinking, they’d say I was crazy. But they’re all wrapped up in the Hollywood bullshit. I need someone on the outside looking in.”
“What would you do if you quit?”
She stared into space, thinking. “There are a couple of ways I could go. I could keep trying to get on one of the major news shows, or maybe cable—something on CNN or MSNBC.”
“But…”
“But what?”
“You tell me. You say you could try it, but you don’t sound very enthused about it.”
“Yeah, I don’t know.” She smoothed the pillowcase with her hand. “Maybe I’m getting kind of burned-out. I mean, I know the real network shows aren’t anything like Hard News Tonight, but if there’s even half the bullshit…”
“That would suck,” Marlin offered.
“Yeah. It really would. I don’t know if I’d be prepared for a disappointment like that. Up to now, I’ve only wanted to do the news.”
She looked up, her eyes dancing. “You know, you somehow feel like you’re doing something worthwhile when you’re informing people … telling them what’s going on around the world. People need information. On politics, world events, the economy. It makes me feel good to know I’m helping people form opinions on things. I don’t mean the bullshit on HNT, but real news. I did the local news back in San Diego for a while, and that was great. But God, for the last four years…”
For a few moments, both of them listened to the rain drumming on the roof of the motel.
“What was the other thing?” Marlin asked. “You said there were a couple of things you could do.”
She cast her eyes downward again. “Don’t laugh, okay? I’ve never told this to anyone but my mom.”
She glanced at Marlin and he n
odded.
“I think I might be a pretty good journalist.”
“You mean like newspapers?”
“Or magazines. Time. Newsweek. I don’t know, maybe it’s a stupid idea, but I majored in English in college. Yeah, I know I haven’t ever even written a newspaper article, but I can write. At least I think so.”
Marlin had an idea this woman could accomplish just about anything she set her mind to. “I think it’s worth looking into,” he said.
“Really?”
“Why not? You’re sick of what you’re doing now, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, how long do you stick with something like that? If you just sit around and wait for something better to come along, it probably won’t. You need to find it yourself. My opinion anyway. You asked.”
Rudi said, “I do have some money saved up. I could take some time off, kind of regroup.”
“There you go.”
“It’s a big step.”
“You’re a big girl. You can handle it.”
A quick giggle escaped from her mouth. “That’s exactly what my mother always says.”
“Wise lady. Listen to her.”
A tremendous clap of thunder shook the small room.
“Wow,” she said when the windowpanes finally stopped vibrating. “So let it be done,” Rudi said. She glanced at the television set. “What time does the news come on? You want to watch, right?”
“About ten minutes.”
“Well then, tell me more about being a game warden. How long’ve you been one?”
“Twenty-one years,” he said. Marlin could practically see Rudi doing the math in her head, calculating his age from his answer. He figured she was in her mid-thirties, though she appeared even younger.
“That’s a long time. Always here in Blanco County?”
“Born and raised.” He went on to describe what it was like living in a small Texas town. Sure, the pace was slower, but that’s what made it so special. Instead of strip malls and Yuppie bars, you had feed stores and beer joints. Most everybody knew everybody else … or one of their cousins. There was a sense of community you didn’t find in places like Austin or San Antonio.
“What about work, though?” she asked. “I mean, doesn’t it get kind of boring sometimes?”
“Yeah, I wish.” He told her being a game warden meant more than writing tickets for hunting and fishing violations. In a county this sparsely populated, he was frequently involved in all sorts of interesting cases—from DUIs to drug busts all the way up to homicides.
“Like this Searcy thing?” she said.
“What, you don’t think it was the chupacabra that got him?” Marlin said, laying on the sarcasm.
She snorted.
“Yeah, like Searcy,” he said. “I’m helping with that a little. Not full-time or anything. I just help out when the sheriff needs me.” He took a quick peek at the clock on the nightstand. “You mind flipping the news on?”
Rudi grabbed the remote and turned to KHIL. After a couple of national reports, the anchor said: “In area news, the chupacabra chaos continues in the Hill Country. But now, perhaps the strangest twist yet. A segment this evening on the national television show Hard News Tonight included an interview with the Blanco County game warden, John Marlin. In the interview, Marlin appeared to be confirming reports of a lizardlike animal that has been allegedly sighted around the county. However, we spoke to Marlin earlier and he states that the report was edited in such a way as to be deliberately misleading. Marlin strongly denies that any evidence has been found to support the existence of the chupacabra. He would not comment on the possibility of any legal action against the program. But Marlin did say that anyone attempting to trap or shoot an exotic animal could possibly be charged with interfering in an investigation.”
“Well done,” Rudi said, her voice sounding much closer than before.
Marlin turned, and Rudi was standing next to him. She reached out and placed a warm hand gently on his cheek. “Thanks for the advice earlier.”
Several years ago, Red had mail-ordered two camouflage hunting caps with small penlights attached to the bills—designed to allow a hunter to keep his hands free for field-dressing a deer after sundown. Red soon realized, however, that if the caps made it easy to gut a deer in the dark, hell, it’d be just as easy to shoot one. So he had tried it out. He’d hide in a tree near his deer feeder, wait till he saw shadowy shapes moving in the moonlight, then flick the light on and open fire. A big ol’ double-aught surprise from his twelve-gauge. Worked like a charm.
Tonight, though, the hunting caps were serving another purpose. While the rain was coming down—in cold sheets now—the lights were helping Red and Billy Don make their way through the woods with the hog trap. Son of a bitch seemed even heavier this time around.
Billy Don wasn’t happy about the whole situation. Every time lightning would flash, Red could see Billy Don across the top of the trap, madder than a … well, madder than a wet three-hundred-pound redneck.
Billy Don dropped his end of the trap. “Damn, Red, let’s take a breather.”
It was raining so hard, Red could barely make out the words. Cold water was spilling off Red’s cap in torrents, running down his neck, under his shirt, and into his Wranglers. A school of guppies could set up house in his Red Wings. His toes were going numb.
“Fifty more yards to the truck,” Red hollered. “Don’t puss out on me now.” Red wasn’t going to let Billy Don’s grumpy mood get him down. No, not now. Things were looking too good for that. The boy had shown them exactly where he’d been seeing the chupacabra—just across the fence line, on a ranch behind his house. Red was familiar with the ranch, owned by some rich guy who drove a fancy imported car. The same guy who was wanted by the law, at least according to the rumors Red had been hearing. The guy’s place didn’t have a gate, just a cattle guard. That meant easy access. All Red and Billy Don had to do was set the trap.
26
MARLIN WOKE AT 3:47 A.M. with the heater running and a warm body in the bed next to him. Unfortunately, this warm body had a hairy face and bad breath. At some point, Geist had climbed up into the bed with him, probably skittish from the thunderstorms. The dog was snoozing soundly, her snout about two inches from Marlin’s nose.
Wide awake now, watching bolts of white-hot lightning split the sky, Marlin had time to think.
Howell Rogers, the Burnet County game warden, had never called him back. Or if he had, the message had been lost. When Marlin had gotten home, the clock on his VCR was blinking, meaning the power had gone out. And the backup battery in Marlin’s digital answering machine was dead. He’d have to try Howell again in the morning. Jacob Daughdril, too. If this weather kept up, the chopper would be grounded.
Then Marlin thought about Rudi. Intriguing lady. Smart and funny. After caressing his cheek, she’d given him a light kiss on the lips, then pronounced herself officially bushed. Marlin had taken the hint and cleared out.
“You leaving town?” he asked her at the door.
She pondered it for a few seconds. “No, not yet. Hey, I figure if I’m gonna quit, I might as well enjoy a vacation, right?”
She’d given him the number for her cell phone.
The solitary black boar weighed 360 pounds on the hoof and had a thick plate of scar tissue on each shoulder from years of fierce territorial battles. Its tusks were gnarled and chipped from repeated clashes with one particular opponent that was equally large. That hog, however, had not survived the winter, and now the black boar enjoyed dominance in its home range. It roamed the hills unhindered, hunting, scavenging, and breeding at will.
Tonight, as it trampled through the underbrush in the rain, it heard familiar grunts and squeals. Some primitive trigger in the boar’s brain was released, and it knew two of the lesser boars—its own offspring, in fact—had located food.
It found the pair rooting in the dirt around a large stone. The alpha boar charged forward, and the sm
aller boars gave way and vanished into the night.
Curious, the boar nosed and rooted around the stone, which seemed to be sunk into a hole. An enticing scent wafted up around it. With one powerful flip of its tusks, the boar dislodged the stone and cast it aside. Underneath, a dark pit. The aroma grew stronger.
The hog proceeded snout-first into the hole, but its massive shoulders prevented it from entering. It tried to force its way inside with sheer strength, but the opening was too small.
So it did what was only natural.
It began to dig.
* * *
When Marlin woke again, it was 7:20. He started a pot of coffee, then dialed Howell’s number. Marlin knew Howell and his wife well; they would have been up for several hours by now.
“You got my message, huh?” Howell said.
“No, actually, I had some trouble with my answering machine.”
“Well, hell, you’re a damn psychic. You should know exactly what I said.”
“How’s that?”
“Tell me something, smart boy. How in the hell did you know I’d lost a decoy in that burglary?”
Marlin mulled it all over as he drove.
Even if Marlin did find a decoy on Kyle Dawson’s ranch, it wouldn’t do much for the case, just as Tatum had pointed out earlier. It could’ve been Dawson who pulled the scam, or Duke Waldrip. In fact, both of them could have orchestrated it, with only one of them being involved in the murder. What mattered was finding out where Searcy had gone when he returned to Blanco County after discovering he’d been ripped off. Who had he come to see? That was the blank that needed to be filled in. But with Dawson missing and Waldrip stonewalling, that was a tall order to fill.
Marlin wouldn’t even have been pondering the whole matter if he hadn’t found himself with some unexpected time on his hands. The rain, combined with last night’s news broadcast, appeared to have put a serious dent in the enthusiasm of the chupacabra crowd. Driving through town, Marlin noticed a marked decrease in the amount of traffic. Parking lots were no longer full. There were no crowds at the convenience stores. Darrell, the dispatcher, hadn’t reported any trespassing calls. Maybe the buzz was dying down.